23. The Darkness
23
The Darkness
Chelsea
Hello darkness, my old friend.
Apparently, my version of processing things is to… not.
All I’ve done for the past twenty-seven hours is lie in bed.
Oh, and overthink and replay everything that happened. One thing I never wanted was for Trevor to be twined into what I went through. Now he is. No matter what happens from here, he will be. Because he beat the hell out of the guy who raped me, and that will factor in somewhere down the line. Not to mention in his future.
I wish I could be mad about it, but I’m not. I always joked about that fantasy book boyfriend stuff with him, and it became clear early on that he’d do anything to protect me. If he could build a time machine and go back and make sure he was there to protect me that night, he would.
I feel bad not reaching out, but I have to work through this immediate stuff on my own. If I don’t, I’m worried it will affect our relationship deeply. For the most part, I’m a solo processor. That’s who I’ve always been.
Is that an excuse for lying in the dark and giving in to the darkness? Probably not. But the darkness is cozy. Like an old friend. And getting up means facing it all. Making it real.
Sleeping and ignoring life is simpler.
Gran’s been in with tea and snacks multiple times, and both dad and Robbie have checked on me, but I haven’t wanted to talk. I’ve been cranky and grouchy. No one can give me what I want because I don’t know what that is. I want Trevor, but I also know I’m not ready to see him yet.
I just want the emptiness to go away.
I pull the sheet up over my head and close my eyes, ready to lose myself again, when there’s a knock on the door.
Even though I grumble, it swings open.
“Sweetheart,” Gran says, and I reluctantly pull the covers off my face. “There are two lovely young ladies here to see you.”
I almost pull the blankets back up as I think of Lex and Bridget and them telling me to stop moping. Get over it .
But those thoughts drift away when Amanda and Mackie walk in, carrying bags of stuff.
I push myself up to sitting, tears welling in my eyes. “What are you two doing here?”
Amanda smiles as they climb onto the bed with me. “Friends don’t let friends sit in the darkness alone.”
“They crawl in and be the light that helps them find their way out,” Mackie whispers.
Tears trickle down my cheeks.
This is what I needed. What I didn’t know I needed.
“Rae wanted to come too, but with everything happening with Sarah, she didn’t want to leave. But she sent these,” Amanda says, pulling out a tray of brownies. There’s a notecard taped to the top.
It’s not pitch black in here, and with the door cracked, there’s enough light that I can see.
I pull the note out of the envelope and unfold it.
Chels, I’ve learned there are very few things in life that brownies can’t help with. I added some extra magic to these (AKA salted caramel). If there’s one thing more powerful than brownies to help get you through the tough stuff, it’s good friends. I wish I could be there, but sometimes the messiness hits more than one person at once. I just want you to know I love you and I’m thinking of you. I’m here if you need anything, so call, please. And for the record, I think you’re the most badass woman I know. XO, Rae
I sniff back tears. At my lowest moments, I craved this kind of friendship. It’s healing to have it now.
“She’s not the only one thinking of you,” Mackie says. “This is from Hyla.”
She hands me a box, which also has a note attached.
Chelsea, My beautiful future sister-in-law. You are a bright, shining star in my life. Your strength and your willingness to fight are inspiring. I know you’re hurting right now, but this is to remind you that even when you’re breaking, you’re not broken. Let that beautiful heart of yours and all our love get you through this. P.S. Don’t forget to smile… that’s what Liz would say. ILYSM Hyla
I open the box and pull out a mug with the phrase Not fragile like a flower, fragile like a bomb on it. There’s also an extra Post-it note from Hyla.
Don’t be afraid to explode and set the world on fire.
I barely have time to process that before Amanda and Mackie start unloading the other bags, which include blankets, snacks, and a framed photo of the six of us at the women’s festival back in May.
“Thank you,” I choke out. “This means… everything.”
Amanda wraps an arm around my back and rests her head on my shoulder. “We’ve got you.”
Mackie grabs my hand. “Always. So we can talk or not talk. Lie here in the dark or watch a cheesy rom-com. Our only requirement is we will be ordering sushi for lunch. Consider it a healing ritual.”
I laugh at that. “I’m in. For all of the above. No rom-coms though. I need an action comedy or a really cheesy ’80s movie. Something to get me out of my head.” I think for a second. “How about Terminator ?”
“Sounds perfect,” Mackie says.
Amanda makes some kind of pillow nest for us, while Mackie grabs my remote control, and outside of being with Trevor, I’ve never felt so safe.
“How’s Trevor?” I ask.
