chapter 45

good riddance

“Well, babe, what do you think?” Ronnie asks as she steps back and wipes her forehead, smearing the blue paint that had dripped onto her face moments before.

What do I think? It’s fucking incredible. Every fucking inch of it. I guess it’s fitting that my girl did this because she’s incredible, too. It’s almost as beautiful as she is. It’s so hard for me to look away from her long enough to take in Grey’s newly painted bedroom. His newly painted bedroom in our brand new fucking house. I’ve never felt more proud. I’m a father, I’m a homeowner, and soon, I’ll be a husband, too. Freshly twenty-five years old as of last week, I can’t believe how different the horizon for this year looks. I’m so fucking lucky. Never have I felt so complete.

I look to Ronnie, who looks beyond stunning in her tank top and overalls, which are splattered in paint. I’ve spent the entire day trying to tear my eyes away from her braless tits. With the windows open for ventilation, her nipples are constantly straining against the thin fabric of her shirt, making it nearly impossible for me to focus on painting. Luckily, the room looks perfect despite the delicious distractions.

I never knew my girl was so artistic. The four, freshly painted, walls exceed all of my expectations. Grey is going to freak-out when he sees this. Ever since seeing The Lion King, he’s been obsessed with anything jungle related. Today, Ronnie has gone completely over the top. She painted trees, vines, and jungle grass along with an elephant, lion, zebra, giraffe, and multiple monkeys poking out of the various trees. I helped her paint the light blue background and a few butterflies here and there. It looks fucking incredible. We’ve been wanting to do this since we moved in a week ago. I’m happy we finally got the chance. My son deserves the fucking best and I think this will go beyond any of his wildest imaginations.

“This is fucking amazing, baby. I can’t believe we actually finished it.”

She smiles as she assesses her work. “It really turned out nicely. It’s not exactly like the picture… but I love it, regardless.”

“Fuck that DIY site,” I say with a grin as I pull her body against mine. “I love yours better than anyone’s we’ve seen online.”

“Thanks, Trev,” she says as she turns around in my arms to face me.

I squeeze her body against mine and bring my lips down to meet hers. She tastes so sweet and feels so perfect. I could take her right here. She moans against me before pulling away to breath. When she looks up at my face, she giggles, making me smile. I always enjoy hearing that beautiful sound.

“What are you giggling about?”

“You,” she responds with a coy grin. “Your face is covered in paint now.” She grabs a small towel from her pocket and rubs the paint off my face before cleaning up her own. “What do you think Grey will think?” she finally asks.

“What will he think? Are you kidding? Ronnie, he’s going to love it.” I bend down to try to kiss her again, but she stops me.

“Do you want to go get him and find out?”

I can’t help but fucking pout at this. She’s been teasing my cock all day and now I’ll have to wait until tonight to get some relief. “You want to pick him up now? We told your sister nine o’clock and it’s only five after eight.”

Eden’s home is only a short walk away, so what’s the rush? Ronnie says I’m insatiable, but I think it’s just her. It’s not my fault that she does this to me. Just being in the same room with her makes me fucking hard. My desire for her can be downright inconvenient at times. It’s hard to have sex with a baby always around. It’s like we have to sneak it in whenever we find the time. Whether it’s in the shower or on the kitchen floor, whenever the urge hits—which is constantly—we’re fucking. So, she must really want to show our son his room if she’s willing to pass up the perfect opportunity to have sex without the possibility of interruptions.

“Come on, Trev. I’ll make it up to you tonight. I promise. I just can’t wait to show him.”

Can I deny her anything? We change our clothes before walking down the street to pick up Grey. He’s more than ready to come home by the time we get there. While he loves hanging out with Harper, he grows antsy after a few hours without seeing Ronnie or me. We find him super fussy in Quinton’s arms, but he thankfully stops crying as soon as he sees us.

