12. Rowan
ROWAN
The anniversary of Adam’s death dawns bright and cheery. Sunlight mocks me through the gaps in the closet door; a reminder that life is going on. That the world is still turning.
But Adam isn’t here.
And he never will be again.
I take another glug from the bottle in my hand and ignore the hammering on my door. So far, Clay, Marcy, Cam, and Shane have taken turns knocking. Marcy spent thirty minutes shouting through the thin wood, but I ignored her. I crawled into my closet so all I could hear was muffled concern.
I can’t face them. Not today.
Even Nugget isn’t here. I considered it, but decided against it. I didn’t want him to be stressed out by seeing me in this state.
Besides, I don’t deserve any comfort. Dropping Nugget at the boarding facility for the next twenty-four hours was for the same reason I refused to open the door to my friends.
I deserve to suffer alone.
Just as Adam did.
I wonder briefly how Adi is spending today. Adam’s older sister doesn’t live in the area. I haven’t seen her since the day Adam was lowered into the ground, the two of us standing shoulder to shoulder as we watched his casket disappear.
She hasn’t reached out since then. I haven’t either. It’s too painful. Talking to Adi would mean facing what happened.
I’m not ready to do that yet.
I kicked Samson out last night at nine. I didn’t want him here when the clock struck twelve. When I knew the memories would make themselves known.
I haven’t tried fighting them. Not today. Tequila is all that’s getting me through. Even that isn’t enough to drown out the pain. Hasn’t even given me the gift of unconsciousness.
A memory assaults me, this one blurry with the passage of time.
“Hi.” A gappy-toothed boy slides into the seat beside me, offering a tentative smile. “I’m Adam.”
A new friend. Mom was right. Middle school is going to be a fresh start. We’re not even halfway through homeroom, and someone’s talking to me. Willingly. Without even a hint of mocking in their tone. “I’m Rowan.”
His eyes flick down to my notebook. To the ballet shoes I’ve been absently sketching in the corner while the room filled up around me. “What’s that?”
“Ballet shoes,” I say, my fingers tightening around the pencil reflexively. “I like to dance, okay? There’s nothing wrong with that.”
I’m so tense that a stiff breeze could snap me as I wait for the usual comments, the teasing that echoes in my mind.
But Adam blinks his big brown eyes slowly. “What would be wrong with that?”
“Nothing,” I mutter, still feeling defensive. “But other people think there is.”
“Then those other people are assholes.” I gape at his casual cursing, but he just grins broadly. “Don’t worry. I won’t let any of them say those things to you anymore.”
Another sob chokes out of me. He never did. He kept his word. Adam landed himself in the principal’s office with bloody knuckles on more than one occasion. Every single time, he’d been defending me.
And when it’d come time for me to return the favor, I’d let him down.
School wasn’t the only time Adam was there for me. Far from it.
Adam’s face is pale as he bursts through the door to the waiting room. At twenty, his face is losing the roundness of youth. His eyes are already full of tears as they land on me. He speaks a single word. “Rowan.”
I stand on trembling legs as he rushes forward. The sobs I’ve been holding back finally break free as he catches me. He holds me steady as I weep, his hand stroking my back.
When he speaks, his voice is hoarse, like he already knows what I’m about to say. “Is it true? Both of them?”
I nod, unable to speak. Unable to say the words aloud.
That both my parents are dead. Killed in a car accident by a drunk driver.
“I’m sorry,” Adam says, and I feel wetness on my neck. They’re my parents, but he loved them too. Just as they loved him.
Fuck, I can’t believe I’m thinking about them in the past tense.
“You’re not alone, Rowan,” Adam promises. “I’m here. I’ll be here for you every day. We’ll get through this. Together.”
He kept part of his promise. We did get through it.
But then he left me.
No, he was taken from me. I could’ve stopped it, and I didn’t.
I didn’t.
I wasn’t there for him.
I failed him.
I try to drown out the tears with another gulp of tequila, only to end up choking on it. Liquid splatters all down my chest, but I don’t give a shit. I’m already covered in snot and fuck knows what else at this point. Nothing matters. Nothing. Just that Adam isn’t here.
Because of me.
“I’m telling you, this is fucked up. I think they’re serious.”
“It is fucked up.” Adam is pacing behind me as I style my hair in the mirror. I bite my lip as uncertainty floods me. I wonder if I should call Adi, but Adam’s been insistent that we don’t involve her. He doesn’t want her to panic.