“I don’t know exactly. Struggling, but that’s to be expected. Hyla was with him until she left this morning, but the guys will be checking on him. He’ll be okay. Focus on you for right now,” Amanda says.
That’s hard, even though I know it’s what I need to do.
“I need a brownie.”
Amanda laughs and grabs the container.
I take a big bite, and I’m hit with the urge to cry again. This is how Rae takes care of people. She feeds them and makes sure they know they’re loved. Even from a distance, I feel her energy here with me.
Mackie and Amanda settle in next to me, but before Mackie gets the movie going, there’s another knock on the door.
Gran sticks her head in. “Hey, honey. I just spoke to Jacinta.”
I sit straight up. “And?”
She pushes the door open and walks all the way inside. “They got the DNA sample from him. Now we wait.”
Something about Amanda and Mackie being here with me and then hearing those words awakens something inside me. This is not who I am. I will not give in to the darkness. I will not let it dim my light.
“Gran, can you open the curtains?”
Trevor
I’m a moping, mumbling, cranky as fuck bastard.
Mom and Hyla came back to the apartment with me yesterday. While Mom left last night, Hyla left this morning. Now I’m sitting around in a pair of sweats with no shirt, my beard untamed, looking through Chelsea’s romantasy books, and wondering how badly I’ve screwed up every part of my life.
This might be rock bottom.
A knock on the apartment door surprises me, but doesn’t lift my mood. The only person I want to see wouldn’t knock. Maybe it’s Robbie here to tell me to get the fuck out. Though I haven’t seen his car since everything happened.
It’s a lot of effort to get off the couch, but when a second, firmer knock comes, I force myself to do it.
I throw the door open, and I don’t know who I was expecting to see, but I wasn’t expecting Nick Ardito to be standing in my doorway.
“Gonna invite me in, or do I have to beg?”
I move to the side because words don’t come.
“I guess I’ll take it.”
He walks in and drops his bag on the floor as I close the door behind him.
“What are you doing here?” I finally ask.
He walks over and throws his arms around me. “This. You’ve shown up for me at the rockiest of bottoms. Now I’m here for you.”
I dislike the tears that well in my eyes because I’m sick as fuck of crying. How do my eyes still have tears? Pathetic asshole has been my setting since Tuesday night.
“Now,” he says, giving me a shove. “Go take a shower. You smell like ass. I’ll make us some lunch. Turkey club is still your favorite, right?” He nods to the grocery bag next to his backpack.
“Yeah.”
“I’ll have them ready by the time you’re done.”
I stare at him blankly for a second. “Thank you.”
He smiles and gives a quick nod. “Go on. I can smell you from here.”
A slight smile curves at my lips despite the ache in my chest.
It shouldn’t surprise me for a second that Nick came here. He’s always shown up for me. When my dad died, he was the one who broke through the haze around me. He lost his mom when he was really little, and he made it a point to come spend time with me because he knew how I felt and he wanted to help.
Nick and I have been friends forever, but that was when we grew closer. Our bond deepened through high school, and whenever my childhood best friend ditched me, Nick was always there to cheer me up, take me out, get me smiling again.
I take a quick shower, letting the hot water soothe some of the tight muscles in my back, then make my way out to the living room where Nick is sitting with sandwiches plated up and the first Terminator movie queued on the TV.
“Remember when we discovered this movie and had to watch it every single sleepover?” he asks.
I laugh at that as I pick up my sandwich. “Oh, yeah. I think my mom was ready to throw the DVD away.”
“Thank God for streaming,” he says with a smile, then starts the movie.
We get comfortable on the couch and eat our sandwiches in silence. When we’re finished, I lean back against the couch and run my hand through my hair.
“How did you deal with this with Leigh?”
Before they were married, Leigh went through some rough stuff that led to some distance between her and Nick.
He blows out a breath. “Well, it’s a little different. Leigh was pushing me away, but from what Hyla said”—because of course she called him—“Chelsea isn’t doing that.”
“No. She openly said she needed some time to process. That’s more than fucking fair.”
“It is.”
“I just don’t know what process means? Process how she feels that my former roommate raped her? Process how she feels about me getting into a fight and getting arrested in defense of her? Process how she feels that the guy who raped her essentially said I helped him get away with it? Or maybe it’s to process how best to break up with me—”
“Stop.” Nick’s voice is commanding in the way I only ever hear him use with his three-year-old son. “Hyla told me… everything. And I don’t for one second think that Chelsea is figuring out how to break up with you. Her trauma was just thrown back in her face, and that’s a lot to deal with.”
