Lost at the Start

7.

Lucky for me, when I opened my eyes one a t a time and lowered my hands, I was back in my room, still completely untouched, and me completely unscathed.

Well, aside from any potential mentally trauma I might've just suffered, but that was probably just another drop in bucket.

I exhaled and felt the tension release from my shoulders.

I can't decide if that was a bad idea or not...Because while I had gotten the answers I wanted—Yes, Sam was grieving over me—I certainly hadn't wanted to see him meltdown like that.

While that may have proven me right to break-up with him on some level, if only to avoid a future abusive-husband, I had never wished for something like that.

All I'd ever wished for was for him to be out of my life, and for my mom to quit missing him being my boyfriend, which had always just been way too weird for my comfort. I didn't even want the world to understand why I broke up with him, just maybe stop questioning me about it.

To quote one of my favorite books, "The world is not a wish-granting factory." But my dying had sort of resolved the first two wishes, so...

What did that mean for that last half-wish?

Regardless, I hoped I never had to watch something like that again.

Though it occurred to me I maybe could've avoided that whole fiasco if I'd just shown myself to Sam...And that still seemed like a bad idea.

I sighed and left myself fall back on my bed.

No more. I'm done with Sam. I got the answer I was looking for, and now I never have to go back. It's over and done. Now, as long as I could get past that mental hurdle, I was free to finally wash my hands of Sam.

It wasn't my place to try and solve whatever problems he'd clearly been dealing with long before he even met me. Nor did I want it to be.

Briefly, I couldn't believe I'd ever actually considered going into psychology as a career or job choice.

What was I thinking?

No matter. I was dead; I'd never have to worry about that.

And that knowledge was enough of a relief to finally banish Sam and the chaos I'd just left from my mind. Hopefully, it wouldn't be back anytime soon.

Speaking of coming back, though...

I sat up and leaned back, not really looking at anything. Even though I'd willed myself back to the house, I wasn't ready to see Riley again. No, I'd save that for after I had a plan to actually help her out...somehow. But I had promised Jackson I'd be back as soon as I could...

Standing, I stretched and debated with myself over whether or not I should go ahead and get on with that promise.

The main issue was that so late in the day—3:47 by my watch—I would run the risk of trying to talk to him while his parents and sister were home, (if his sister even lived at home anymore, last I heard she was 22 and fresh out of college, so it was totally possible she, like Riley, was already pretty much out on her own) and there was no telling when they'd pop in and out and catch Jack talking to himself or the cats defying physics.

And seriously, how was Jackson supposed to explain that?

As much as I hated to do it, it was looking like I'd have to wait until nightfall, when his family would be asleep, and wake him up to talk.

If he was asleep, which there was a sixty-forty chance he would be, depending on how late I had to wait.

Which brought up another, less relevant issue—Where was I going to sleep?