Chapter 29
Drew
I
‘m never taking the elevator again.
Between it almost killing me to all the times before. It just makes me think of Emmett.
Emmett, who has been in the right place at the right time so many times, but then kicked me out of his apartment after kissing me.
And he kicked me out for another girl.
Who was she?
Did he have a girlfriend?
How could I be so stupid and assume he wanted what I wanted.
Wanted to know me, wanted to spend time with me, wanted to see where this thing of ours could go.
When I got back into my apartment after storming out of Emmett’s place, I kicked off my shoes and took my phone out of my pocket. I connected my phone to the speaker in my kitchen and turned on some music, so I could distract myself from how stupid I felt. I didn’t turn the volume up too loud though.
I didn’t want to piss off my neighbor.
Because that’s all he is.
My rude, angry downstairs neighbor.
I found a punk rock playlist on Spotify because I needed something a little harder, a little edgier, a little angrier, to match my mood.
As I went to click the first one I could find, I heard a muffled voice, a familiar muffled voice, coming from below me. It only took me a second to realize who the voice was coming from, and I had never heard it in that kind of manner.
Who is was girl? And why was he yelling at her?
I found myself kneeling to the ground, trying to make out what he was saying, to no avail. Then I realized what I was doing and stood up, shaking my head at myself for being so stupid, and headed to the bathroom to shower.
I needed to wash Emmett’s smell from my clothes, his kiss from my lips, his touch from my skin. What he was doing down there was none of my business.
Aside from that moment, I didn’t hear any other noise from Emmett’s apartment the rest of the night.
I turned on the shower and undressed, finding my naked reflection before, riddled with the lingering feeling of Emmett’s hands on me, even if it was just over my clothes.
My skin pebbled at the coolness of my apartment, for once thinking maybe 65 degrees was too cold after feeling what it felt like in Emmett’s arms.
I listened to the water running behind me, and closed my eyes. The drops of water hitting the shower floor behind me mixing with the music that was playing from my kitchen allowed me to focus on the noises around me rather than the thoughts in my head or the tingle on my skin.
My mind then struck me with unexpected thought.
When Emmett and I were alone in his apartment, when he pulled me in, when he kissed me, there was no noise around us. No TV background noise, no music, no anything. Just the silence surrounding us with the sound of our breathing.
I turned away from the mirror before me and got into the shower, feeling the warmth fall over me, but not comforting me like Emmett did.
As I felt the water fall onto my skin, I thought to myself, how did I get here?
The same thought I had two weeks ago.
I’m brought back to that Friday morning. Back to before I went to school, and my biggest struggle was whether or not I should text Reed. Whether or not I should call my parents or my brother or Lacey. Whether or not I needed someone to make me feel less lonely.
So much has changed since then, and I have to let myself feel it. I have to let myself deal with what happened because I’m not always going to have someone come to my rescue.
Emmett won’t be there the next time the elevator stalls or my toaster goes off. He won’t be there when I’m consumed with fear, those moments so intense they steal my breath and hold it hostage.
I washed my hair and my body and rinsed everything that I didn’t want to take with me into tomorrow. I got out of the shower and into bed that night, ready to feel what I’ve been pushing down deep inside me when I woke up the next morning.
It’s was time to actually click on the link.
***
It’s been a week since I last saw Emmett, but it has been a good week. I’ve started my journey of uncovering the memories from that day in my classroom, the memories I’ve tried so hard to ignore.
I’m finally ready to admit that I’m in, what professionals call, the “aftermath” of a tragedy, and I’m on the road to recovery.
After coming home from my evening at Emmett’s, I fell asleep to Captain Marvel, finally picking back up with watching the Marvel movies in chronological order.
The next morning, I woke up from a sleep free of nightmares, so I went into the day feeling like I accomplished something.
Even if it was just making it through the night.
My heart, on the other hand, still needed some rest, and I felt like staying in bed after the emotionally-draining day I had before was in order.
I moved on to Marvel movie #5, The Incredible Hulk, playing it in the background as I looked through the resources that my school district sent staff. I skipped movies #3 and #4 on the MCU list, Iron Man and Iron Man 2, because I knew they would lead me to think about someone I had no business thinking about.
I read about the stages we go through after a trauma like a school shooting, and I read stories of other survivors.
That morning, I made the decision to find an expert, a therapist, to help me through my emotions surrounding what happened. I had never been to a therapist before, but I dove in head first and got lucky when I found Dr. James had an opening for an initial appointment for the upcoming Tuesday, the first Tuesday of the new year, the day we would’ve gone back to school if the district didn’t extend the break.
For New Year’s Eve, I stayed home, called Lacey, called my parents, even called my brother, and wished them all a Happy New Year at midnight. I had planned to stay up and finish the next Marvel movie on my list, Avengers: Age of Ultron, but I was asleep within the first fifteen minutes of the brand new year, hoping that whatever this year brought would be better than how last year ended.