Instead, I attempt to comfort him. “I don’t think we need to be too worried. It’s just messages, at the end of the day. Whoever it is, they’re not going to show up here.”
“I just have this feeling.” Adam exhales shakily. “I can’t explain it, but I think they’re going to show up, and soon.”
I get up and wrap my arms around his waist. Really, if we had been even mildly sexually attracted to each other, this would’ve been a love story for the ages.
Sadly, that’s never happened for either of us.
This friendship we share? Well, that’s pretty fucking awesome, too.
“We’ll go back to the police tomorrow, okay?
We’ll insist the fuckers actually do something.
And if they don’t, maybe we should talk about going to The Firm instead. ”
Adam recoils. “We can’t risk that, Row. Who knows what they’ll ask for in exchange.”
“I’ll pay anything for your peace of mind,” I vow. “If it’s not just messages, then why take the risk? We can just let them deal with it. Whatever they want in return, we’ll figure it out. Okay?”
“Okay,” he says softly, holding me tightly. “You’re right. One more night won’t hurt.”
“We’ll go as soon as the station opens,” I say. “I’m going to go home now and get some sleep, but you call me if you need me, okay?”
“Sure you can’t stay?”
I want to. I almost agree, but I never sleep well here. This show is the opportunity of a lifetime. I’ve had leads in performances before, but never Swan Lake. It’s a role I’ve dreamed of since I was a child. I need to be well rested. “Not tonight, but I’ll be here first thing in the morning.”
Adam had needed me all right.
But he hadn’t had the chance to call.
Just as I hadn’t had the chance to save him. No, I’d had it, but I’d gone home instead. I’d chosen my own selfish desires over him.
Abandoning the tequila, I let the grief swallow me whole.
I sink down until I’m lying on the slightly musty carpet.
Curling myself into the fetal position, I don’t stop myself from falling apart.
I let the pain spread throughout me. Let the poison slide through my skin.
My veins. My bones. Down to my very soul.
The darkness there welcomes it with open arms. It’s been growing for a year now.
Feeding on any joy I find. Any distraction.
It takes all those moments I don’t deserve and turns them into the guilt I can’t escape.
The shame of what I did. The heart-shattering agony that consumes me with every breath I take.
Even sleep offers no reprieve. All my dreams are of Adam. Of the cavern his absence has left in my life. Of the choice I made that led to his death. The knowledge that I could’ve prevented this.
But I didn’t. I can’t go back in time. All I can do is survive.
Honestly, the only reason I’m even still here is because of Adam. I have to face each day because he wouldn’t have it any other way. I’ve already failed him once; I refuse to do so again.
Even if that’s what the darkness wants.
I curl tighter as searing pain hits my chest. Maybe if I hold myself tight enough, I’ll make it through this day.
Oh, who am I kidding? I’m not even up to the worst part yet. I have another few hours to survive before this evening, when it’ll be exactly a full year since the greatest mistake of my life. The one that cost me everything.
Bang, bang, bang.
I vaguely register that the noise isn’t coming from my front door. It’s coming from…behind me?
There are three more thuds, followed by a gruff voice. “Open up your front door, kid. Your friends are worried about you.”
Larry. I open my mouth to give him the same words he always gives me—to fuck off and mind his own business—but all that leaves my mouth is yet another sob. It echoes off the small closet, hammering back into me again and again and again.
“Fuck it, I’m worried about you,” Larry says urgently. “You can’t leave me in this state. What if I have a heart attack from stress? You want my death on your conscience?”
On any other day, that threat would work. I’d be brushing myself off and hurrying around to reassure him that I’m fine.
But today? All it does is remind me that I’m already guilty of the sin he’s accusing me of. I have Adam’s death on my conscience.
I should never have left that night.
Larry bangs his cane on the wall a few more times, shouting increasingly violent threats, but I barely hear them. The fog from a few days ago has returned. I welcome it now. I let it block out the pain. The grief. The guilt.
I don’t give a shit that it’s suffocating me. So long as it takes away everything else, I don’t care.
Even the fog can’t stop the darkness returning. They compete for my attention, attacking me from every angle until I don’t know which way is up.
Time passes. I don’t know how long. I stay in the fetal position, my throat raw from the tears that refuse to stop falling.
