45 | NEW GIRL

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45

EMBER

Before group begins, I study the new girl, flicking the sucker stick around with my tongue. She reminds me so much of the old me, the one who could do nothing but hide in a big ball of sadness and just feel everything.

I've decided to feel nothing now. It's so much better. Michael helped be realize that the night we talked about Cade. Being vulnerable was nauseating. I can't do that again.

Nothing. Nothing is better.

New girl's gaze erratically flits around the room as we all wait in deafening silence for Walter Li to come and start the meeting. I'm sure he'll be late. He's always late.

The girl holds my attention. She's like a deer caught in headlights, trying to decide if she should have even come at all. I can read it in the way her fingers clutch her elbows, holding her arms to her chest. The way she tries to pat down her hair every few seconds for it to just spring back up, refusing to be neat or tidy in any sense. The jittery bounce of her knee that she wants to quit, but can't.

Every single person in the circle, all twenty or so of us, have a sucker on our tongues. She notices and frowns.

I steal a glance to the front door where the clear glass bowl sits behind a few boxes, invisible to anyone who doesn't already know it's there. It's empty. Someone must have stuffed their pockets again.

I remember my first night here. I lasted an impressive five minutes before running and puking my guts out on the grass outside the community centre. 

It's hard to be here. I know that.

With a loud sigh, I get up and walk across the large circle. Michael's intense eyes follow me, I can feel them, but I just ignore him and find myself in front of this small, terrified, brown-haired creature.

"Here." I take my hand out of my pocket and hold out the blue sucker.

She stares at me like I might try to crawl into her ear and lay eggs. I jut the candy in her direction.

"Here," I say more forcefully. She finally takes it, albeit shakily, and refuses to meet my eyes.

"Thank you," she mutters quietly.

I turn without a word, wearing a mask of indifference, and walk back to my seat and fall into it. I exhale, taking a knee to my chest and wrapping my arms around it like it can shield me from Michael's ever present gaze of intrigue and suspicion.

Just let me disappear.

The girl unwraps the blue candy. It's loud in the silence of the room and I cringe. But when she puts the candy in her mouth, she visibly relaxes. Her shoulders falls and her knee bounces a little less quick.

Walter announces his presence with, "Hello friends! What a beautiful autumn night, wouldn't you agree?"

I set my forehead against my knee to hide my eye roll. It's freezing outside. Snow is just around the corner, I can feel it.

"If you've lost a loved one to suicide," Walter the wizard man begins, "you are not alone. If you have thought about suicide, you are not alone. If you have attempted suicide, you are not alone." He looks around, meeting everyone's eyes. "You, are not alone."

I'm alone. I have been ever since Greyson made me that way. 

"For those of you who are new, my name is Walter Li. I've been leading this group since 2003. I have no degree, I only share the painful experience that brought you all here tonight. I'd like to begin tonight by talking about terminology surrounding suicide. Does anyone have anything to start us off? I know it can be a hard thing to do—to talk about what happened to you, to the people you love, but if we can't talk about it, then when others do, it will hurt us more. Vocabulary is extremely important. Sometimes one word can cut deep, even if its intent isn't supposed to be harmful."

I think back to my first few days here when Pat and Raveena popped up for a surprise dinner invitation. I screamed at two male students who were joking around about killing themselves in a café.

Is that what Walter's talking about? Does that mean it's not just me?

The old woman with the dog says, "When my husband died, I had someone say this to me. They said, everything happens for a reason." She rests a shaking hand over her chest. "I'll never forget how much that hurt me."

Walter says, "I'm so sorry. I've had that as well. It's a human response to pain, to try and place reason on it. Most of the time, we mean well, but when we don't understand how to comfort one another, we end up saying bits like 'everything happens for a reason'. Try to remember that it can be..." He struggles for a word. "Uncomfortable. It's can be uncomfortable in the presence of someone else's pain. That phrase is a way for us to attempt to offer comfort without really knowing what to say."

Jared clears his throat and says, "My friends—My friends had no idea what to do with me. They told me...Well, they didn't know how to help. I just asked them not to leave me alone."

Walter nods. "To stay," he says. "The true power is presence. That's what most fail to understand—we just want someone to listen. To sit. To wait. Sometimes words can't comfort, and that's alright."

I can't help it. Michael's eyes meet mine, and in that split second, I wish I wasn't so broken. I wish I could cry and break and just let him see me. I want someone to see everything. To know everything. I want him to sit with me, and I'll sit with him. We could do that for each other.

If I wasn't so broken, if I wasn't so broken.

I look away, swallowing emotion in my throat.

"I have something," the small mousy girl whispers, raising her hand the slightest bit. All heads turn to her and her cheeks erupt violently in embarrassment. The red paints her neck and ears. She pats her hair down again, taking the blue sucker from her mouth.

"Of course," says Walter, leaving the floor to her.

She clears her throat. "I hate when people say committed suicide. It—It makes my brother sound...He sounds like a criminal." A tear falls from her left eye, dropping from her chin to land on her sweater in isolation. "He wasn't a criminal," she adds is a whisper.

Walter begins talking about her comment—why she's absolutely right—but I keep coming back to something else.

Criminal. Villain.

When I can't take any more of this world—this pain—who will be the villain of my story? The monsters who stole Greyson? Greyson himself? His parents? Mine?

No. That's all bullshit.

I open my hands in my lap and stare at the lines, the healed callouses, the skin. The blood is invisible.

The villain will be me.



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A/N

I know that was dark, but hang in there. 

Thank you for being here ❤️🥺❤️

-Laurel

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