Chapter 28 #2
Callie’s death wasn’t something I could have prevented.
It just wasn’t.
Day 29
Mrs Oberman’s death wasn’t my fault.
Every cell in my body still rebels against that sentence, but it’s the truth. And I need to work on accepting it.
Day 35
Today I’m angry. Really, really fucking angry.
So much of my life, stolen. Wasted. So many people close to me have been so damaged by it all. And why? Because some dude felt he wasn’t getting what he wanted, what he thought he deserved. And almost everyone in my senior class had to die for it.
I wish I could face him in person. I’d fucking kill him with my bare hands. He’s been slowly killing me for years, and enough is enough.
He’s not using me to hurt anyone else ever again.
Letters written by patient 811051, Dean Gastright, as part of Program C (located in patient file, hand written in 1:1 therapy with Dr Rakesh Sindri)
Hey, Callie .
First of all, I am so sorry, mon ange . I haven’t talked to you like this for.
..shit, years. I regret that. Every single time I’ve thought about you over the past fifteen years has been polluted by that other image I carry of you.
You know the one. Seeing the shot you took to the head has haunted me all this time, and you deserved better than that.
I should have remembered the real you, my you, not Whitmire’s you.
So I’m starting this by saying I am sorry, because I am.
I’ve missed you. So much. I can’t even begin to put that into words.
And I’d have given anything to have taken your place that night.
I promise you, if I’d seen what was coming, I would have jumped in front of you.
I’d have let that bullet rip my own head open to save you, and done it gladly without a second of hesitation.
I really loved you, beyond puppy love, beyond Cutest Couple titles, beyond what we were planning to do later that night.
A part of me will always love you, and hope that I made you as happy as you made me. Because you did, Cal, you really, really did. Every single day.
I know there’s no way I can ever really know this, but I honestly think you and I would have made it, as a couple.
Gone the distance and beaten the odds. We were so in sync, so wrapped up in each other.
I believe in my soul that university would have quickly led to living together, and then me proposing, maybe on the day we both graduated.
Marrying you the first chance I got. Jobs.
Kids. Grandkids. Retiring as soon as we feasibly could and enjoying growing old together, seeing in your elderly face the girl I fell for, the girl now forever frozen in time aged eighteen.
We were perfect for each other. At least, you were perfect for me. You were perfect for the boy I was, and the man I was becoming before the world exploded around us.
Callie, I’ve met someone. And she’s perfect for the man I am now, the person who got left behind and pulled out of the wreckage of what you and I had.
I don’t know why I have tears in my eyes right now. I guess because this feels sort of like a break up. In some ways, I suppose that’s exactly what this is.
It’s been fifteen years, and things have changed. It’s inevitable. And you will always have a part of my heart that nothing and no-one else will ever steal away from you.
But the rest of me...it’s hers. Body and soul and mind and heart.
I really think if you could have met her, you’d like her.
You’d have been dizzied by how quickly she talks, mon ange, but we all are.
And you’d have recognised the light in her and treated her with your trademark warmth, and I truly believe you and Liaden - that’s her name, by the way - would have been friends.
I think you, with your wise-beyond-your-years outlook on life, would be the first to tell me that it’s time to move on fifteen years later.
If the roles were reversed, as I often wished they could have been, I would have wanted you to be happy.
I would never have wanted you to still be broken up about my death after so long.
I’d have wanted you to find a way to move on and find someone to be happy with, and I’m not just saying that to justify my decision to finally move on and go down this path now.
I mean it. And Bill - my therapist, good guy - has made me realize that if what you and I had was as real as I always insist, then you’d want the same for me.
It’s time for me to stop clutching onto your memory and allow you to rest in peace. It’s the least you deserve.
And it’s time for me to let go of the horrible images I have of your death, and stop letting them spoil all the other wonderful memories I’ve kept and will always keep.
Asking you out by the lockers after math class, and being unable to stop smiling when you said yes.