He’s so excited to fucking see us, he begins to babble as soon as we’re in his sight. We thank Quinton and Eden for watching him and invite them over for dinner tomorrow before we finally bounce. Grey happily jabbers the entire way home. When we get back home we take him to his room so he can see it’s freshly painted jungle-themed walls. He seems mystified and finally at a loss for words; it’s fucking incredible to see. Our little guy is speechless, as his small mouth drops open in awe and his eyes become wild with excitement. I look to my girl and find her eyes are filling with tears as she watches our son.

“Do you like it, buddy?”

Grey quickly turns his head at the sound of my voice and smiles at me. He gives me a look which says, “Like it? I love it, Daddy,” before he points at each animal and giggles.

I turn back to Ronnie, who’s wiping her tears as they trail down her flushed cheeks. She looks so fucking happy. I love seeing her like this more than anything. “Baby, don’t cry,” I softly say, wrapping an arm around her. She giggles along with Grey and wipes up the remainder of her happy tears.

“He looks so happy, Trevor. I just get overwhelmed every time I see him like this.”

I’m overwhelmed, too. I’d do anything to make him this happy all of the time. After losing his parents, I want to give him the very best life possible. I want him to be able to look back at his childhood one day and see that I did my best to give him everything I could.

Ronnie takes him from my arms and shows him around the room. She shows him each and every animal she painted and watches his reaction. I’m captivated by the sight, watching my son practically fucking glow as he sees his mommy’s hard work. It’s moments like these when I feel like I’m living in a dream, and I’m fucking afraid to ever wake-up.

Despite how wonderful this past month has been, I have this strange, yet familiar feeling in my gut, warning me another storm is brewing. Maybe I’m being too fucking negative, but no matter what, I can’t seem to shake this feeling. It follows me everywhere and causes my paranoia to fucking skyrocket. I keep my attention on Ronnie and Grey all of the time because I’m worried that some horrible shit will happen to them. I don’t know what I’d do if anything did happen to either of them. I’d be fucking ruined, that’s for sure. My fear has propelled me to cherish everyone in my life. In a way, it’s almost a good thing. Fear has inspired me to get out of the house and see the people who are so meaningful to me.

The past few weeks I’ve been spending as much time with my parents as possible. Getting to know my mom better while making up for lost time. She’s an incredible fucking woman. I’m crushed I didn’t get to grow up with her. I missed out on so much. However, I understand why she left and I’ve forgiven her for leaving me. She may be my mom… but she’s only human. She did the best she could. I only hope I can say the same at the end of my life. All I fucking want is the chance to be at peace with my actions and happy with the choices I’ve made. Mom hasn’t been happy for a good long while. Hearing about her struggles is fucking devastating. I’m just so thankful she’s a part of my life now. She’s getting the life she’s always wanted; the life she’s always deserved to have. She’s not scared anymore and she’s free to live the life she wants.

Seeing her with my dad was incredibly awkward at first because I’d grown-up with him and Evelyn; I’d always thought he loved his wife. Dad told me she’d been easy for him to love when they were younger. However, he also explained that his love for her had been rather selfish. At first, he thought she was like the woman he’d lost—my biological mother—but, as time went on and the going got rough, he realized she was nothing like Felicity. Then, at some point, his love for Evelyn had become more like a companionship and all that was left was his respect for her as the mother of his child. In all honesty, I feel like he only loved her because it was convenient. I believe that’s how a lot of people find “love.” If you’re needy enough, you can romanticize anyone, making any relationship with any person become more than it truly is. That’s why so many couples I see together are so obviously fucking wrong for each other. They want a relationship more than they want the person they’re with. My dad and Evelyn definitely fall into this category of shitty reasons to be together. Looking at their relationship in retrospect, it’s obvious they shared no real chemistry or any shit like that. I thought what they had was love because I hadn’t known any better. Then, Ronnie came into my life and I realized what my dad had with Evelyn wasn’t love—it was a partnership, if anything. At least that’s how I think my dad viewed it.

