Chapter 26
Chapter
Twenty-Six
BLAIRE
Adjusting to the knowledge you were a murderer was trickier than I thought. I expected to be sad, upset, angry, and then to move through the rest of the stages of grief, as if I was mourning my old self.
Instead, I found myself even more desperate to forget the fact that I had forgotten.
I wanted those memories back.
I didn’t want to remember anything ever again.
Winder left early in the morning, pressing a kiss to my head, and whispering he’d be back. I didn’t know where he was going, and he didn’t offer. Sometimes, it was better for me not to know. But now I was alone in his room, with nothing but my thoughts to keep me company.
I rolled back and forth in Winder’s bed, wanting the feelings to stop, just for a moment. A minute was all I needed, a minute of feeling nothing, and then I could get back to reality.
We’re taught from a young age to numb the pain, and it’s so engrained in us we don’t even stop and think about it.
Pain medicine before a headache begins becomes an ice cube to freeze the ear before a piercing that turns into drinking before a breakup.
The funnel is right there in front of us, laid out, clear as day.
And still we fight it. Right now, I didn’t feel like fighting it.
Winder had to have something in this room to help me turn off my emotions for a second. I got to my feet, and started to scour the room.
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. My search turned up a big fat zero. Winder had nothing in his room except for piles of clothes that needed to be washed, and a ratty teddy bear I found in the closet.
I smiled, putting the teddy back into the corner I found it in. I had a feeling the teddy bear would ruin any street cred he might have, but I was willing to hold it as ammunition until the time was right.
Nothing in the bedside drawer, drug-wise at least. Everything else under the sun was stuffed in there.
I was going to have to go outside. I tapped my foot, debating my options. Winder would be pissed, but who knew when he would be back. I really didn’t want to hang out with my thoughts for any longer than I had to. They were so loud.
Outside it was. He wouldn’t even know.
I peeked out into the living room. There was only one random guy on the sofa still, snoring. He would be useless to me. Slipping out of the bedroom, I crept toward the front door, where there always seemed to be people hanging around.
Sure enough, when I swung it open wide, five or six people stared back at me.
A young guy barely out of his teens was the first to smile. He patted the rotten wood next to him. “Come pull up a bit of porch.”
I put on my best smile, hoping I wouldn’t have to join in the circle. I wanted to get what I needed and get out. I wasn’t interested in socializing any more than I had to. “I’m actually hoping I can bum a joint off you. Or anything really. I’ll take whatever you have.”
He stopped patting the step, and looked at me with curiosity. “You’re Winder’s girl, aren’t you? The one he’s keeping hidden from the rest of us.”
Winder’s girl. I didn’t know what we were, but Winder’s girl had a nice little ring to it. “Yeah. I am.”
The man narrowed his eyes. “I can’t imagine Winder would be too happy if I gave you grass.”
I rolled my eyes. “Come on. Don’t be such a buzzkill. Winder won’t mind, and he’ll probably be more mad if you don’t give me something.”
Resorting to threats wasn’t on the top of my favorite things today, but priorities changed, and apparently mine changed a lot. The ache of reality was too much to bear right now, and I wanted—no, needed—to put it all out of my mind before I screamed.
He cocked his head. “Fine. But you’re not smoking it here. And if Winder finds out about it, it’s your head, not mine.”
“Absolutely.”
He gave me the already lit joint he was holding. “You know what you’re doing?”
“Definitely.” I nodded, snatching the joint out of his hand before he could change his mind. Giving up an entire joint wasn’t something I expected from any of them, but I guessed there had to be some perks to being Winder’s girl. I wasn’t about to complain.
I hurried back into the house, cradling my joint carefully as I locked the bedroom door behind me.
Putting the joint to my lips, more confident this time than I had been at the party, I slumped to the floor with my back to the door. My only problem was not knowing how much was too much, but it was a pretty small roll, so it couldn’t do that much damage.
As I smoked, the room grew fuzzy, the sounds from the guys outside sounding further and further away. I stumbled to my feet, and rested the joint on the bedside table, before flopping back into Winder’s bed, finally at peace.
It felt safe here, safe from my thoughts. They passed by harmlessly, drifting in and out on a breeze of consciousness. I reached my hand out to grab one, but it brushed by before I could catch it. Nothing else mattered, except for the right here, right now.
