If Only You Hurt

Prologue

Fall 2012

“Grant, do you have time to talk later?” The phone is resting against my ear, and all I want is Grant here, in front of me, instead of thousands of miles away in a different country. While I wait for his response, I’m dashing across campus to a class I don’t want to be late for.

“Yeah, I have something to talk to you about too. Call me when you’re back at your apartment. The only thing I have on the agenda is a photoshoot around sunset. You should see the mountain range here. It’s magnificent.”

I can hear him rummaging through his things. Forever the multitasker, my Grant.

“Okay, sounds good. Let’s do a video chat so I can see your handsome face.” I hear him chuckle, and the sound does something to me.

“Careful, Bean, I’d think you’re catching feelings for me.” His nickname for me has always been something that warms my heart and the smile on my face is immediate.

“Imagine!” I scoff, playing it off like I could never do such a thing. Little did he know that he has always been my everything, despite me trying to fight this attraction we always had for one another.

Grant Stanley, despite what people assume, has been my best friend since we were still in diapers. He moved to my small town of Saddle Ridge, Nebraska, from California, and we’ve been close ever since. He and I were always together until he moved to New York City when we were five, and he only came back for visits during breaks in school. We were inseparable when we were babies, and even as the miles between us grew further, whenever we reconnected, we gravitated toward one another more often than not.

Our mothers are best friends, along with our older sisters. We grew tight from the beginning, and even though our families hoped for more between us, for so long, we have simply been each other’s person in the most platonic way possible. Until those lines were blurred, and now I’m standing here, counting the minutes until I can have a proper conversation with him after class.

“Laney, you still there?” He pulls me out of my thoughts, and I recover as quickly as I can.

“Yes, sorry, I’m here. Got distracted with the changing leaves.”

My little lie easily slips from my lips. I hear him laugh on the other end, and luckily, he can’t see me right now because I know he can read me like a book and he’s see right through my attempt to veer away from what I really want to talk to him about.

“So I’ll wait to hear from you, then?” he asks.

“Yes, I’ll call once I’m home. I hope you have a great day until then. Love you.”

“Love you, Bean.” Hearing him say he loves me is something I’ve grown used to. It’s something we’ve said to one another for so long, it’s automatic. But as the years have passed, my love for him has blossomed into something more, and I’m just not sure he’s on the same page as me.

We haven’t seen each other in six weeks, and each time he leaves is harder. He’s been in South America since he left the States, and I know that each day is jam-packed for him as he’s trying to get his work out there to eventually become a successful travel photographer. He has to grow his portfolio as he travels, and I can’t wait to see the photos from his recent trip. I’m in my second year at Wyoming U, finally back on my usual hectic schedule after being home in Saddle Ridge this past summer. My hometown is quiet and quaint, and even if I love my small little hometown, I long for the busy nature of my college life.

Once I hang up with Grant, I see the time and realize I better hustle to this class. I’m taking an intro to psychology class to see if it’s an area of study I’d be interested in. My sister has always known what she wanted to do in life since she was a little girl, but I’ve always been into too many things.

My mom says I’m more of a gypsy, and I let the wind guide me. I am more artsy than my family members, and luckily, I grew up in a house that let me follow my own path. Too bad I have no clue what path that is while I inch closer to needing to declare a major.

The leaves are already changing as summer is quickly flowing into fall, and I know I’ll soon be bundled in layers of clothes while I make my way through campus. I better soak up these last few mornings of warmth before I will be itching for a hot coffee and mittens.

As I make my way up the stairs, I run into Artie, a friend I made last year in the dorms. His smile is from ear to ear, as he started dating one of our dormmates, Eugene, this past summer. I haven’t seen my friend happier.

“Hey, Artie. How was the weekend? Did you end up at that Sigma party on Friday?” I ask as he holds the door to the class we are both in together.

“Yeah, for about an hour. It was a little lame, so we went back to my place and hung out there.” He waggles his eyebrows, and I already know that anything beyond that would be too much information for me. I do not need to hear my friend brag about his sex life, while mine is non-existent and might be for some time now.

Our school is older, with so much history, and this class takes place in a part of the school that doesn’t have auditorium seating. The student body isn’t composed of many students, so even for an intro to psych class, it isn’t too crowded. We grab seats in the middle and begin getting our laptops out of our bags.