Despite what Evelyn says, I know she loved my father. I don’t know if she still does, but she definitely loved him while they were married. Realizing this almost makes me feel fucking sorry for her because I’m not sure my dad ever really reciprocated those feelings. I know he cared for her and respected her, but I don’t think he loved her the way she loved him. Although, I’m sure they both loved each other the same way at some point in their relationship—probably very early on. Sometimes, someone is right for you at a certain time in your life and you can love them as much as that version of yourself will allow. However, that doesn’t mean that person is right for you forever. I believe you can love multiple people within your lifetime, but you only experience true love once. For my dad, his true love was Felicity, and for me—it’s Ronnie. Now, whenever I see my parents embrace, all the awkwardness I once felt is gone. I can tell they love each other and, despite their flaws, I love seeing them happy together.

Shit is going perfect with my parents, which only worsens my fucking paranoia. Things are amazing with my family and things are fantastic with my friends, as well. Something has to be wrong with this equation. There just has to be. A shithead like me doesn’t just get a perfect life. I’m not used to things running so smoothly and being happy all of the fucking time. Something must be up. I’m going to go mad with worry until whatever it is reveals itself. It might be something small, but it could also be something big. Whatever it is, it’s been weighing on my mind for weeks. I keep looking over my shoulder as if I expect to see some horrible crap go wrong.

“Trev? You okay, baby?”

Suddenly, I realize I’ve been standing in the middle of Grey’s room, completely zoned out. Maybe I inhaled too much fucking paint fumes or something. I give her a reassuring smile—or, at least, my attempt at a reassuring smile—before nodding I’m fine. She smiles in response, but she doesn’t look totally convinced.

Before she can say anything, I pull my phone out of my back pocket and say, “Let me take your picture. I want to have a shot of you two by your artwork.”

She smiles at this and poses with Grey. I snap a few shots and grin at the results. I can’t imagine what this room will look like once we move in all the new furniture Ronnie and my mom picked out. It’s all jungle themed, as well. I know he’ll completely flip when he sees it. Tonight, he’s going to sleep in his old crib which is temporarily placed in our room. As much as I wanted to have some alone time with Ronnie, I was more worried about Grey getting sick from all the paint fumes. His walls still need to completely dry. After all the coats we added, I know drying is definitely going to be quite the process. Besides, I like to have him close. I feel safer and more in control. In a chaotic world, it's nice to feel like you have control over something. Even if that something is incredibly small.

 

By the time I leave the house for my A.A. meeting, I’m already running fucking late. The weather is shit, causing people to drive even slower than usual around here. The ominous gray sky seems to freak people the fuck out because they’re more skittish than normal as they venture around the twists and turns of this narrow road. There must be a full-fucking-moon tonight or something because from the moment I left the house and hopped into my truck, things have felt fucking off.

When I finally do arrive at the meeting place, I’m forty-five minutes late. Being late is out of character for me. Despite my flippant attitude I had in the past, I’ve always been on time for these meetings—always pushing myself to be there from the beginning to the end. I wonder what Travis is thinking. He’s probably assumed I ditched him or something like that.

I park in the lot in front of the Protestant Church where tonight’s meeting is being held. It looks as if it has been around since the early 1960’s. The age of the building gives it a sort of charm, which is rare among the locations our A.A. meetings are usually held. This church is a definite step-up from the local YMCA, that’s for damn sure. I hate listening to people talk about their problems while trying to stifle the background noise of kids playing basketball on the court next door.

I quickly make my way down the hallway of the old church, listening for the sounds of a meeting going on so I can find the right room. I can’t ignore the verses scripted on the walls, surrounded by drawings that look like they were created by kids in Sunday school classes. I have to be fucking honest—churches make me uncomfortable. Always have, and I’m sure they always will. The idea that there’s a God watching our every movement like fucking Santa Claus and judging us is daunting to say the least. Nonetheless, I can’t help but stop every now and then to read one of the verses. Just out of curiosity.

