“Because knowing your role helps me understand why this affected you the way it did.”
Without knowing I’ve always done it, I’ve looked out for Hud. Not that he’s ever really needed it, but it was always in the little things. Letting him order first when we’d go to Melvin’s, making sure his water bottle was full at practice, helping him tape his bad ankle before a game…
“I guess… I’ve always tried to take care of him. Make him happy.” I swallow the knot that has formed in my throat. “Keep him safe.”
“And do you think that role has grown since the friendship has changed?”
My teeth grind, and a headache pulses behind my eye. “Of course it changed. Loving him raised the stakes.”
“Alright, then that brings me to the understanding that maybe your anger is because you think you failed Hudson?”
My stomach roils, the urge to heave threatening. I take a sharp inhale through my nose, the anger barreling through me like a runaway car.
“Of course I fucking failed Hudson!”
Maria doesn’t flinch at my outburst, just watches me with that assessing eye.
It pisses me off more.
“Why the fuck am I being forced to be here and talk about what I already know? I’m a failure. I failed, okay? I fucking.Failed.Him!”
I’m on my feet, my arms thrown wide as I scream from the top of my lungs. There is a knock on the door, and a man pokes his head in, a silent question if everything is alright in here.
Nothing is fucking alright.
Maria calmly waves the man away, then focuses back on me. She opens her mouth to speak, but I cut her off.
“I’m done.” My voice sounds like it’s bleeding, cracked, and raw. I sprint out of Maria’s office, her voice calling after me.
I burst out of the building and into the courtyard, the bright sunshine mocking me. My legs carry me to a small garden where I double over and lose the lunch I had before this appointment. I heave until there is nothing left, just a burning throat and the sour taste of bile.
With the back of my hand, I wipe my mouth, then fish my keys out of my pocket.
Once inside the safety of my car, I allow my head to fall back against the headrest. My chest aches, my heart thundering like a pack of racehorses. I grip the steering wheel, the leather crying under the assault. My mind is scattered with thoughts, all of which are ways I’ve failed Hud.
I punch the steering wheel, over and over, until something in my hand cracks and pain radiates up my wrist. My screamechoes back at me, the phantom reminder of the heartbreak and hopelessness I felt at the river that day bearing down on me.
For one terrifying second, I understand why Hudson did it. Why he needed the pain and noise to just… stop.
The thought makes my stomach twist, but it’s not him I can’t forgive. It’s me. I failed.
And I don’t know how I’m supposed to live with that.
I’m sitting on my cold bathroom floor, clutching my right hand to my chest. It throbs, dried blood crusting over the torn skin. There’s a matching hole in the wall beside the one I punched in a couple of weeks ago. I probably should go to urgent care, but the thought of standing feels impossible.
I’m empty.
I want Hudson—need him, but my parents made it clear that not getting to see him is part of my punishment. They took away my anchor, and now I’m drifting.
He texted after I left my appointment, but my answers were curt. He’s the best because he knew even over text I wasn’t in the right headspace for a conversation.
He reads me so easily. He sees the stuff that I refuse to look at.
That is, until Maria forced my fears out from the depths of my brain and I couldn’t ignore them anymore.
Ever since I got home from my therapy session yesterday, everything has been one giant emotional fog. There are brief flashes of clarity, but they’re always fueled by this hopeless anger.
I can acknowledge I’m angry. I can acknowledge that this isn’t healthy.
