7. Chapter 7
Chapter 7
Derek
T he choices from last night followed me the next morning when I met up with Wally at our local diner. I didn't think Faith hit me as hard as she did, but the prominent shiner on my left eye is very annoying proof of how wrong I was. I don't think it's so bad, not until Wally waves me over to the table, and his eyes widen.
"What the hell happened to you?" he asks as I slide into the booth. "I know there wasn't a fight at the party."
"Technically, there was," I admit. "The land down under isn't feeling too great this morning either," I say as I fill him in on my midnight kiss with a blast from the past.
"So she nailed you in the balls and clocked you?" he chuckles. "Remind me never to piss her off."
"It's not fucking funny," I say sternly before the waiter comes by with fresh coffee and collects our order. Wally makes no attempt to silently judge my food choice of pancakes with extra sausage. Hangover food.
"Are you going to tell me what you did to deserve such treatment?"
"It's a long story," I try waving him off.
"We've got time, brother," he leans back in his seat, giving me his undivided attention.
I sigh. "Fine. I was hanging out by the firepit in the backyard when she came out, and we started talking. Everyone had a mask on, so I didn't think I knew her. She acted like she didn't know me, so we flirted for a bit. Eventually, we go around the side of the house to get a little handsy."
"Please don't tell me you went a little too far," Wally groans.
"Oh, no, nothing like that," I shake my head. "Somewhere in there, her mask falls, and I see who she really is."
"Okay. Who was she?"
"Faith Richardson."
"Oh, now it's starting to make sense," he nods his head, knowing my history with Faith. "What happened when you saw her face?"
"I got angry," I say it like it's obvious. "Her face just reminded me of everything like it happened yesterday."
"That's understandable," he says, knowing he's had to fight his fair share of flashbacks. "But why did she deck you?"
"After the drinks I had, I didn't say the nicest things to her," I admit, but Wally's face tells me he's not buying it.
"What did you really say to her?"
Even through his mountain man beard, I can tell he's clenching his jaw, disappointed by my trying to play things down.
"A woman doesn't do what Faith did for no fucking reason," he adds. "What did you say?"
"I said she was pathetic, that she's still the reason Chelsea died, and a couple of other things I can't remember," I list off, all while staring into my half-drunk coffee mug. "You probably think I'm horrible."
"That's not what I'm thinking at all," he says, taking a long sip.
"Then what are you thinking?"
"That she should have done a lot more than kick you in the groin and give you a shiner," he replies plainly. "She should have kept going until she laid you out on the ground."
"Thanks," I say, slightly offended that my own friend would take her side.
"You've been treating that girl like a punching bag when she didn't have anything to do with Chelsea dying," he says in a low but stern voice.
"But she –"
"What would Chelsea say if she saw you talking to Faith the way you did?" he says. "How would your fiancé feel seeing you talk to her best friend like that?"
Suddenly, my imagination summons Chelsea to the diner, but she's sitting across from me at a table, and all I see is disappointment in her baby-blue eyes. Her arms are crossed, and I know I fucked up.
"She wouldn't have appreciated it," I admit. Another thought comes to mind, and I can't help but smile because it's true. "Hell, she'd probably throw in a head slap if she was there."
"What you're doing to that girl is downright cruel. Life is too short to do that to people, especially those who don't deserve it. She lost someone too, and you haven't stopped to ask her how she's been holding up," he says. "It's one thing to lose someone you care about, but it's another to throw in survivor's guilt on top of that, especially when you have someone else blaming you for it.
"What if you heard someone blaming me for someone's death simply because I was in the car with them when it happened? Or I was the one who needed a ride that night?"
"I would get in their face and tell them to fuck off," I answer quickly.
"Because you have my back," he adds.
"I always do, and you have mine," I reply.
"Exactly. But whose defending Faith? Who has her back?"
Suddenly, a symphony of donkey noises fills my head.
I can't help but stew over Wally's words. Until our food comes out, we sit in silence. There's nothing I can say to argue with what he's placed in front of me. For years, he's let me sit in my grief, reminding me he's there if I need him, but until now, he hasn't known the full extent of my and Faith's complicated relationship, if I can even call it that.
As much as every fiber of my being wants to blame Faith just as much as the drunk driver, I know Wally is right. But it doesn't change the anger and hurt that's still there. Every time I look up, Chelsea is still sitting at that table, looking at me the same way Wally is, with quiet disappointment. Only when our food comes will Wally give me one more piece of wisdom to stew on the rest of the day.
"Look, man, I know what it's like to be angry, to be pissed off at the world, at everyone. I get it," he says. "But at some point, you have to choose to let that shit go. It's only going to eat away at you until you do. I know it's hard, but I promise you'll be better for it."
"I hear you," I reply.
The meal is eaten with stupid small talk, but it's better than being hit with heavy truth while I finish off my breakfast that I pray will take care of the brain fog still lingering from the headache that the coffee has barely touched.
When the check comes around, Wally snatches it immediately before I have a chance to get my wallet out.
"I got this one," he says. "Hangover with some tough love should be enough for you today."
"I should get my ass handed to me more often," I say, thanking him.
The tough love doesn't leave me, even when I get back to my house and stretch out across my couch.
"You know you can't deny it," she says, standing over me.
"Deny what?"
"That part of you liked kissing her, even after discovering who you were kissing."
“I didn’t… it wasn’t…”
"It's okay to admit you liked it, Derek," she says sweetly. "I'm dead. You're not. It's okay to want to be with her."
"I don't want to be with her," I say sternly, but the look she gives me tells me that we both know there's a lie entangled in my words.
It's fucked up, and I can't explain it, but Chelsea's right. As angry as I was to see Faith, there was something inside me missing the familiarity of her. For years, and I can't understand why, Chelsea's ghost keeps insisting I talk to Faith again, that I let her back into my life. Maybe it's my subconscious telling me what everyone else has been telling me for years, or maybe deep down, I know my perspective on things is harsh.
To be fair, I never considered Faith's situation until she screamed it at me. I remember nothing after the crash. I remember Chelsea kissing me and the world going black before waking up in the hospital. My last memory of her was a good one.
I wasn't burdened by seeing the severity of her injuries. Her blonde hair is never stained with red in my mind, not like it is in Faith's. Her face is free of horror. Her smile will forever be beautiful and serene to me. She'll never have a scratch on her in my mind.
The doctors said they were surprised she didn't die on impact with how damaged her head was. Faith was awake to see it all. Apparently, Faith held her hand until paramedics arrived, and that was the one thing I wish I could have had. Then again, I would be scarred by the same terrible memories that Faith has to live with for the rest of her life. I couldn't imagine going through that alone, and my heart hurts for her, for Chelsea, for this whole fucked up situation.
But I can't bring myself to let Faith back into my life.
I can't honor Chelsea's memory and pretend to be fully okay with Faith at the same time, no matter how much I feel the pull to go to her. I can't put myself through it.