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Chapter 1
I notice him the moment he walks in. Looking as unsure as I feel every time I enter this room, looking just as full of sadness, grief, and tension. He runs his hand along the back on his neck, eyeing the many empty seats before finally walking forward and sitting in one of the middle ones. His head drops forward, only letting me see him from the side, the hair dusting his chin and lower part of his cheeks. I don’t know if the muscle ticking in his jaw is from nerves or another emotion at having to be here.
His gaze stays on the ground, and he only gives a nod when the counselor greets him. The counselor is used to it though, the silence, doing most of the talking in this suicide support group. The only interaction he demands is an answer to the one question he asks each of us every group. He expects us to at least attempt to answer it anyway.
“And you, Jolie, what are you feeling today?” the counselor asks.
And there it is.
I look away from the handsome stranger to him, trying to figure out how to even begin to answer that question. The truth would cause me to be met with wide, concerned eyes and hands going to the few people in attendance’s mouths in shock. Because all I feel today is rage. Whereas before, the very thought of Callie made me feel happiness, now when I think of her, I feel two emotions. A black hole of sadness I didn’t know existed until I lost her, or a red hot anger, a burning rage, that seems to have no end. Today, the rage is prevailing. Some days, I don’t know which I prefer more.
But I can’t say any of that, so I lie instead.
“I don’t know what I feel.” I shrug.
The counselor nods, as if I’ve said something so profound. Like I’ve said anything different than I have every time he’s asked me for the last four weeks I’ve been forced to come here.
“Sometimes in trying to figure out our feelings, we realize we really don’t feel much at all,” the counselor explains.
The new guy chuckles. It might have been hidden if there was any other noise in the room besides the counselor’s voice. However it echoes, making the counselor’s eyebrows raise as he looks at the boy with his head still down.
“You disagree?” The counselor inquires.
“It’s just…” He looks up, eyes nervous, going from the counselor to the other people sitting in the semi-circle. “I think all of us being here kind of already says how we feel, doesn’t it? We’re at a support group for people whose loved ones have committed suicide. I think the feelings that come along with that are pretty self-explanatory.”
The counselor tilts his head, probably excited at finally having someone actually say more than ten words in here. “Could you expand on that further?”
The stranger’s eyes come to mine, as if he’s searching for me to help him out. But I can only stare back at him, wanting to hear his answer. He just shakes his head, eyes going back to the floor.
“Never mind. Forget I said anything,” he murmurs.
The counselor waits another moment before moving to the next person, and asking her what she’s feeling today. I keep my eyes on the stranger. He only glances up at me once, but I make sure to give him a small smile when he does. His lips curve up on one side before he looks back down. Should I be noticing how handsome someone is in a group like this? Probably not, but hey, really I shouldn’t be in this group in the first place, so there’s that.
Finally the hour is over and the counselor wishes us a day full of knowledge and happiness. Happiness, right. Some of the people go over to the snack table and begin to eat, but I head for the door, desperate to get out of this room. It’s so large, used as a gym for the school on weekdays, but every time I’m in here, it feels like the walls get closer and closer to suffocating me the longer I’m within them.
Well, really today wasn’t so bad, but only because I was staring at the stranger most of the group. Wondering why he was here. I mean, the why was clear. No one comes to this group unless they’ve lost someone to suicide, but I wondered what his story was. Who he lost, how they’d killed themself, if he felt the same rage and grief I did, or if he was like the other people in group and just more so missed the person they’d lost. I wondered what his answer to the question the counselor asked was. I wondered about…him.
He doesn’t head over to the snack table either, walking a few steps ahead of me out the gym doors and towards the entrance of the school. But then he stops and so do I, content to take him in for a moment. Tall, slim, but his broad shoulders give away that there are muscles under his hoodie. His combat boots makes me smile to myself. Black, just a little bit scuffed up, the tops of them coming over the bottom of his jeans. He runs his fingers through his hair, brushing the longer strands in the middle backwards.
Finally, I begin to walk closer, and I see why he stopped at the closed doors. We couldn’t hear it in the gym, but here, the sound of the rain couples with being able to see the large drops pounding against the door windows. The parking lot is across the street and, I’m pretty sure that like me, he’s not too thrilled about walking, or even trying to make a run, to the car from here. We’ll be drenched by the time we get there.
I come to stand beside the stranger, and he looks at me out the corner of his eye. And what beautiful eyes they are. He was too far away for me to really see them in the dim gym but now, I do. Dark green unlike any I have ever seen. He looks back towards the window, and I find I have to swallow to speak.
“If you’re wondering if group is usually like that,” I begin. “The answer is yes.”
He gives a quiet chuckle and for some reason, I wonder what it’s like to hear him laugh. I bet it sounds beautiful.
“It was pretty uh… well, sad,” he agrees. “Which I guess I should’ve expected. I mean, given what we’re all here for, but… God, I’m rambling.”
Now, I chuckle. “Ramble away. It doesn’t look like we’re going outside anytime soon. I like it anyway. You have a nice voice.”
He looks at me again, this time turning his head to do it, arching a brow. “Never heard that before.”
“Well, that’s a shame. Your voice has a certain…melody to it.”
“Umm…”
“Okay, that sounded weird.” I admit. “I mean, it sounds like your words just flow. It’s soothing. And now I’m the one rambling. That’s supposed to be your job.”