“But—”
“No. No buts. I know how you are. I know how you care. And I know how you blame yourself and take on the weight of the world. But what happened was not your fault. I’ll tell you that as many times as I need to for you to believe it. I know you feel like you failed her, but you didn’t. You have done nothing but love her, wide open, with your whole heart. She knows that. Now you have to trust that she loves you the same way.”
“What if love isn’t enough?”
“If love is enough to transcend death—and we both know it is because we still feel the love of the parents we’ve lost—then it’s enough to get you through this. It’s more than enough. You can be hurt and angry and regretful all you want, but I won’t let you give in to that darkness—that heaviness—inside you that says it’s all your fault. So shut up.”
With that, he gets off the couch, goes to the freezer, and brings back two pints of ice cream. The one he hands me is some kind of mint and chocolate.
“Sorry. It’s not Mint-Ting-A-Ling, but it’ll have to do. And if you’re eating, you can’t waste your breath blaming yourself.”
I let out a whisper of a laugh at that. “I hate you.”
He blows me a kiss. “Love you too.”
Nick stayed the night last night and left earlier today. While his visit helped, I’m still mopey, pissy, and a bunch of other cranky dwarves. At least I got dressed in something other than sweats and went to the grocery store today. That’s something. Still no sign of Robbie and no word from Chelsea.
I’ve wanted to call or text constantly, but she wanted space, and no matter how badly I want to apologize or talk to her or fix things, I will always respect her wishes. Even if it kills me.
With nothing else to do besides worry, stress, wonder if I’ve lost the woman I love, and rage over the fact that DJ might somehow still win in this scenario, I put on one of my favorite audiobooks earlier and started baking and cooking. Focusing on not fucking up a recipe means less brain space for intrusive thoughts and overthinking.
At least there will be plenty of treats for Chelsea to enjoy whenever she gets back.
Or for me to binge eat if she doesn’t come back.
Nope .
I dish out a piece of the soufflé I made and as many of the oven baked fries as will fit on my plate, and head out to the living room, where I turn on the TV and scroll through streaming services, hoping for something to catch my interest, but nothing does.
I’m close to putting on Terminator 2 when my phone goes off.
As usual, hope soars through me then promptly dies when I don’t see Chelsea’s name on the display. Instead, it’s a text from Rae.
Rae: Hey, so Sarah and Joel had a thing a little while ago. She left and now she’s not answering her phone. Can you just let me know if you hear from her or see her?
I growl and throw my head back. Because of fucking course. What does Sarah do when she’s hurting? Push the people who love her most away. Rae’s texting because she thinks Sarah might come here. One other safe spot away from the rest of them. But I doubt that. Alcohol is Sarah’s favorite coping mechanism.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying not to scream. The last thing I want to do tonight is deal with my ex-girlfriend’s bullshit. We’ll always be close friends, but this is not my fucking problem anymore. I have enough problems. The second I think those words, I feel like a selfish prick.
With a sigh, I read the texts again, then send a response.
Me: I haven’t heard anything, but I’ll let you know if I do. Do you want me to check downtown for her car?
Rae: Maybe if we don’t hear from her soon. I’ll let you know.
I toss my phone back on the couch and shake my head because despite what Rae said and how shitty I’m feeling, I already know what I’m going to be doing tonight. Because I care. I fucking care about the people in my life, and that drive to help however I can won’t let me sit here for long.
Hauling drunk people around is not my favorite activity, yet here I am on a Friday night, dragging my ex out of a bar so I can take her back to her current boyfriend. That is just par for the course of this shitty week.
How has it only been three days since I was sitting in the front seat of my car, having a conversation with Chelsea about having kids?
Before everything was completely fucked up.
Nick may not have let me say it was my fault, but he wasn’t there. He didn’t see the look in her eyes—he doesn’t have to live with the guilt I’m drowning in.
How could Chelsea forgive me for potentially helping the guy who raped her?
There’s a thread of hope still dangling inside me, but it’s fraying with every day she doesn’t come home or reach out. I want to go to her, but I’ve watched my friends fuck up enough shit that I’m scared to do that.
What if I push her before she’s ready to talk and she ends things?
I’m running out of arguments for why she won’t break up with me.
Who am I kidding? It would be what I deserve.
And this… this has got to be part of my punishment too.
I sigh in relief when we finally get to my car.
I throw the passenger door open and look down at Sarah. “Get in.”
She looks at me for half a second, then flops into the seat. “That takes me back.”
“What?”
“You being bossy. Demanding. Is that still your thing?”
I grip the car door, trying not to scream. Funny how that was always my thing with her, but with Chelsea, I actually prefer submitting. I love what we do no matter what, but when she’s in control, I’m more present and not on.