My body’s shivering, but I don’t bother to find a blanket.
That would involve moving. Besides, so what if I’m cold?
Adam is too. He’s six feet under, alone.
I sobbed the day they lowered the casket, just as I’m sobbing now.
A crack of light falls over my face, then a shadow. My tired eyes blink up at the huge frame filling the doorway.
Finally. The person who took Adam from me is back. He’s going to reunite us. It’ll be my reward and punishment for what happened.
The man crouches down, and my stomach sinks in disappointment. This man isn’t here to hurt me.
Samson swipes a calloused thumb along my cheekbone, catching and erasing my tears. “What’s happened?”
I don’t respond. I’m not surprised he was able to break in without me hearing him. Not like it’s the first time.
He sighs. “Fuck. I don’t like seeing you like this.”
“Then leave.” The words are coarse, like grains of sand over broken glass. The first I’ve spoken since bidding him goodbye the night before. “Go.”
“Yeah, that’s not happening.”
“Get out,” I say from between gritted teeth. “Fuck off. I don’t fucking want you here.”
Stay, my mind screams. Don’t leave me.
He taps his fingers against his thighs a few times before sighing again. Then he does the last thing I expect. He squeezes into the closet and slides down the wall until he’s sitting beside me.
I’m so surprised that I speak again. “What are you doing?”
“Sitting here,” he says quietly.
The darkness recedes slightly, taking with it the urge to argue with him. He’ll leave soon regardless. I’m going to be here for hours yet. Everyone has their limits, and I bet this situation will find Samson’s sooner rather than later.
There’s a gentle touch on my forehead. Rough fingers dust over my temple and then into my hair. I should be embarrassed when they get caught on the first knot. It’s matted with sweat, tears, and fuck knows what else.
I wait, numb, for him to pull back his hand in horror. But, again, he surprises me.
Clucking his tongue gently, his fingers go to work, carefully teasing out each knot.
My eyes flutter shut at the repetitive brushing against my scalp. There’s something soothing in the motion. In knowing that I’m not alone.
God, I’m so exhausted. Crying for hours on end will do that to a guy. That, and the regret that’s so thick in my throat I can barely breathe.
Just as I begin to doze off, another memory rises.
Thunderous applause almost deafens me as I take my final bow. My grin is ear to ear. Adrenaline has me feeling like I could do this all over again…which is good, seeing as we have performances every night this week.
Performances. Ones I have the lead role in, for the first time ever.
Even with the first one under my belt, I can’t quite believe it.
The curtain drops, and I scurry off into the wings. I’m greeted by a massive bouquet of red and white roses. They move to the side to reveal Adam’s grinning face. “There’s the superstar!”
I bat his arm playfully before hugging him tight. “Thank you. You didn’t need to do this.”
“You’re the leading man now,” he says, handing me the flowers. “You better get used to the spotlight, Rowan. It’s where you were born to be. And I’ll be here every night, cheering you on from the wings.”
“Breathe, baby.” Samson’s voice brings me back, his strong hand caressing my spine. “I know it’s hard, but you need to breathe.”
Right. I’m crying again. Hysterically, I might add. Because while I continued to dance in the spotlight, Adam was no longer waiting to greet me in the wings.
He won’t ever do that again.
Oh god. How am I meant to go on?
Another memory. Another shard in my heart.
“What do you think?” Adam says excitedly. “I just finished it.”
“Oh, Adam.” I approach the canvas, the art on it blurring as a sheen covers my vision. “I can’t believe you painted this.”
It’s me. On stage. Under the spotlight. Posing in an arabesque.
“It needs some finishing touches,” he says, reaching past me.
I bat his hand away with a hiss. “Fuck off. It’s perfect.”
He ruffles my hair. “You’re biased. You think everything I do is perfect.”
“No, I don’t. You’re annoying whenever you come to visit. You rarely put the toilet seat down, and you feed Nugget food from the table.”
Adam blows a raspberry. “I might be annoying, but you’d hate to not have me in your life.”
I roll my eyes teasingly. “I think I’ll be just fine.”
How wrong I’d been.
“It hurts,” I whisper brokenly. “It hurts.”
“What does?”
“My heart. He’s gone.”
Samson’s hand pauses on my back. “Who’s gone, baby?”
“Adam,” I choke out. “He’s dead, and it’s all my fault.”