My first therapy session was mostly an opportunity for Dr. James to get to know me and why I wanted to start therapy. Due to the many aspects of my life to unpack, the shooting being the priority we are starting with, we decided to set up weekly sessions, so I have my second appointment with her scheduled for today. I need to log on for my therapy session at noon, grateful for the virtual option which allows me to be comfortable in my own space.
Because we have these extra two weeks in January off before we start the discussions on the best way for staff and students to return to the middle school, I don’t have many places to go, which is fine by me. The furthest I’ve been going lately is a mile or two down the road to get some fresh air.
Since I have about 30 minutes before I have to be at my computer, I grab my headphones and put on some tennis shoes before heading out the door. I walk out of my apartment, walking right past the elevator to find the stairs. I still haven’t been in the elevator since the night Emmett and I got stuck.
The night he made me waffles.
The night we kissed.
The night he asked me to leave.
I feel a twist in my heart as I walk past.
I thought I would have heard from him, a text, a knock on my door, something, but I haven’t even heard him in his apartment.
It feels like he was a ghost, a presence that was there for me when I was at my lowest, helping me get to where I needed but then disappeared once I figured out I had to take my healing into my own hands.
At least I’m used to being alone.
I get back from my walk with a few minutes to spare before needing to login to join my virtual therapy session. I’m a little nervous as I sit down in front of my computer because, the last time Dr. James and I talked, I told her how I had been keeping off of the news and social media and refusing to talk about any details of the shooting with friends or family. She said it might be a good idea to start small going into the next few days, seeing what I feel comfortable with.
The session goes well, but I’m left feeling a little uneasy about my “homework.” Dr. James wants me to try reading about what happened or watching some news reports from the day. She said that it might be hard to expose myself to it all, especially because of how deep I buried my memories, thoughts, and feelings about it. It will be anything but easy to learn about the injuries and deaths at the hands of the person who did it, but Dr. James said to try it and notice the emotional and physical reactions that may trigger.
She reminded me that I am safe, even if my mind tries to trick me into thinking I’m not.
Safe…
Such a foreign concept to me now.
A school is supposed to be safe.
A classroom is supposed to be safe.
How do we live in a world where students as young as four and five years old have to practice what they would do if someone open fired in their school?
How do we live in a world where students have to know the difference between a soft and hard lockdown.?
How do we live in a world where students learn how to arm themselves with materials in their classroom?
How do we live in a world where students learn how to stay calm and cry silently in case the intruder could hear the panic?
How do we live in a world where the right to bear arms is more important than the right for children to feel safe at school?
Are we really safe?
After confirming our session for this time next week, I log off. I close my computer feeling proud of myself for having the strength to face what I’m facing head on and on my own, but I’m still clouded with the anger that has been slowly building about what happened to us that day.
I decide I’ve had enough healing for today, and I want to spend the rest of the day reading.
I’ll get to my homework tomorrow.
Before heading to my To Be Read shelf to start a new book, I put two Eggo waffles into the toaster. I tell myself that I’m not afraid of the toaster popping them out when I least expect it anymore. Even though this is my first time trying since last time. I’m hopeful my mind won’t take me back to my classroom when I hear a loud noise or am caught off guard.
As I grab the icy circles from the package and put them in the slots, pushing the lever down to heat them up, I’m reminded of how shitty these waffles are compared to the ones Emmett made.
I check my phone on the off chance I have a text from him waiting for me. It’s a silly thought, and I’m aware.
To my nonexistent surprise, the answer is no.
No text from Emmett.
The same answer I’ve told myself all week when I check my phone.
Should I text him?
Maybe he’s giving me space?
But, I’m the one who was wronged in this situation… Right?
I don’t know.
I have no idea what it’s like to be in whatever this is with someone. Especially someone who isn’t Reed. I just always followed Reed’s lead when I wasn’t sure how to deal with something that came up in our relationship. The only decision I made was the one that ended our relationship.
After a few minutes, my waffles pop out, making me jump, but I take a deep breath in and a deep breath out, and I feel okay.
I slather some butter on both and eat them off a paper towel as I lean back against my counter.
I finish the first one which helps subside my hunger, but I think of how bland and boring it is compared to the ones I had last week. Thinking about that day, I feel myself getting mad at what happened with Emmett, and I lose my appetite, the frustration blinding me from the other events that unfolded that day.
I throw away the second waffle and the paper towel, wanting to talk to someone about what happened.
Or, maybe, I just want to talk to someone about something.
Forgetting my better judgement of who I should reach out to, I grab my phone and type in one of the few numbers I have memorized, even though I swore I never would again.