28. Lydia
Lydia
There’s something crushingly heavy about waking up lately, like every morning is just another reminder that my life is real, that none of this is a dream. That everything did happen. And it all happened to me.
I wish it were all a dream.
I roll onto my side and stare at my phone, lifeless and dark on my bedside table. I reach for it and turn it on. Simone’s name takes over the screen. Messages and missed calls, one after another. I exhale, scanning the notifications.
Simone-16 missed calls
Simone: You never called me after school?
Simone: Are you ok?
Simone: Earth to Lydia
Simone: OMG, I heard about what happened. Are you okay???
Simone: I’m coming over after school tomorrow to check on you. I don’t like not hearing from you
Simone: Just let me know you’ve got a pulse please
Simone: I love you. You know I’m always here for you
A lump forms in my throat as I scroll through the messages again. I feel guilty for making her worry, for always being the friend who has to be worried about.
I type out a quick reply.
Lydia: I’m sorry, I fell asleep after I got home yesterday. I didn’t mean to not reply. I’m okay…I promise. I love you too
She replies almost instantly, like she’s been by her phone waiting for my reply.
Simone: I’m still coming over today after school. You shouldn’t be alone. I’m sorry this is happening to you. You literally don’t deserve any of it
Don’t I, though? Everyone thinks I do.
Lydia: Okay…I’ll see you then
I stare at the screen for another second before tapping over to my contacts and scrolling until I see John’s name.
My finger hovers over the screen hesitantly.
I’m tired of feeling like everyone looks at me like I’m weak and fragile.
Simone is everything to me, but sometimes her worry suffocates me.
I just want to have a conversation that isn’t full of sorrow.
Taking a deep breath, I type quickly before I can change my mind.
Lydia: Hey…um, how are you? How’s school? Is everyone still talking about yesterday?
He answers almost instantly.
John: Hey Lydia. It’s funny, I was actually having a pretty crappy morning until I saw your name pop up on my phone…I mean, yeah, people are always gonna talk, but they’re pathetic and don’t matter. How are you doing? How are you feeling?
Lydia: I’m sorry you were having a bad day. I’m doing okay…I don’t think I can go back, though. It’s apparent no one wants me there
John: I want you here…but I understand not wanting to come back. These people really do suck. So what are you going to do? Transfer somewhere?
For a second, I forgot how nice John was. I think that, always associating him with Eli, I started to resent him, too. But I can’t do that now. It’s not fair to him. He’s not his friend. He’s not that kind of guy.
Lydia: No, I think I’m gonna try to get them to let me finish online. I don’t want to go anywhere else, just to risk the same problems. Everyone around here knows about what happened…about what he said…so what’s the point? We’re so close to graduation, it’s pointless to start over
John: Dang, yeah. I understand. I’ll miss seeing you around here. You’ve always been one of the only genuine and decent people at this school
My chest tightens slightly, my fingers pausing before typing back. He texts again before I can answer.
John: Mind if I come by later to check on you? Do you need anything from school?
Lydia: Actually, when I went back yesterday, my locker was empty. I never got to the office to check on it. I assumed they might have emptied it out, thinking I wasn’t coming back or something, but I needed the textbook for my classes
John: I can take care of that. I’ll check and let you know later. You want me to come by today after school?
Lydia: Yeah, Simone is supposed to come too. You can drop by. I’ll be here. No plans lol
John: Okay, perfect. I’ll see you later
I lay my phone down and close my eyes, trying to go back to sleep until the restlessness forces me to get up.
I find myself in the kitchen, rummaging quietly through the liquor cabinet until I find something strong enough.
Without much thought, I fill an empty water bottle and carefully replace the missing liquor with water, then head back upstairs.
I drink until the burn in my throat numbs the buzzing anxiety in my head.
The alcohol settles inside me like a friend, one who always knows how to quiet the thoughts, even if just for a little while.
As I lie there, trying to numb myself, thoughts of Eli start to creep in again.
Just like they always love to do. His face, his voice, the memories I try desperately to shut out.
A sick twisting feeling in my stomach—guilt mixed with anger.
I try to push away the thought of him in that car, his last moments, the images my brain creates.
I can’t help but wrestle with the thoughts of every possible scenario. Could I have saved him? Would I have wanted to save him? What would life look like if he didn’t do it? Could he have finally gotten the help he needed? Or would I still be in the midst of the pain he causes?
My breath grows quick and shallow, panic creeping in and tightening around my chest. Closing my eyes tightly, I fight the tears until the exhaustion and alcohol finally pull me under into a dreamless, dark sleep.
* * *
I’m jolted awake by a knock at my bedroom door, eyes still blurry as Simone pushes inside.
Behind her, John stands towering over her.
He’s quiet, almost shy, and a little hesitant.
I sit up, groggy, and I’m acutely aware of how awful I must look.
I never care when it’s just Simone, but having John here makes me conscious of it for some reason.
I don’t want him to see me like this. Yet I don’t have the energy to get up and put myself together.
Fuck it…he’s already here, looking at the mess that I am.
“John was waiting on your steps,” Simone says softly, eyeing me. “He didn’t wanna intrude, but I made him come inside.”
John rubs his neck nervously, shifting from one foot to the other. “I called, but you didn’t answer, so I just waited.”
“Sorry, I was asleep,” I mumble, giving a halfhearted smile. “I probably look insane right now.”
