Troy was right. This was hell.
I stayed bent over on shaky legs and felt Troy’s tentative hand rubbing my upper back. I turned my head sideways and looked up at him through the long hair hanging in my face. He was staring off into the woods. Without looking at me, he took my arms and pulled me upright, then wrapped his hands around my wrists. He pressed his thumbs just above my wrist joints, and the dizziness ebbed.
“My sister used to get carsick,” he said. I pulled my arms back, even though he was helping. “I couldn’t help her,” he said. “But I can help you.”
I let out a bark of laughter. I didn’t want his help. Not that kind of help. He turned abruptly and got back in the car. I kept my eyes closed the rest of the way home. And I didn’t cry. God, how I ached to cry. But I wouldn’t. Not in front of Troy. Not again.
So I held it in. I held it in until we rolled to a stop and Mom threw the front door open and ran down the path in her slippers. She already knew. I started sobbing before I reached her. Mom opened her arms and I ran into them. Nothing else mattered. Not the pills or the words or the betrayal.
Troy spoke to her as we walked up the front steps, but I couldn’t hear him over the sobs. And then he left and she pulled me onto the couch with her.
“He’s dead, isn’t he? For real, entirely dead?” I looked up at Mom’s tear-streaked face. She stared out the window and rocked me back and forth in her arms. “Shh,” she said. “Everything’s okay. Shh.”
“Carson’s okay?” I asked.
She stopped rocking and looked me in the eye. “No, baby,” she said. And then she rocked and shushed me some more.
“Mom? There’s something wrong with me.” She held me tighter. I nestled into her, seeking the comfort of her soft arms, but all I felt were bones. Sharp collarbone. Jutting shoulder. Weak arms. She was disappearing. Death was everywhere. But Mom, I was killing her slowly. In painstakingly tiny increments.
And later that night, still curled up on the couch, when she gave me the sleeping pill and the antidepressant, I willingly took them.
There was this beautiful moment as I was waking up. Fleece was tucked up to my neck, cushions and warmth surrounded me, morning light slanted in through the curtains, the smell of batter baking in the waffle iron wafted in from the kitchen. One beautiful moment before the heaviness crashed down. The waffle batter sizzled and popped in accusation. My stomach rebelled from the memories.
I went running for the bathroom in yesterday’s clothes, cold and stiff from dried snow. And I could still smell him. Taste him. I heaved over the toilet, rested my face on the cold porcelain, but nothing came out. There was nothing left. I was empty inside.
The world had gone on without me while I slept. Mom’s car was back, and the inside was clean. I sat in the spot where Carson had been. I strapped the seat belt across my chest, where it had dug into Carson. I looked out the windows and squinted like he had done, trying to see what he saw. I leaned forward, trying to feel what he felt. But he was gone. Dad had scrubbed him out. I couldn’t even smell the leather anymore. Just acetone and pine. Sharp and overwhelming.
I felt the tugging in the parking lot of Dr. Logan’s office. When I walked in, I didn’t keep my head down. I looked at them all. It wouldn’t make any difference. I couldn’t do anything for them. The receptionist kept sneaking peeks at me in the lulls between her typing. What had she heard about me? That I was a miracle? That I was damaged? That I was crazy? That I was something less than human?
Dr. Logan himself stuck his head out and beckoned us toward the back. “Mrs. Maxwell,” he said, barring us from entering the hall. “Do you think I might talk to Delaney alone?” Mom shot me a look. “I can have a nurse in if it makes her more comfortable.” I nodded at the doctor and Mom.
“I’ll be right out here if you need me.” Then she stood in the entrance, watching us go, as the door swung back in her face.
I followed Dr. Logan down the hall. He stepped to the side to let a nurse pass, and she smiled up at him. Then she walked right into me, knocking me into the wall. She put a hand out in front of her, spun around, and continued down the hall like she never even saw me. Like I wasn’t even there. I bit down on the inside of my mouth until I tasted blood.
I stumbled down the rest of the hall after the doctor, sinking into the visitor’s chair in his office. He hadn’t even taken me to an exam room. It was almost like he knew there was nothing he could really do for me. “There’s something seriously wrong with me,” I said before he had a chance to talk. “I’m not normal. I died. I freaking died. I’m not human.”
Dr. Logan pulled his chair around his desk so he was sitting directly in front of me. His arms gripped my shoulders. “Okay, back up a little. What’s been going on in your life, Delaney? Your mother said you lost someone.”
I grinned. Lost someone. Like I had misplaced Carson, dropped him on the way to school, couldn’t find him in the crowded mall.
“He died,” I corrected. “He had a seizure and I tried to save him and he died. I tried,” I whispered. “I shouldn’t be alive. He should be and I shouldn’t. It’s not fair.”
He leaned back in his chair and exhaled loudly. “No, of course it’s not.”
I started laughing. “Even my own doctor doesn’t think it’s fair. Even you don’t think I should be alive.”
“Oh, I didn’t say that. But these things don’t follow the rules of fair. Look, what you’re feeling is very common. It’s survivor guilt. Like in a plane crash when there’s a sole survivor. Everyone thinks that one person is a miracle, but that one person can’t live normally. They’re consumed with figuring out ‘Why me? What makes me special?’”
I sucked in a breath and nodded vigorously. Dr. Logan placed his hands on my shoulders again. “Unfortunately, I don’t have an answer for you. Just know that you’re not alone.”
Yes, I was. Carson was dead. Mom was disappearing. Troy was delusional. Decker hadn’t even called. Nobody had called.
“Have you been taking the medicine I prescribed?”
“Not really. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I’m not stressed. I’m not even me anymore.” I was a girl who died and miraculously came back, but I was also a girl who didn’t believe in miracles anymore. A Catch-22.
“I’m not human,” I said. “I don’t even know why I’m here.”
Dr. Logan reached for my hand and felt the bones underneath. “You feel plenty human,” he said.
“So does a corpse,” I mumbled.
“You sound plenty human.”
I turned my head up. My amended answer for what makes us human was the brain. The undamaged brain. Maybe the doctor had a more scientific answer. “What makes me human, then?”
He shrugged like it was no big deal that he might know the meaning of life. “We are the only species aware of our own mortality. We are the only ones who want to know why we live and why we die.” He chewed on the inside of his mouth like he was debating something. “And you care. You tried to help.”
Except my caring was pointless. I cared and people died anyway. At least Troy was doing something with his caring. He was making a difference, even if I thought he was mad.
And then the doctor did something stupid. Because when someone’s drowning, the instinct is to throw them a life preserver. “That boy,” Dr. Logan said, clearing his throat. “From last time you were here. You saved him. I shouldn’t be telling you this, but you saved him.”
“What?” I pictured the boy humming in the corner. “You listened to me?”
“No, not me. But you scared his nurse. She demanded we take him to the hospital and run some tests. So we did.”