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SAM
Pacing my tiny apartment, I shook out my hands while I waited. This always happened every time she called me and I needed someone to talk to. He said he was coming. He always showed up when I needed him. I tapped my foot on the floor, willing for him to appear as I stared at the door. When the knock came, I launched myself toward it and threw the door open, letting out a relieved sigh.
“Tyson.”
He flashed me a small smile, holding up a bag of fast food. “I brought treats. Let’s set up in the kitchen and you can tell me what happened.”
Tyson was my lifeline, the best person on the planet, and one of my only friends. Most people got awkward when they heard my story and started treating me differently. Tyson never did. He was the first person ever to believe me. He treated me like a person. And when I was alone in the world, living on the streets, he took me in and helped me get my life together.
We settled at the table, my gaze dropped to my hands. Jess’s words still swirled in my head and I hated that I let her get to me. Tyson took my hand, frowning at me.
“Lemme guess. Your sister.”
“How’d you know?”
He shook his head slowly. “You’ve been doing really well. You haven’t felt the need to call me this late in a while. The only person who can make you like this is her.”
I grimaced. Tyson was a sponsor for NA. He was observant. I didn't do drugs, but I got pretty low a time or two, and he was there for me when my thoughts got too dark to cope with. Depression is no joke. He told me not to answer when Jess called. I shouldn’t have picked up the stupid phone.
“Tell me what happened.”
Letting out a slow breath, I fidgeted with my broken phone. “She started off with the fake shit, pretending she wanted to reconnect. I saw right through that, though. I know when she’s faking.”
This wasn’t the first time one of my siblings called. Never to actually connect with me or apologize. Usually, they wanted something from me. Like for me to bow out of accepting my portion of my parent’s estate or asking me to sell the house that we all owned in part. It took years for me to figure out that answering the phone was only going to hurt me. They didn’t want to be part of my life and I needed to get it through my head. The only family I had was Tyson.
“What did she want?”
My lip curled, and I glared at the table. “She’s got a new pastor. He’s spouting bullshit about bringing the people in your life who’d strayed back to the church. She said I owed her, Tyson.”
His brow furrowed, and he looked confused. “In what universe?”
“I guess her reputation has taken a hit since my fallout with her and the church. She spouted some bullshit about how no matter what she does, all people want to ask her about is me. How is that my fault? I haven’t been back to church since–”
I cut myself off, shaking my head. Tyson knew that story. I didn’t need to go through it again. It took him months to get me to open up enough to tell him what happened, just like it took him months to get me to trust him enough to talk to him. After what happened at the church, I had a serious issue with authority figures. Tyson had to prove he was my friend, not just an older guy looking to help a homeless teen so he could get something from her.
So much for helping the less fortunate. After my siblings kicked me out, I went to church thinking at least for the night, I’d have somewhere warm to sleep. The pastor, a creepy old bastard, told me I asked for what happened by being promiscuous. He said if I wanted to atone, then I needed to demonstrate the sins that played through my head so that he could properly ask God for forgiveness. Bastard wanted me to get on my knees and it wasn’t to pray. And when I tried telling my siblings, hoping they’d at least let me stay at home until I could find some place to live, Jess lost her ever loving shit and said I was lying and I probably came onto the pastor myself. She screamed so loud that the neighbors called the cops, and because I was a terrified teen, I ran.
That night was the first night I spent on the streets. I spiraled hard, the loss of what little support I had made me fall into a depression. I lost my will to live. I was starving myself and refused to let anyone close to me because I couldn’t take the pain of being tossed aside again. It was Tyson who found me while doing outreach in the park. He saw an angry homeless teen and decided he was going to help me. He offered me a place to stay and brought me food, sitting with me until I ate. I told him no at first, I didn’t trust him not to betray me like my family did, but he kept coming back. I think he could see that I needed him, even if I didn’t want to admit it.
“Sam.” His soft-spoken voice pulled my attention off the past. He tugged gently on my arm, stopping me from rubbing my fingers over the scars on my wrist. An old habit to punish myself. I only ever wanted to pick it back up again when my siblings called.
Settling his hand over mine, he leveled me with a look. “You owe absolutely nothing to anyone. You are not responsible for what happened. It was an accident, and you weren’t even there that night. Parents pick up their kids. You couldn’t have known what was going to happen.”
I let out a small breath, shaking my head. We went through this almost every time I had a breakdown like this and the message still wouldn’t stick. After years of everyone telling me it was my fault that my parents died, I believed it. I never meant for them to get hurt. I was a stupid teen, drinking and smoking pot with my friends. My dad always said if I ever got into trouble, to call and he’d come get me. No questions asked. Since it was a bad trip, I got scared and asked for my mom, so she went with him. But they never showed up. A drunk driver hit them head on, going the wrong way on the highway. And it was my fault because I was the one who called them. If I’d been at home, doing my homework like I was supposed to, they wouldn’t have gotten in the car that night. As much as Tyson said it wasn’t, it felt like my fault and whenever my family called, they reminded me they thought it was my fault, too.
“Tyson…”
He shook his head vehemently. “No, Sammy. I’m your friend, and I’m telling you, it wasn’t your fault. I hear stories all day about people who hurt their family to get their fix. That wasn’t you. You were just a kid getting picked up by her parents. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
I bobbed my head slowly, my eyes still locked on my hands. The arguments were still there, my siblings’ words in my head telling me I was a murderer, but I wanted so badly to believe Tyson. I’d been working so hard at accepting that it wasn’t my fault, but I spiraled every time they called.
“What’s it going to take for you to believe me?”
I huffed out a dry laugh. “A lobotomy.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m no doctor, Sammy. And I’m not sure that’s really what’s best. You need to move past it, not forget it completely. Because even though it was tragic and horrible, you still learned something that night.”
Lifting my head, I locked eyes with him, my brows pulled together.