In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world. - John 16:33

I roll my eyes and keep walking. I feel like I’ve overcome the world as well. I’ve dealt with many horrors in my life, and I’ve still managed to come out practically unscathed. At least, on the outside. Inside there are still wounds which refuse to heal. Part of me wants them to stay opened and fresh forever because that would mean I’d never forget about Dean. Not that I could, even if I tried. He’ll always be a part of me. Thank, fuck! I’ve managed to get through so much shit not because of my faith in an almighty power, but the faith I had in myself. I had faith in Dean’s decision and rose to the fucking challenge.

Finally, I see a light shining from the end of the dark hallway and follow the cacophony of voices as they vibrate off the room’s walls. Although I’m late, I’ve finally fucking made it. I take a glimpse around the meeting room before stepping quietly inside. The sight before me stops me in my tracks. Travis is walking toward the front of the room with a frown on his face. With his sunken features, slouched shoulders, and weary eyes, he looks like a completely different person. I’ve never seen him like this before. He’s finally sharing his story, and I can’t help but wonder whether it’s a coincidence that he’s choosing to do so on a day that he believes I’m not here to hear it. My curiosity gets the better of me, so I step back out of the door. I lean against the wall outside the meeting room so I can still hear what’s happening inside. I can see Travis, but I know he can’t see me. I take a deep breath as I watch him get ready to speak. He shoves his hands in his front pockets and with his head down, he begins.

“Hey, everyone. I’m Travis and I’ve been attending these meetings for a couple of months now.” He stutters through his first sentence, sounding awkward and shameful at the same time. I can see he’s bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet. “I know I haven’t said much since I’ve been here. I’ve never been one for words—at least, not lately. I haven’t tried to reach out to a single one of you, and I can’t say that’ll change after tonight, either. Honestly, that’s not why I’m doing this. I just need to open up… I just need to hear myself say this out loud. I’ve been carrying this with me for too long. It’s just been too fucking painful—”

He stops, gasping for air before quickly bringing his hand up to cover his mouth. What the fuck is this? Travis has always been so strong, yet, he’s crumbling in front of everyone. He’s falling to fucking pieces. A familiar feeling of dread turns my stomach and I stand paralyzed as I wonder what he’s going to say next. Why do I feel so fucking ill when I look at him? What the fuck could he possibly say that I wouldn’t be able to handle? I cover my mouth with my hand to help quiet myself because I feel like if Travis could even so much as hear me breathing, he’d stop fucking talking.

“I’ve spent the last few years of my life abusing alcohol behind closed doors. No one knew about it aside from my best friend, Dean. He’d always try to help me out, even when I didn’t want it. Even when I told him to ‘fuck off’ he’d always be there. He refused to give up on me. Even when things got really bad for me… and he had a life of his own to live. He shouldn’t have had so much faith in me. I didn’t deserve it,” Travis says through gritted teeth and a clenched jaw.

My heart sinks as I hear him mention my brother’s name. He’s right—Dean would’ve done anything to help his friend. Hell, he did everything in his power to help me even when everyone else believed I was a lost fucking cause. That’s who Dean was. He was the most genuine and kind person I’d ever known. He was loyal to a degree you rarely see in a person, which is why not having him here is so fucking painful. My heart breaks, knowing such an incredible person was ripped away from this world all too soon. Ripped away from us.

“Before Dean died, I’d been sobering up. I thought I was getting better—I thought I was in control of my actions. My vices no longer had the same power over me as they once did. That was all because of Dean. He knew the worst of me, the side of myself I was so good at hiding from everyone else. I had a successful career with a steady income. My life seemed to be on track… but, despite all of this, I couldn’t hold onto it and I allowed alcohol to consume my life once more. Dean had been my best friend since we were kids; we were brothers, he and I. Out of all the people in my life he was the only one to see a change in me. Or, I should say, the beginnings of one. He loved me like I was blood and was there for me when I didn’t have anyone else…” Travis trails off with a muffled sob.