“You look beautiful,” Simone and John say simultaneously.
A brief silence hangs there before we all laugh, and for just a second, something in my chest eases.
It feels lighter having them both here. I mean, I always feel better when Simone is around, but having John here too, having someone else who cares… it makes me feel a little less alone.
Simone sits beside me on the bed as John pulls a chair closer. “How are you actually feeling, Lydia?” he asks.
“Fine,” I say, forcing a lightness into my voice. Simone eyes me skeptically.
“It’s okay not to be okay,” Simone tells me.
“Okay…obviously I’m not great…but I’m trying. I really am.”
“You deserve to be okay,” John says. “You deserve to be able to heal. All these people can kiss your ass.”
“Thank you,” I laugh out. “Hey, did you ever find out anything with my locker by chance?”
John’s expression turns regretful. “At first, they acted like they couldn’t tell me anything, but after some convincing, they went and asked around for me. They said they never touched your locker. That they didn’t know what happened to your stuff. I’m sorry.”
I just nod numbly. “Someone had to have gotten into my locker and thrown it all away on purpose.”
Simone clenches her jaw. “That’s bullshit. They shouldn’t be able to get away with doing that.”
I shrug softly. “Doesn’t really matter anymore. They wanted me gone…and they got what they wanted, I guess.”
“You can use my textbooks if it helps,” John offers quietly.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
We just stayed there, all talking. The conversation is easy and distracts me for a while from the dumpster fire that is my life. I’m grateful for it. Grateful for them.
Sarah gets home and pokes her head in my bedroom door, telling everyone that she needs to talk to me. John and Simone both stand up, offering quiet goodbyes before leaving me alone with her.
She sits at the edge of my bed once they’re gone, watching me cautiously. “How are you?”
Honestly, I’m tired of being asked that. No one can fix anything that’s wrong. What’s the point in always asking?
“Not the best.”
“What can we do?” she asks.
“I just wanna finish school online…please?” I beg. “I tried to go back. I tried to be normal. I tried to do everything everyone has asked me to do, and I still ended up here. I don’t want to do it anymore. I just want to finish school and not deal with those people.”
Sarah just nods. “We can do that.”
I’m so thankful someone is finally listening to me, finally understanding I can’t take being beaten down at that school or any other anymore.
“John said I can borrow his textbooks, so you won’t have to replace them or anything.”
“We’ll make it work, Lydia. Don’t worry.”
“Thank you,” I tell her, genuinely.
I can see the love and concern in her eyes, and it momentarily makes it click in my head that she actually cares…
maybe? I don’t know how to handle that. I don’t think I’ve let myself accept hers or Mark’s affection and genuine concern out of self-protection…
but I wonder if that’s still necessary. If I’m actually safe here.
She places a hand over mine. “We love you. I know this has all been extremely hard, and I wish I could take it all away and make things better. You’re so strong.”
As soon as she leaves, I throw myself back on my bed and hiss at the pain I keep forgetting about. I blindly reach under my bed and grab the hidden bottle again, desperate for it, letting it burn away all the pain still lingering—inside and out.
Lying back against the pillows, I try to close my eyes. Sleep is the only real escape I get anymore. It turns everything off. It’s the only thing I look forward to these days.
I just want a break from it all.
This unbearable ache takes over my mind before I can drift off, and all I want is to talk to her.
“I miss you,” I whisper. “I’m sorry I haven’t talked to you lately…It’s just all…been a lot. And I think I’ve been too scared to.”
I turn, clutching my pillow and bring it to my chest for comfort.
“The ache to be with you—wherever you are—is getting stronger. I know you wouldn’t want that for me.
I’m trying to stay here. I really am. I just wish you were here too.
Maybe none of this would have ever happened if you were.
Hell…maybe worse would have happened, who knows.
It seems like the world is who really hates me, so maybe it wouldn’t have made a difference… ”
I can’t handle the painful thoughts clouding my mind. The ones that push all the bad memories to the forefront. The ones that replay the worst pain I’ve ever felt on repeat, over and over. The ones that consume and take over all other thoughts, telling me the world would be better without me, too.
I can’t handle how much it hurts, and how I can never quiet it on my own. I hate the feeling of dissociating from my mind. I need something to bring me back, to make it stop.
I open the drawer beside my bed and pull out the broken pair of scissors I keep hidden.
“Please don’t be mad at me, Camilla. And please don’t watch this…”
The tears start to fall as I lie back down, lifting up my shirt. Slowly, I take the sharp blade to the edge of my stomach, pressing it against the skin. The first cut is always the hardest to do, but as soon as the blade cuts through flesh, it cuts through the noise.
Everything gets quiet.
I’m in control of this feeling. I get to have a say in the pain. And at least this pain turns my thoughts off. My brain starts to go into preservation mode. It knows something else needs its attention more. I get to coax it away from the suffocating memories.
The blade moves like memory—automatic, detached. There’s no high, no dramatic effect, just a dull relief that finally pulls me back into my body, out of the spiraling anxiety. The physical pain burns, but the release is what I crave.
The exhaustion takes back over once the thoughts quiet down. I pull my shirt back down and press it into my skin, soaking up the blood. I hold my hand there as I turn onto my side and stare at the wall, taking in the peacefulness of nothing until sleep welcomes me back.