The time you taught me how to make enchiladas and I made too much sauce and it went everywhere.
The time we went to Mardi Gras. The way you and my mom and sister loved each other so much.
Beer pong with you at house parties. Every single kiss we ever shared.
Walking down the hall hand in hand with you, knowing all my friends would have killed to trade places with me because you are so goddamn beautiful.
Always, no matter what. These thoughts are making me smile as I write them down, and I could write a thousand more of them.
I would so much rather think of you with happiness instead of pain, and I’m working really hard to make that happen.
And I think, at long last, I’m starting to turn that corner, or at least approach it.
I promise you, here and now, that no matter how much that other terrible image of you tries to ruin your memory, to me, in my heart, you will always be the beautiful girl with the mesmerizing doe eyes and a banging cheerleader uniform, smiling at me in the sunshine from across the quad.
It’s time for me to go, Callie Lopez. Time for me to get braver and honor you by living a good life with my Liaden, who is waiting for me so patiently and with so much hope in her heart. Hope I’m starting to genuinely share.
Thank you for every single moment we had. I’ll always cherish them, pretty girl.
Dean
To William Howard Whitmire.
Both Joe and Dr Sindri tell me that I’M the one who benefits, not you, if I forgive you for what you did, and for everything that happened.
They say that forgiving you will allow me to let go and move on healthily without any toxic anger and hate holding me back.
They’re good people, and I do see where they’re coming from.
Still, I respectfully disagree with them.
I’m not giving you shit because I owe you nothing. Not understanding. Not kindness. Definitely not my forgiveness, not after everything you took from me. The girl I loved with all my heart. My friends. My voice. My entire fucking adult life, up until now.
You destroyed hundreds - literally hundreds - of lives. Not just the people you murdered, but their families. Such far reaching, painful consequences for everyone involved. And for what? Because you got fired for being an asshole? Fuck you and how dare you and fuck you again .
I’ve been told by so many people that you were obviously very seriously mentally ill, and I’m telling you now that I very seriously don’t give a flying fuck.
That is no kind of excuse or mitigating circumstance.
I don’t care how sick you were, or how bad you were suffering, it did not give you any right or justification to murder a room full of innocent people.
You get no sympathy or understanding from me.
The painful surgeries. The constant terror, all day every day. The nightmares, the insomnia, the flashbacks, the hallucinations. The scar on Leo’s face. Eli having to babysit his adult cousin. All of this is ultimately on you.
And that’s the fucking least of it. However much I’ve suffered because of you, that’s the motherfucking least of your crimes .
You killed Callie, one of the most beautiful humans ever to grace this earth.
And you’re the one who killed Mrs Oberman and her baby.
Not me. It’s taken me a decade and a half to even begin to grasp that there’s every chance you’d have found her and killed them anyway even if I’d gone into a different classroom that night.
I’m not taking on your guilt anymore, so I guess I am giving you something, actually. I’m giving you your guilt back.
My loved ones will never hear me speak the words ‘I love you’ to them ever again. My girlfriend has never heard me say that and never will, because of you. Bravo, you piece of shit.
So no, I’m not going to forgive you. I never, ever will under any circumstances.
What I WILL do is discard you like yesterday’s trash.
I couldn’t protect Callie from you, or Mrs Oberman and her baby, but I can protect Liaden from you by getting rid of you once and for all so you and your far reaching consequences can’t hurt her .
You’ve had fifteen years of my life. You’re not getting another minute more. I’m giving you nothing, not my forgiveness, but not my attention, either.
I forget you, Freddy Krueger.
Rot in hell .
Dean fucking Gastright, the boy you couldn’t kill and the man you can’t break anymore.
Day 49
Today I felt strong enough to answer Latanya’s email. I managed to retrieve her message, and when I read it again, all I feel is admiration. She worded everything so carefully, and she’s clearly done a lot of work on herself to get here. I wasn’t the only person who suffered that night.