It’s then I notice that tears were streaming down my own cheeks. I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me, but I continue to quietly cry as I watch him. I wipe away the few tears on my cheeks and watch him more intently. He’s wiping off his own face, as well, trying desperately to hide his emotions. He tries to hide his tears, but from my line of sight I can see every fucking one. Part of me wants to go to him and tell him everything will be all right. However, another part of me—the part which causes my heart to race as if I’m standing on a precipice about to be pushed off the edge—keeps me in my place. I watch him, completely paralyzed with a deep-rooted fear, as he gains control of himself and opens his mouth to continue.

“He made me part of his family… He appointed me to be his son’s Godfather… What I did to him—” His voice breaks as he takes a breath. “I tried to help them,” he explains as his entire body starts to shake. “I didn’t know what to do. It was too late… I was too fucking late. The damage was already done, and I was a fucking coward. I saw my best friend gasping for air, and I saw his wife—who accepted all of my flaws and loved me—lifeless in the seat next to him. I ran away and never told anyone… I never told anyone until now.”

A red haze descends over my vision and every muscle in my body wants to spring into action. I want to fucking attack the thing that has caused me so much pain and distress. I can’t fucking think. I can’t fucking breathe. All I can do is look at the fucker, who I had called my friend, through blurry eyes. I desperately try to hold myself back from hurting him the way I want to. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! This can’t be fucking happening to me. This cannot be fucking happening to me! A bitter laugh escapes my mouth. I knew things would go to shit eventually. I knew it all along.

“I’m sorry,” Travis whispers before he jumps down from the makeshift stage and heads toward the door.

My entire body springs to life, every muscle tenses as my heart continues to fucking break. My thoughts are one giant clusterfuck—a string of expletives and violent thoughts. I can’t control my body as it reacts the only way it knows how. As soon as Travis walks past me, I grab him by the throat and throw him against the wall. I hear him gasp, but he doesn’t stop me as I curl my other hand into a fist and punch him upside his cheek.

My fists slams against his face in a rapid succession. I can’t stop. I don’t know if I want to stop. Fuck, I can’t even slow down. I feel him put his hands in front of his face to block my punches, but nothing will be able to help him during my violent, red haze. I can’t think, I can only feel the rage inside me. Everything else seems irrelevant because all I feel is the need for vengeance for my brother’s death. I’m so fucking lost in the moment—waiting for the hate surging through me to release so I can finally feel better. Will I ever feel better after this? Will I ever find peace again?

Those questions are fleeting, disappearing in the chaos of my mind before I throw another punch. I hear a crunch, as my fist makes contact with his nose. His head slams back against the wall before his limp body slides to the floor. I hear screams in the background, but everything is a giant haze. The only thing I see clearly is Travis, who’s slumped on the floor with his hands over his head. He’s crying uncontrollably like the fucking coward he is. He didn’t even have the nerve to fight back. I want to fucking spit on him, but before I get the chance a pair of strong arms yank me away from him and throws me to the floor.

My eyes shoot wide open and all my emotions come crashing down. My heart begins to beat so rapidly I feel as though it could explode at any moment. I’m fucking dizzy; I’m fucking nauseous; my mind feels so numb it scares me. I stare at all the nameless faces in the crowd, too distressed to recognize a single one. They stare down at me in absolute horror. Fuck them. They don’t know what this is about.

I don’t wait for my panic attack to fully subside. I don’t reach out to Travis to check if he’s all right. It’s not like he did that shit with my brother anyway. All I do is jump up, wipe the blood off my hands with my shirt before heading to the door. I hear Travis calling out to me, but I don’t turn around. Fuck him. Fuck that bastard who murdered Dean and Cat and just drove away, leaving them on the side of the road like they were nothing. How the hell could he drive away? How could he watch my brother gasp for fucking air and just run!?

I can’t decide if Travis is a fucking monster or a coward. The man I once thought I knew is now gone. I can’t believe he fucking lied to my face all of this time. He killed my brother and didn’t have enough fucking courage to confess his sins to me. I allowed that sick fuck to be in my kid’s life. I asked him to be my best man at my wedding since my brother isn’t here to do the honor. He was my fucking friend.