“Eugene is meeting me for lunch over at Hanley’s. Wanna join?” Artie is addicted to this little sandwich place that is located on campus and a fun spot to lounge around between classes.

“Yeah, I think so. I only have this class today, but I can hang out for a little while. I have a call with Grant later, so I don’t want to miss my window to video him before he has to head out to photograph more of the landscape.” I’m focused on getting my materials out as I speak, but the moment I look over, I see Artie giving me his mischievous smile.

“Are you going to tell him?” Artie is my closest friend here, and I know that he wants me to talk to Grant and tell him everything going on.

“I will. I just hate that he has to hear me talk about this over the phone. But even for the few hours I’ve carried this, it’s already driving me mad. I must tell him and see where things go, you know?”

“Finally, let’s see where sexy Grant lands. Most likely in your bed the moment you divulge all your secrets!” I smack him, and he just laughs. I love Artie, but he’s ever the romantic. He says this whole friendship I’ve had with Grant is a ruse for something so much better. He says it is a whole friends-to-lovers scenario that he can’t wait to watch unfold.

The moment I’m about to make a face, that’s when I hear it.

Pop! Pop! Pop!

The moment I hear the sounds echoing down the halls, my brain has a hard time registering what they could be. It isn’t until I hear the screams in the not-so-far distance that I realize what is happening. Those who have taken a seat in class begin moving toward the doors, trying to see what’s going on.

I must be stunned in place because Artie is grabbing me by my forearms and pulling me out of my chair. I start to look around, and students are now trying to move desks and anything heavy enough to keep the intruder from entering this class.

“Artie, what do we do?” I can’t help the panic that’s lacing my voice. I’m scared, and I we”re trapped in this old room.

“Laney, just breathe.” My friend sounds so composed, and I have no idea how he’s managing that. Artie begins to survey the room, and I don’t know what he’s looking for. The windows here are old and far too heavy to lift up for us to climb out. Plus, we have no idea what’s going on outside.

He begins dragging me toward a closet on the other side of the room. I hear the sounds of gunfire getting louder, cluing me in that the person is getting closer to this room. My panic is at an all-time high.

We reach a door in the back corner right when I hear movement banging from the entrance of the classroom. There are students holding the heavy furniture so the door won’t open, but whoever is on the other side seems to be stronger than those trying to keep them outside. Right before Artie shoves me through the doorway, I see the shooter start to make their way into the room.

Artie, myself, and some fellow students shuffle into a connected classroom and begin to scan our surroundings in hopes of finding another way out. I’m about to tell Artie to go out a door to our right when we realize someone is trying to come in.

Artie whispers to me, “I’m going to go help. You stay here until help arrives.”

Before I can protest, I’m shoved into the small closet. I try to twist the knob to no avail, hoping to get back out and go with my friend, but I hear him speak to me through the door, where he must be holding the knob.

“Laney, please listen to me. Do not open this door. I’m walking away from this spot so the person doesn’t think someone is in here. Stay put until help arrives.” If my friend is scared, he doesn’t let on.

Artie, the big teddy bear who has the biggest smile and the warmest heart, always looking out for others, is doing all he can to keep me calm when he should be freaking out right now. I hear commotion on the other side, and Artie’s words are no longer bringing me comfort. This space is small, and Artie must have deduced he wouldn’t fit in here, his large frame too big for both of us.

The darkness is doing a good job of surrounding me with the inability to see anything in front of me, but the sounds I’m absorbing from my surroundings are engulfing me in absolute horror. This can’t be happening. I need to get out and help my friend. I need to protect him. Why did he shove me in here? I’ve never felt so alone and helpless.

The screams are the worst part. I’ve ducked into the corner of the closet, and soon I hear Artie’s voice, not right outside the doors of the closet but close enough that I can make out what he’s saying.

“Please. You don’t have to do this. I promise you can go. I don’t want anything to do with this. Please just go. I…” And that’s when I hear another sound of shots, and then there’s silence.

I cover my mouth; sobs threatening to escape and alert the shooter of my whereabouts. I”m scared of the sounds I will make if I let my panic-ridden screams out. I think my friend is hurt, and I’m stuck in this fucking closet. I’m about to move toward the door, trying to assess the horror that has occurred on the other side, when I see two feet approach under the space between the floor and the door. I stay as still as humanly possible while my heart feels like it’s going to beat out of my chest.

