Before You Break

“Don’t you dare say it.” His voice was like a soft growl. Like he’d been clenching his teeth. “All those things the therapist would say. That no one decides in a split second to take someone’s life. That I need to forgive myself, or my life will feel meaningless, too.”

So he’d been to therapy over this. He was carrying guilt around. Wearing it like a suit of armor. “Okay.” I was trying to remain neutral, to allow him the chance to talk.

“What the therapist didn’t know was that I didn’t give two shits about my own life,” he rumbled. “That I was already thinking of ways I could end it.”

But he hadn’t ended it. Which told me he needed to unload all of this. Unburden himself. That’s why he was calling the hotline. To talk to someone he felt safe and anonymous with. My instincts were usually right. But what kind of guilt was he lugging around? Survivor’s guilt or just self-loathing?

“What do you think of me now, Gabby?”

His voice was shaky, laced with fear. As if by knowing his truth I’d had the power to ruin him, take him down, or call him the filthiest names in the book. Like that would be any worse that what he was already putting himself through.

And that’s when I realized just how vulnerable Daniel was.

I felt a longing in my chest to hold him, comfort him. Like I might have done with Christopher that night.

“I wish I could see your face,” he said, never allowing me the chance to respond. His voice was fueled with anger. “I’d be able to tell what you thought of me just by looking in your eyes. Just like what I saw in everybody else’s eyes. Pity. Disgust.”

“No, Daniel. Not disgust. Not even close.”

“What, then?” His voice became soft and timid.

“The truth is,” I said, finally finding my voice, “I’d only have to look in your eyes to see a person filled with an overwhelming amount of guilt and pain. So much hurt that it’s coming out of your eyeballs.”

I heard him clear his throat like maybe it was jammed with grief.

“But there are layers to you, Daniel, that make you deep and complex and good. Under all that agony is an inherently good person,” I said. “That’s what I believe.”

“You don’t even fucking know me,” he spat out. “I’m not good.”

And then the line went dead. Again.

Damn it to hell!

Like last time, Daniel had called from a blocked number, so I had no way to get him back. Only in the case of an emergency did we involve the police or put a trace on a call.

Even still, I had trouble sleeping that night thinking about Daniel sobbing into the phone and hoped against hope that he believed there was good inside of him.

And maybe that’s what kept him going. Kept him alive.

I wondered what Christopher had said to himself in the still of the night. The night he took his own life. What truths did he tell himself? And what lies—as he downed that bottle of prescription pills and chased it with vodka.

Chapter Eight

Qui

I woke from a fuzzy night filled with vodka and rum dreams. I’d cried my sorry ass to sleep and hopefully my goddamn wussy tears were muffled by my pillow. Otherwise the guys would totally razz me or get on my case about being too stinking drunk.

I’d made the hotline call instead of playing poker with those jokers again. No way could I stomach any more pussy jokes—because I sure as hell wasn’t getting any—or losing any more money.

Had Brian been home, he’d have played video games with me, but he’d been out with Tracey. Even Ella would have played, but she hadn’t been around last night, either. Besides, being around her would have felt different. I’d have been too tempted to sit closer so I could feel her thigh brush mine and her breaths against my arm. Maybe get to know her better. I needed to get her out of my system already.

I’d considered driving my drunk ass out to the cliffs last night and then maybe going over, but I didn’t want to kill anyone else in the process. Sometimes, I parked there and stood on the edge, peering into the stormy water, hoping it would somehow swallow me up.

What Gabby had said to me on the hotline was probably standard. Possibly something she had to say to all the fucked-up people who called her. Regardless, it had touched something raw inside of me.

It was the way she’d said it. It reminded of something my aunt and uncle once said to me, after Mom and dad had left me home alone for hours. They had shown up at the house to rescue me. I’d been old enough to stay home by myself but not legal yet to drive. I was shoving my clothes and toothbrush into a bag so I could stay with them for the weekend.

“It sucks that you can’t pick your family members,” Aunt Gabby said, standing at the doorway to my room. Uncle Nick stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders in a show of support. “But you can choose who you surround yourself with and how you handle what you’re dealt in life. I hope you know how much we love you, even on days you don’t feel supported.”

“You are good, through and through. You hear me, Daniel?” Uncle Nick had said. “Don’t ever forget that.”

I’d pushed them away these past couple of years. I couldn’t look them in the eye. They were like surrogate parents to me and I was terrified to see the disappointment etched in their faces over what I’d done.

Talking over the phone felt freer somehow. Gabby had been right about that. The person on the other end couldn’t see you struggle through whatever you were telling them.

I knew there was good buried deep inside me. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been able to keep up this farce for Sebastian’s parents. My intentions were good, even though I kept lying through my teeth every time I saw them.

So what did you do when all the good inside you was yanked deep into the abyss of your soul because of one big event? Was it possible for one act in your life to ruin everything else—to mar it, weaken it, poison it, make it sour? It had been for me.

Today was the fund-raiser car wash event with our sister sorority. I needed to get my butt up, especially since I was in charge of rags and bucket supplies. I had gone around and collected old clothes from the guys the other night and torn them into rags with Lucy from Sigma Tau.

I got my ass in the shower and then pulled on a worn pair of cutoff jeans shorts and a shitty T-shirt that I knew would come off when the sun beat down on us. It was an exceptionally warm spring day, the temperature already in the seventies, which meant more traffic would be sent our way.

When I walked downstairs, my chest tightened at the sight of Ella sprawled on the couch across from Brian, playing Call of Duty.

As I stepped into the room Ella looked up and said, “Hey, Qui

I nodded and sat on the arm of the nearest chair.

“I was just dropping off bagels and coffee for the fund-raiser,” she said. “But Brian practically begged me to play the zombie version with him.”

“If you say so.” Brian laughed and then shoved his controller at me. “Dude, take over. I gotta make a beer run.”

When I looked at the screen Ella was totally obliterating all the zombies in her path.

“Take that, sucker,” she ground out through clenched teeth.

“You might not need me after all,” I said.

“I totally do,” she said, her voice suddenly elevated. “Hurry, I’ve been hit. I need you revive me.”

I plopped into the chair Brian had vacated to save her from total apocalyptic failure. For the next ten minutes we yelled, laughed, and swore at the screen until finally being overrun by the zombie population and suffering fatal blows.

“That’s the highest level we’ve ever gotten to,” Ella said, holding her arms up in triumph.

We sank back into our seats high on our small victory. She was smiling ear to ear and the way her blue eyes were so unguarded and sincere right then made her look angelic.