Admittedly, it was only my second time flying, but it was the first time doing it alone. Last time, I had Tanner by my side, holding my hand and distracting me from my crazy, paranoid thoughts. Let's just say I've watched Final Destination one too many times. Quick fact: I absolutely, with every fiber in my tiresome body, hated heights. Memories rushed through my mind of the time Tanner had somehow convinced me into going to Lake Monroe with him and his friends to go cliff diving. The name alone sounded painful. I remembered how proud I was of myself when I made it to the top of the cliff. It was a different story, however, when it was time to do the actual jumping part. I did the wrong thing. I did what everyone tells you not to do. I looked down. My feet locked up, instantly changing their mind about sending my body tumbling down a cliff. Tanner ended up having to carry me back down.
My eyes squeezed shut. Why were my memories of him so bittersweet? I wanted to bear hug them but strangle those bitches at the same time. They gave me instant gratification but broke me down in the end.
Needing to get my mind on something else, I fetched my backpack under the seat and pulled out of my iPod. Music had seemed to be my coping mechanism lately. My foot tapped gently against the floorboard and I unwrapped my headphones, sticking one in each ear. Just as my finger was ready to tap the play button, a stern voice stopped me.
"Excuse me, miss." I looked up to see an older flight attendant giving me a generic smile. "All electronic devices need to be shut off at this time," she instructed, in a robotic voice. I nodded in response and drug the headphones back out of my ears. So much for that idea.
They had completely shut down the entire high school as a crime scene the day after the shooting, giving us summer break to mourn then transferring us into neighboring schools across the county. At my new school, everyone knew what had happened to me. The hushed whispers and pitying stares that followed me down the hallway drove me senseless. But they were nowhere near the humiliation of breaking down in full panic attack mode during class in front of everyone. Multiple times. One second I would be calculating an algebra problem and the next, I would turn into a sobbing mess cradled into a ball on my chair. After the fifth attack, the whispers turned into insults. Freak, weirdo, crazy; I heard it all.
Somehow, I managed to survive two long, excruciating weeks before I refused to go back. In actuality, I refused to do almost anything. I wasn't eating regularly and had suddenly become a recluse on autopilot.
Every single person in my life got cut out while I spent my days hidden in my bedroom. Phone calls and texts went ignored, even Tessa’s. I tried to keep my promise of being a strong shoulder for her to lean on but I couldn't stand to be around her. She was a constant reminder of what I lost and anytime she was around, the knife that had been lodged into my heart would twist an inch deeper.
And my poor parents, they tried everything. They sent me to the local therapist in town who attempted to get me to "open up and allow myself to heal." I wasn't ready to do either of those things. What Tanner and I had together was something special that belonged to just the two of us. If I told other people, it would be like handing over another piece of him and those pieces had already started dwindling down day by day. I didn't want to be the person dragging my family down the road of depression with me but I wasn't sure how to hit the brakes and heal.
Four nights ago, my dad called me down to the living room. A trace of nervousness followed me down each stair. I saw my mother first and tears were pouring down her porcelain face. Her hands were latched into my dad’s, whose face was blank.
Uh oh. Not good.
My dad motioned to the chair across from them and I took that as my cue to sit down. His throat cleared and he leaned forward, planting his elbows on his kneecaps. "Your mother and I have been talking," he said, in a voice he only used when he was dressed in his sheriff suit, letting me know that he was serious. "We think it might be a good idea for you to get away from here for awhile." Whoa. My head shot up and I felt like someone had just sucker punched me in the gut.
My mouth stayed shut, waiting for him to elaborate before I started screaming out my refusal. "We have also talked to your therapist and she agrees with us," he added, like that was supposed to make me feel better. A disgusting taste of bile slithered its way up my throat and I quickly swallowed it back down.. Tears started flowing as their intentions sunk in.
"I can't just leave here!" I shouted. "Tanner is here!" Blinking, I tried to stop the imminent tears but failed. My parents grew blurry through my vision and I watched the hazy silhouette of my mom rising from the couch and taking the few steps towards me.
"Daisy," she rasped out, kneeling down on her knees and grabbing my hand. "Please listen to me. You have got to move on. I'm not telling you to quit grieving or forget about him because no one will ever forget about Tanner. We all loved him." I let out a low whimper at the sound of his name, sinking deeper into my chair. "He will always be in our thoughts," she continued. "In our hearts. But you have got to close that chapter and start turning the pages." The pleading in her voice was going to break me. "Do it for yourself. Do it for Tanner. Live for Tanner."