He was my friend…

Hot tears trail down my cheeks as I quickly get into my truck. I can’t see anything and I don’t fucking want to. This world is so ugly. I never knew how ugly it was until this moment. I’ve tried to be good. I’ve tried to be optimistic. I’ve tried to tell myself that everything in this world isn’t shit. I couldn’t have been more wrong. It’s just as fucked up as I once thought it was. I thought I was jaded, but maybe I was just being realistic. I throw my truck into reverse, backing out of my parking space before putting it into drive and speeding off down the empty street. I gun it down the road without a second thought. I don’t know where I’m going, but I just know I don’t want to be fucking here.

I drive around aimlessly, not bothering to look at what I’m passing. Frankly, I’m too fucked to even care. The world around me is a blur—a meaningless and unforgiving blur. The tears won’t stop falling and my anger won’t subside. Horrible thoughts fly through my head and I’m too fucking numb to make any sense of them. They boil up inside of me, making me feel like I’m going to spontaneously combust at any moment. I punch the steering wheel, hoping the pain in my hand will distract me from the hurt in my heart. I want to fucking destroy something. I want to release my anger until my surroundings are just as wrecked and ugly as I’m feeling.

I pass by bars and liquor stores; I want nothing more than to pull over and drown my sorrows in a bottle. However, I’m too fucking agitated to turn off the main road. I don’t want to get out of the car because I know I’ll beat the shit out of the very first person I see. I certainly don’t need to end up in jail on top of everything else tonight. So, I press down on the gas pedal and speed down the road without giving into the temptations surrounding me.

My inner strength doesn’t last long. I can see a dive bar ahead and I just can’t fucking help myself. It’s fairly dead, and oh, so fucking tempting. There’s only a few cars in sight as I park outside the entrance. Getting out of my truck I practically stumble inside, not bothering to lock it up because I simply don’t give a rat’s ass anymore. The bar is dark, and it’s as unwelcoming on the inside as it was on the outside. I smile at this as I walk to the bar top to order a drink.

Throwing a five-dollar bill down, I say, “Bourbon, straight,” before slouching on a barstool.

As soon as the bartender hands me my drink, I down it and ask for another before wandering off to a table in the bar’s darkest corner. I just want to be fucking alone. The bartender sets the drink on the table in front of me. I throw him another five and he walks away. I stare at the drink but I don’t make a move. My body is shaking with anger, but now the anger is directed at myself. You’re fucking better than this, Trevor! How can you do this to your family? Don’t they matter? Fresh tears well up in my eyes. I violently wipe them away as I continue to stare at the bourbon that seems to be fucking taunting me.

Without having a second thought, I ball my hand up into a fist and slam it down hard on the glass. How the fuck are you doing this again!? Why are you doing this again, Trevor!? Stop with your self-contempt and think about your fucking family! The excruciating pain feels incredible. It makes me feel fucking alive. I watch my blood pour out of my cuts and seep into the grooves of the old wood table, staining it with a beautiful dark red. The alcohol burns my open wounds and it feels so fucking cleansing. I hear shouts and look up to see a fuming bartender coming toward me. I’m too far gone to hear what he’s saying to me, but by the looks of him, it’s not fucking good.

With tears running down my emotionless face and my bloody hand clenched under my leather jacket, I leave the bar without an apology and head out to my truck. Sitting in my truck I’ve started to sober up. My hand is bleeding all over the place but I make no attempt to take care of it. My mind is so mixed up with unwelcome thoughts and feelings and I don’t know how to cope.

I mindlessly reach for my phone and dial the number of the person I know will help me. He picks up on the third ring.

“Hello?” he questions, his voice tired but concerned.

I suppose house calls are never fucking good if you’re a therapist.

“Dr. Russell, it’s Trevor Warren,” I stutter out. “I need to see you.”

