Wallace won’t forgive me. It doesn’t matter what I say to myself. It doesn’t matter how many times I apologize or explain. In my worst nightmares, I never imagined him not even wanting to be friends with me. But in my worst nightmares, the most terrible thing that happened was he found out who I am.
Wallace won’t forgive me.
How can anyone else?
Monstrous Sea Private Message
10:05 p.m. (MirkerLurker has joined the message)
MirkerLurker:Are you guys around?
10:08 p.m.
MirkerLurker:I’m just
MirkerLurker:having some trouble
MirkerLurker:With everything
10:10 p.m.
MirkerLurker:Okay
10:21 p.m.
MirkerLurker:I have to go.
CHAPTER 42
Isit in my car on the far side of Wellhouse Bridge, staring at Wellhouse Turn. Wallace’s words pound in my head. They bring to the surface all the forum posts, all the emails, all the messages from the people who want to know who I am and what I am and when I’m going to finishMonstrous Sea. I’m alone here in the middle of the road, but it doesn’t feel like it.
The weather-worn ribbons tied to the cross at the top of Wellhouse Turn are still. The sky is velvet black, punctured by stars.
Car tires squeal in the distance. I freeze, lightning in my veins and fear coiling in my chest. Anyone who sees a car stopped at Wellhouse Turn will know what I’m doing here.
A minute passes. The night is quiet again.
My body settles and the fear ebbs away, leaving only that tight tension in my stomach that hasn’t faded completely since my name was revealed. I am not okay. I know that I am not okay and that there are ways for me to be okay again, but I can’t wait that long. It won’t be worth it to be okay again, because people will still hate me. I’ll always be the letdown, the weird girl, the low-level villain in the sewers.
Everything will work better when I’m gone, anyway; I won’t be around to mess up family togetherness time, or bother Max and Emmy with my problems, or remind Wallace of everything he could have had.
I’m so tired. I’m tired of anxiety that twists my stomach so hard I can’t move the rest of my body. Tired of constant vigilance. Tired of wanting to do something about myself, but always taking the easy way out.
I thought that’s what this would be. I stare at Wellhouse Turn, and Wellhouse Turn ignores me as it ignores everyone. When I drove past an hour ago, it seemed so convenient. Providential, even. So many times I looked at Wellhouse Turn and thought it might be nice to fly. And here it was, right when I needed it. An hour ago, when I stopped, I thought it would be an easy decision to drop my foot on the gas pedal and hold the steering wheel straight. But just thinking about it—the speed, the rush, the drop—no, that’s not easy at all. Anyone who thinks that’s an easy way out hasn’t had to face it.
It’ll be okay, I tell myself, then let out a hysterical laugh.
I’m thinking about killing myself. Of course it won’t be okay.
I bury my head in my arms. I don’t know anymore. I don’t know, I don’tknow, god, I’m so tired. I miss Davy, and my nice quiet room where no one gets hurt, and the perpetual hum of my computer. I want to be there.
So maybe I should go. The idea blunts the edges of my panic.I could go home. Just for tonight. I’m more stressed-out sitting here than I would be at home, anyway, and I don’t have to rush into this. For now I can sleep, and at least that’s a few hours that I don’t have to think about anything.
Yes. That is what I’ll do.
I lower my legs and search for the gearshift. I never take my eyes off Wellhouse Turn, as if it’s a sleeping dragon that might wake and attack me.Not today, I think to it and its pretty memorial.You can’t have me today.
The words send a thrill up my arms. Not today.
