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I killed him. I killed him. I killed him.
The officer is back to standing in front of me. I hear his voice like it’s coming from a great distance as he talks to me, but I don’t register it. He looks at me with concern, and I vaguely catch the word ‘shock.’
It’s the last thing I hear before the tunnel vision morphs into complete darkness.
Chapter 3
THE DAYS FOLLOWING JACKSON’S DEATH GO BY IN A HAZEOFdespair. Rather than brave the sea of faces at school, I chicken out and lock myself in my room.
I don’t want to talk, don’t want to think. The only person I’ve tried to communicate with is Em, but she hasn’t answered my texts.
Honestly, I can’t blame her.
There are so many things I could have done differently. I failed my only friend. My eyes are burning from the constant breakdowns.
I don’t know what to say if Em ever decides to speak to me again. Nothing I say won’t sound superficial. There’s no way to convey how truly sorry I am.
The guilt presses down on me.
It hurts to breathe.
I get a whole week of hiding before my mother decides it’s time for me to rejoin society. Declaring that ‘it isn’t even my friend who died,’ she sends me on my way.
I’m too numb to argue.
So, against my better judgment, it’s an overcast Monday morning, and I’m back at school.
The classes, the teachers, and the students all blur together. Every movement feels robotic. It’s like someone else is driving my body, and I’m watching from inside my brain.
Em is still absent. I feel even worse when I realize I’m relieved she isn’t here. I’m still unsure what to say when we inevitably see each other.
My guilt only intensifies when I see how the other students look at me. At first, I think that without Em as a buffer, the other students are gearing up to resume bullying me – business as usual. But this is different.
This seems more personal.
At lunch, I walk by some of Jackson’s friends. The group stops talking mid-conversation and purposefully turns to glare at me. Not just the normal snooty looks they usually give me. This feels like hate.
I can feel their eyes boring holes into the back of my head as I hurry to move out of their line of sight.
Already at my limit for human interaction, I find an unlocked classroom to hide in. Slipping inside, I sink to the floor, letting my back rest against the door. It’s dark, and I don’t bother with the lights. I don’t want anyone to find me.
The glares have me on edge.
Could Em have told people about my texts before the accident? Are they all blaming me for not stopping Em and Jackson from driving?
I can feel the tears welling up to the surface again. I need to think about something else.
But what else is there? I have no idea where to go from here. Is this my life now? To be warned away from a terrible fate just to see the ones I love get hurt.
This is utter bullshit.
If I’d been in the car, maybe I could have helped; maybe Em and I could have gotten Jackson out. Anything is better than this constant questioning and survivor’s guilt.
I keep my head down for the rest of the afternoon. We’re studying the Salem witch trials in history class. While I think the subject matter is interesting, I’m not in a good place to be hearing about people dying.
Also, despite my best efforts not to make eye contact with anyone, it looks like whatever caused Jackson’s friends to glare at me is spreading. By the last period, I’m sure at least a dozen people are looking at me like I’m a monster.
They aren’t wrong.