Every part of me is better with her.
I’d give anything to have her in my arms right now. To go home and find her waiting there.
Fuck .
The only answer I give Sarah is, “Put your seatbelt on.” Then I shut the door and get around to the driver’s side, throwing myself into the seat and slamming the seatbelt into place.
“Are you mad at me?” she asks, like a little kid who’s just been scolded.
I grunt as I put the car in drive and get us out of the parking lot.
“I’m mad about a lot of things,” I say after a minute.
She reaches over and runs her hand over my thigh, giving it a squeeze at a spot she really fucking shouldn’t.
“Jesus Christ, Sarah.”
I lift her hand and put it back on her lap. I know she didn’t mean anything by it, but it still pisses me off. It pisses me off that I’m dealing with her drunken bullshit because she’s shutting everyone in her life out while I’m desperately hoping that I’m not losing the girl I love.
“What?” she asks in confusion. “I used to calm you down. We were good together once, right? Till I ruined it?”
Oh, fuck. This is bad.
Sarah was always firm about why we ended. It wasn’t right. It took me some time to agree on that, but I eventually understood, and I get it even more now. I know it killed her to end it when she did since we were each other’s first everything, but that she’s still holding on to how hurt I was four years ago?
I’m still annoyed, but I soften my voice. “You didn’t ruin it. We weren’t right. We both know that now.”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“Everything,” she whispers.
My heart breaks. I wish I had something to say to that, but I don’t. And maybe that’s a place where Sarah and I are similar because we both want to protect the people we love. We both blame ourselves for everything. We just go about it in different ways.
I flex my hand on the steering wheel, struggling for words, but still don’t find any.
We settle into silence after that, and my only goal now is to get her home and back to Joel in one piece. By tomorrow, she’ll be in a completely different state and want to fix this.
We’re more than halfway to the lake house when she grabs my arm.
“Trevor. Pull over.”
“What?”
“Stop the car. I’m going to be sick.”
“Of course you are.” Luckily, we’re on a country road, so it’s easy to pull over in some grass.
She flings the door open as I put the car in park, then she’s puking everywhere.
Again, that anger roils inside me. Because with all the love and support she has in her life, she’s still doing this shit. I reach over and pull her hair back as she continues puking.
“Jesus, Sarah. What the fuck are you doing?”
I let her hair go as she sits up and wipes her mouth, looking at me.
“Why is this your default?” I yell. So mad. At her. At myself. At fucking life. “Haven’t you learned by now this only hurts everyone else? I just don’t get it. I’m over here clinging to my relationship for dear life, praying that something I did before I even met her doesn’t end it, and you’re trying to throw away a relationship with a man who has loved you”—my voice breaks—“probably before I ever did.”
She shuts her door and leans back against the seat, tears trickling down her cheeks as I pull back on the road.
Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. Maybe it was too far. Maybe I shouldn’t have been the one to drag her ass out of that bar when I’m this ugly combination of hurting and pissed at the world. But she has to wake up and see what’s right in front of her. And I’m so mad that she has everything and is pissing it away while there’s a good chance I’ve fucked up my life and my relationship, and I have no idea how to fix any of it. If I even can.
Sometime between the puke session and getting to the development the lake house is in, Sarah passed out. Not just sleeping, but drunk passed out. So when I get back to the lake house, I end up finagling her out of the car and carrying her up the stairs.
Joel swings the door open and runs out as I get to it, taking Sarah from my arms.
“What happened?”
Sarah is leaning into his chest and muttering something, half still sleepy drunk as I follow them into the house.
“She was at the bar doing shots.” I almost wince at my words. Joel is hurting, and it’s a pain I’ve been through. A pain I’m feeling again now—in a different way and on a whole new level. Only my pain is my own fucking fault. But as the person who wants to help my friends and make things okay, I tell him, “For what it’s worth, she feels bad. And she thinks it’s all her fault.”
“What else is new?” he mutters, then begins the process of taking her upstairs as I stand there, numbly, watching.
“Hey,” Rae says, stepping in front of me. “Thank you for bringing her back.”
“Of course.”
She looks at me for a moment, then gives me a quick hug before following Joel upstairs.
I close my eyes and lean against the closed door behind me, pinching the bridge of my nose. I’d laugh in misery over how fucked up this all is, but that makes me want to cry.
A hand clamps on my shoulder. “Thanks for finding her.”
I open my eyes and look at Aaron, who gives me a grateful smile.
