Page 42 of Angels Fall

But I can’t.

So, I say, “Everyone. Me. I don’t know. But people are assholes and I must be in that club too, otherwise why? Why would so many of them be in my life right now? Can you please just tell me that? I can take it, OK? I swear. I just need to hear the truth right now, I really just need an honest, objective opinion. And you’re the only one I can trust because you give no shits, right? It’s your job. I mean you have a license to practice, right? And I’m out here failing at everything. And I just need to know, OK? I just need you to tell me why the fuck this shit is happening to me. What did I do? Who did I do it to? Because I can’t take it anymore, I really can’t. I’ve had it. I’m about to drive my friend’s car out into the desert and—”

“Are you having suicidal thoughts?” Plu interrupts.

“What?” I say, halting my crying. “No. Why would you even say that?”

“Well, you’re leading me down a path here, Maddie.”

“Of suicide?” I yell. “No. I just want a fucking answer!”

“What were you going to do in the desert?”

“Keep driving! You know, like… never come back.” I snort. “Kill myself. I’m not gonna kill myself, for fuck’s sake.”

“Well, I’m sorry, Maddie. You just seem a little bit desperate right now.”

“Yeah, desperate for some fucking meaning!”

“OK,” Plu sings in that therapist voice she seems to have perfected since she became this successful adult. “Let’s see here. Give me a second…” She sucks in air, lets it out, then says, “OK. People are assholes because they’re people. And people aren’t perfect, so they sometimes make mistakes and being an asshole is their defense mechanism. And you’re an asshole because you want to blame people for things that don’t deserve blame. Sometimes bad shit just happens and you happen to take it all very personally and want to punish people just for being in your general vicinity when it does. How’s that?”

“Explain,” I growl into the phone. “Because I’m pretty certain my blame falls squarely on the shoulders of the assholes who earned it and my reaction to them is a natural consequence that comes from the way they treated me first.”

“I’m not done yet,” Plu says calmly. “You’re also combative. And mean. And more than a little self-righteous.”

“What?”

“You wanted the truth, right? You can take it, right?”

“What kind of crackpot therapist are you?”

“A qualified one.”

I snort.

“What do you want me to say, Maddie? Do you want me to find someone to blame for Scotty’s death? Is that it? Should I point my finger so you can say, Ah-ha! I knew it? So you can feel justified for being defensive? For always having that chip on your shoulder? For all the things that go wrong that you take no responsibility for?”

“I didn’t kill my brother,” I growl into the phone.

“Of course not. But your parents didn’t kill your brother either. And his buddies who were there when it happened didn’t kill him. He was a firefighter. He fought a fire and he lost—”

“Fuck you!” I scream.

“Yes, fuck me,” Plu replies, still calm. “Fuck me. That’s a great answer. Just blame me now. Why not, Maddie? You blame everyone else. Even yourself. So what’s one more person to stick that label on in your life? People don’t mean anything to you, so who cares. I’m nobody to you. Just some person you once knew and nothing more.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” I whisper.

“No?” she says. “Then tell me where I’m going wrong.”

“You weren’t there when he died,” I say.

“Nope. I wasn’t. So why don’t you fill me in?”

I say nothing. I can’t say anything. Because the memories of Scotty’s last moments flood into my head and I just start crying harder.

“Maddie,” Plu says.

I shake my head, staring at an empty strip mall shop through eyes filled with tears.