“It’s not your fault; none of this is your fault. Your dad, Ethan, he’s the one that treated you bad, he’s the one that started the argument that day, and ultimately, he’s the one that stopped the car—not you. You can’t blame yourself for this, for any of it.”
I want so badly to believe her, to kiss her and look into those beautiful dark emerald eyes, and tell her that I know she’s speaking the truth. But I can’t, because it isn’t. I’m as much to blame for that accident as he is. He may have stopped the car, but it was me that drove him to do it.
“Baby?”
I can hear her heart beating through the cotton of my t-shirt. My head’s pushed tightly against her chest as her hands draw small lazy circles across my shoulders and back. I don’t want to move. I don’t want to deal. I just want to stay here and let myself forget that my life isn’t a bowl full of cherries.
“Yeah?”
“You’re still shivering. Come get into bed,”
Her arms fall as I push up and take her hands to help her stand. She walks backward, never letting her focus drop from me as she pulls me over to my bed, throws the comforter back and climbs in. I slip in beside her, tuck my face into her neck and shoulder, and then breathe her in. Neither one of us sleeps; instead, we hold on to each other in silence. Blair is facing away from the door, and at one point I notice it crack and my mom peer in. I instantly close my eyes in fake slumber. I’m not ready to face anything else today. I wait until finally I hear footsteps on the stairs before I press myself deeper against Blair and try to make sense of this mess.
MONDAY ROLLS AROUND entirely too quickly. The morning sun is warming my face through the cracks in my curtains, and when I turn to shield my eyes I notice that my cell is already lit up with a message from Ethan, I left his house late Saturday night and spent all day Sunday with my mom at home. It was good to have a day where I could just process my thoughts and not have to deal with anything else, as selfish as it sounds. I needed that time. I think Ethan and Moira needed some time too. My mom was amazing but then, she’s always amazing. I had a complete meltdown at one point, and she listened to me vent without judgment. I’m not your typical talker; I like time to prepare my thoughts and ideas on the situation at hand, and attempt to have it clear in my mind before voicing anything about it. But I can always count on her to be right there when I do decide I want to confide in someone.
I wish Ethan had that.
I’m desperate to convince him that seeing a therapist would be a good thing. My mom agrees, but it has to be his decision. Ultimately, he needs to be the one to decide that talking to somebody is the right thing for him to do. I don’t want to push him; if I’m honest, I don’t dare. I think if he had a chance to sit down and talk with his Dad that might help too. Their relationship is so screwed up, I think gaining some closure would benefit him, but I don’t see that in their future anytime soon and it scares me. If Frank doesn’t make it through his surgery and the two of them don’t talk, it will always be an unresolved issue, an open wound that won’t heal.
I reach out and snatch the phone from my nightstand.
From: Ethan
Pick you up for school? X
I’m about to text back ‘yes’ until I notice the time and realize I’m going to be late if I don’t get my ass into gear. I reply that I’ll meet him there and then take the quickest shower of my life. I throw my green Obey gravity it’s the law tank on with my skinnies and chucks, leaving my hair down to air dry and skipping breakfast to make it to school before the first bell.
It’s times like this when I miss being invisible. I used to be able to walk these halls and not a single person other than Em would register my presence. Now, not so much. Everyone in this school is aware of Ethan Jamison, and by default, Ethan Jamison’s girlfriend—although I don’t think any of them could actually tell you my name. That’s what happens with couples: the less popular of the two loses what identity they had, no matter how obscure. I’m no longer Blair to these students; I’m Ethan’s girl. There are exceptions, though; some of them have bothered to find out who I am, no doubt in an attempt to make false allegiances with him and his friends. Everyone wants to be friends with the popular kids and I must look like an easy ‘in’ to them.
I weave my way in and out of the crowded hallway while replying to a bunch of hello’s and how are you’s from people I’ve never spoken to before. It’s awkward when strangers make conversation with you or use your name, and you have no clue of theirs. Emily would have loved watching me panic. I’ve always had the socially inept ‘please don’t approach me’ vibe down pat. I perfected it after Billygate, as Em used to so affectionately refer to it. I smile at the memory.