No matter how annoyed I am at her behavior, it wasn’t going to stop me from looking for her. She was my best friend before she was my girlfriend, and after our breakup, we found that friendship again. I don’t want to see her suffer. Just like I don’t want to see any of my friends suffer. If I can help, I always will. At least I can help someone, even if I can’t do shit about my own problems.
“It’s fine,” I say.
“But you’re not.”
I open my mouth, then close it again. Because I don’t have anything to say to that. I’m not fine. I can’t even pretend I am.
“Have you talked to her at all?” Aaron asks.
I shake my head. “She said she needed space.” Probably space to figure out how best to get away from me. Whether she ever wants to see me again, or will just have Robbie kick me out of the apartment. At least I can always move back in here.
“Hey, Aaron!” Rae calls from upstairs.
“You should go deal with that. They need support right now.”
“So do you.”
“I’ll be fine,” I mutter.
“I call bullshit,” Miles says, walking up behind Aaron. He smacks Aaron’s arm. “Go take care of them.”
Aaron looks at me again, then nods. “Call me if you need anything.”
“Sure.” Not that I’m going to. He’s got enough going on.
Miles grabs his coat. “Come on.”
“Where?”
“We’re going back to your place and getting all the pizza we can eat. Which between the two of us is probably at least three large ones, right?”
I almost laugh at that. “You don’t have to.”
“I know I don’t have to. I want to. You show up for everyone. Let someone show up for you.”
My heart cracks a little more. I finally found my person to let in, let take care of me, and now…
“Yeah, okay.”
“Such a warm invitation,” he says with a smile. “But I’ll take it. Let’s go.”
“Important question,” Miles asks as we lounge on the couch watching Terminator 3 . “How many times have you watched this movie in the last three days?”
I glance at him.
“I plead the fifth.”
“Is it a comfort or a punishment at this point?”
“Fuck off. I love these movies.”
“If you say so.”
“Did you just come here to kick me when I’m down?”
He grabs the remote and pauses the movie, a serious look on his face.
“I’m here to make sure you don’t drown in the darkness. Friends don’t let friends be miserable alone. And contrary to what you think, you need support.”
“Do I? I mean, I made my bed.”
“No. Fuck that. That’s what the little voice in your head says because you have an incessant need to help and protect people at all times.”
I side-eye him because that hit a little too close to the head of the nail.
He chuckles. “Yeah. I know how that feels because I’m the same way. You and I are more alike than you realize.”
“So wouldn’t you blame yourself too?”
“Of course I would.”
“Then… exactly my fucking point. I shouldn’t have—”
He holds up his hand. “I would blame myself, but would you blame me?”
I open my mouth. Close it again. Because I don’t know.
“I still blame myself for what happened with Rae,” he says. “I watched that guy grab her on the dance floor, and my worst regret is that I didn’t see she was alone before that. That I had to choose between fighting three guys or going to get help. I still wonder if I made the right choice.”
“That wasn’t your fault,” I say firmly.
“And this wasn’t yours. We are always harder on ourselves. Things that weigh on me are things I’d never ever place on my friends. You’re feeling the weight of this because you care for Chelsea and you feel like you failed her, but what happened to her wasn’t your fault. You know who’s responsible for raping someone? Rapists.”
“But—what if I helped him get away with it?”
He sighs and shakes his head.
“You didn’t. I’d bet on it. You’re a good guy, Trev. Believe that for a second.”
“What if I was a good guy to the wrong person? Because I’ve been over it in my head again and again. I remember times that I covered for him. And I remember the campus police showing up at my door. They asked if he was there, if he’d been at some party the night before, and I can’t remember when that was. I told them I thought he was home the night before. I lied to the campus police and it might’ve been about her. There’s no coming back from that.”
“Somehow, I don’t think it’s as bad as you think it is.” He’s quiet for a moment. “And you can come back from anything if you’re willing to fight.”
Maybe. Maybe I could. But it’s not just me who has to be willing to fight. It’s Chelsea. After everything that’s happened, I wouldn’t blame her if fighting for me is the last thing she’d ever want to do.
Miles left around midnight after some convincing from me that he’s more needed at the lake house.
It’s true.
But I also needed to be alone. I needed time to think.
That’s some bullshit, because I’ve done very little thinking.
Instead, I’ve stayed up half the night researching how arrest records affect your ability to get a job and talking myself out of calling or texting Chelsea even though I really, really want to.
Maybe tomorrow , I tell myself, as I finally throw my phone to the side and pull the covers over me, sinking into the cold loneliness.
Maybe tomorrow she’ll come home. But knowing my luck, things are only going to get worse.