My heart is beating so hard and fast that I’m surprised it’s not giving away my location. I have never felt such fear engulf my body. I can sense the moment this monster is about to open the door; his hands are messing with the knob to open it when someone calls over, grabbing the attention of the person trying to find me.

The shooter begins to run away, his steps moving further away from where I am hiding, and soon I hear people screaming in the other direction, where I assume the shooters are attacking other students.

Once the sounds are far enough away that I hope I’m able to emerge from this closet, I begin to inch closer to the closet door. With shaky hands, I twist the doorknob and slowly let light seep in from the classroom.

It’s eerily quiet out here, and I hear some people moaning and moving slowly. I see some crawling toward others who I assume are wounded. I see a trail of blood before I see who it belongs to. The only thought I have is needing to find Artie.

I follow the blood trail as it’s going toward my right, which is behind the door as I’m opening it. I look over and see Artie clutching at his chest with one hand while trying to pull his upper body against the wall behind him. He’s breathing shallowly, tears running down his cheeks.

All my fears of being discovered are out the door as I rush to Artie’s side. I pull my cardigan off my body and press it against his wound, but the blood is coming faster than I can suppress. I press the fabric against him, and Artie’s hand engulfs mine, blood staining his skin to the point I can’t even tell where it begins or ends.

“Laney, it’s okay,” Artie says, his voice soft, as if he”s trying not to expend too much of his energy. ”I love you. Please tell Eugene I love him. I never told him. I wanted to so many times, but I didn’t.”

I shake my head as my friend is gasping for breath. I can tell he doesn’t have much time, but this can’t be it. We’re not even twenty years old yet. We have so much time ahead of us. So much life we have to live.

“You can tell him yourself. I’m going to help you.” I keep my hand on his chest, my head whipping side to side to see if there is anyone who can help us.

“Lane, no one is coming right now. Promise me you’ll stay safe.” I can’t form words as he speaks to me, the lump in my throat growing the longer I see the life of my friend slip between my fingers. The tears are freely falling from my eyes, my vision is blurred, and I am unable to grasp the reality in front of me.

I move myself closer to Artie, then slowly position his upper body over my legs. I keep my one hand clutching the fabric against his skin while he has his hand over mine. My free hand moves through his hair. We just keep looking at one another. No words need to be spoken. But soon, I feel his hand lose a little bit of strength.

I look into his eyes, “I love you, Artie. You’re one of the best people I know. Please don’t leave me.”

Right then, he tries to give me a smirk, much like he does when he talks about Eugene, and then I see him take his last breath. The tears are streaming down my face, and I don’t know how long I sit there with my friend in my lap, his lifeless body getting colder with each moment that passes.

I keep stroking his hair, waiting for someone to come help him, even though deep down, I know he’s gone.

Soon, I feel a hand grasp my shoulder, and I snap my head up, my arm coming up instinctively in fear of attack. It’s then I see a police officer with SWAT gear waving toward another officer, yelling something.

The thing is, I see his lips moving, but I can’t process any sounds around me. I must be in shock. I feel like I’m in a movie where people are moving in slow motion, and the sound has been muted. Unfortunately, this is real life, and my friend is dead in my arms.

I see a paramedic in front of me, talking to me, but I still can’t seem to process any of the words being said to me. And just as quickly, I snap out of it. I hear the commotion, and I see the officer trying to remove my hand from Artie’s body, but that’s when I begin to hold on tighter.

“No, don’t touch him. He’s hurt. Please. You’re hurting him!” I’m pleading with them to let Artie go. I don’t want him to lose more blood. It’s then I see the look of pity cross the officer’s face. The paramedic puts her fingers on Artie’s exposed wrist, I assume to feel for a pulse, and I see her eyes cast down.

“Sweetie, I’m so sorry,” she says to me, and I begin to shake my head; now the sobs are not silent but full of panic. I start screaming while the paramedic begins to pull me up, away from my closest friend here.

“You’re hurt. You’re bleeding.” I look down and see the puddle of blood under where I was sitting. It’s then I realize it’s not Artie’s blood that I was sitting in.

I start shaking my head even more. No, no, no, no. This can’t be happening. Today was going to be a good day.

The shooter took everything from me today. All the good is gone along with the future I had thought was going to hold my everything.