It would be easier if I weren’t here. It was a lightning bolt through my chest, and I grabbed for the mean words, wanting to destroy them.
I rolled over, taking another quick hit off the still lit joint.
This time, I put it out on the bedside table, watching it make a tiny burn mark.
I smiled, kind of liking the fact I had put a permanent mark on something of Winder’s. It would be here even when I wasn’t.
It would be easier if I weren’t here. The thought didn’t hurt as much the second time. I could distance myself from the emotions, to reason with the logic.
Here was the logic: It hurt being human.
It hurt more than I ever thought possible.
It hurt not remembering major parts of my life, and it hurt when they came back.
It hurt existing in the in-between, a void of reality and fiction.
Most of all, it killed me not knowing if I was a good person or not.
Winder seemed to think I was, but he was also the first to admit people lied.
I ached so badly, and I didn’t know how to make it stop. The weed dulled the overwhelming heaviness of it, but it still lingered there in the corners of my vision, waiting to rear its ugly head the moment I sobered up.
Love. Hate. Pain. Numbness. It was everywhere, and it was eternal. It would be easier just to cut it out.
I rummaged through the chipped nightstand again. Winder had to have something useful in there.
Ha. I knew it. A pocketknife lay at the back of the drawer.
Silly Winder and his grumpy face and all those black clothes was bound to have some kind of weapon close to hand, even if he did have that cute little teddy bear hidden in his closet.
I’d have to ask him about it sometime. I flipped open the pocketknife, twirling it in the air, conducting all the thoughts racing past like my very own musical.
It would be easier.
So much easier.
Might even be easier on Winder, because he wouldn’t have to worry about digging me out of this mess. He could just coast without me.
It didn’t even seem like a painful process. The pocketknife was too bright. Too cheerful. It wouldn’t hurt me like that. It would just make me feel better. All of the aches and pains of being human would disappear.
Maybe I needed more weed, first.
I spun the knife around in my fingers. Funny how such small things could be so impactful. They somehow always were.
“Why does it smell in here?”
I bolted upright, gripping the knife in my hand. Winder stood at the door, looking pissed. “I didn’t realize you’d be back so soon.”
“So you decided to get high, alone?” Winder didn’t look happy at all, his voice tight and loud. I didn’t know what bothered him so much about me smoking. He said himself he had seen it dozens of times before. I wished he would stop talking.
I rolled my eyes. “Why are you so worried about this? It’s nothing new.”
“Because the situation has changed, Blaire. You’re not at a party anymore. You’re in danger, and what if someone came in while I was gone and you were high? What then?” He paused. “Are you bleeding?”
“What?” I followed his gaze to my wrist, where a thin line of blood welled up. “Oh. I must have bumped into something.”
I must have cut myself with the pocketknife when he surprised me, but I didn’t want to openly admit that.
He frowned. “What’s in your hands?”
“Nothing.” I stuffed the knife deeper into the bedding, as if I could hide anything from him.
“Don’t fucking lie to me, Blaire.” Winder stormed closer, wrenching my hand so the knife fell harmlessly on the bed next to me. “What the hell? What were you doing with my knife?”
“I…uh. I…” I met his thunder-filled eyes and I couldn’t stop myself from crying. “I just hurt everywhere, Winder. It all hurts so bad, and I don’t know how to stop it.”
“Oh, baby. Baby, baby, baby.” Winder tossed the pocketknife back into the drawer, and slid on the bed next to me, gathering me into his arms. “I know. I know how bad it hurts. But that’s not the solution. You hear me?”
“I just want it all to stop, Winder. I don’t want to live in this stupid void any longer.
I don’t want to hate myself for not remembering, and I don’t want to be afraid of remembering.
Where am I supposed to go from here? Where?
How am I supposed to move on with my life when I don’t even know who I fucking am?
” I sobbed, and Winder twisted me around in his lap so I faced him. He stroked my hair.
“You put one foot in front of the other. One after the next, day in, and day out, until it’s not something you have to think about anymore.
Until it becomes normal again. Things aren’t going to fall into place overnight.
It’s going to take work, and it’s not going to be easy, and yeah, it’s going to hurt. But I’d like to think you’re worth it.”