I wonder if he can hear the pain brewing in my voice because even in my haze I definitely can.

I hear fumbling around on his end before he finally states, “Meet me at my office. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

“Thank you,” I quietly respond before ending the call.

I find an old rag from work in the backseat and wrap it around my hand, pulling the cloth tight to cut off the flow of blood. I know it’s dirty as fuck, but I can’t seem to care. After covering up my wounded hand I place both hands on the steering wheel. Everything in my life is fucked now. Of course, the moment I thought things were going well, something comes along to mess it the hell up. Just like it always does. I don’t know why I hoped for anything different. I guess it was just wishful fucking thinking.

I turn the key in the ignition and listen as my truck roars to life. I rub my hand vigorously against my face to wake myself up before quickly backing out of the parking lot and heading toward Dr. Russell’s office. Still reeling with disbelief, I almost drive through a couple of stop signs since my mind is lost completely. As I drive, staring off into the dark road illuminated only by my headlights, my mind begins to wander. I try to stop it, not wanting to travel to the dark places which it could easily go, but I’m just too fucking tired to have control over anything.

I think about my brother just like Travis described him. Sitting in the front seat of his car next to his dead wife, gasping for air as he looks at the man he called his friend for the very last time. Although I wasn’t there, I can vividly imagine the look on Dean’s face. The look of horror, disbelief, and disappointment flits through my mind. I gasp for air as I imagine my brother did when he was looking at his murderer. My chest tightens. I can barely fucking breathe. I imagine him looking at Travis, a silent question playing on my brother’s face, “What have you done, my friend?” The thought is fucking sickening, but I can’t dismiss it. I imagine the blood on his face and the shock in his eyes as he looks at Cat—the woman who was his entire world. I can imagine Travis’s face, as well, as he stared into Dean’s car and witnessed exactly what the fuck he had done. I hope what he saw fucking stuck with him. I want him to carry that pain forever and have nightmares from it for the rest of his miserable life. I hope it fucking eats him alive.

How could he just drive away and leave them there like a piece of meaningless garbage? How could he not fucking care enough to call for help? My brother could’ve survived if Travis had called for help the second it all happened! Dean could’ve had a fighting chance, but instead, by the time someone drove past their car and called for help, it was too late. He went to the hospital in critical condition, knowing his wife was already dead. Grey was at home with Evelyn, waiting for his parents to return from their date, having no notion of what had happened. A sob escapes me as I violently wipe away the tears which betray me and stream down my face. Stop crying you fucking bastard!

I know it’s completely illogical, but I should’ve fucking been there. I should’ve been here to help Dean in some way. I would’ve done anything for him. Fuck, I’d gladly take his place right now. Like I’ve said to myself many times, if anyone deserves to die young—it’s me. My sadness slowly turns back into uncontrolled anger.

How the fuck could my friend rip my brother away from me? Didn’t he think about anyone other than himself as he drove drunk that night? Didn’t he think of Grey—the baby he made an orphan by taking the lives of his parents? Didn’t he think about me? I was his friend, too… he had destroyed everything in my life in a blink of an eye. How could he look me in the fucking eye after all of that shit? How dare he even try to talk to me again! Hasn’t he done enough fucking damage? What more could he possibly want?

I’m fucking fuming by the time I arrive at Dr. Russell’s office. I find his car is already parked outside. Actually, it’s the only car in the entire parking lot aside from my truck. I find him waiting for me at the office’s entrance. He’s bundled up in a huge winter coat and a hat to protect his face from the freezing January night. It’s then I realize how fucking absurd I must look in just my leather jacket in this weather. Thankfully, the anger and adrenaline when courses through my fucking veins has kept me warm. I walk up to Dr. Russell and stand next to him, antsy as he fumbles with his keys and tries to open the front door.

“Wait a second, Trevor. Wait,” he says in a commanding voice. His tone surprises me and I step back, so I’m not crowding him as he works on getting the proper key into the lock.

I give him some space and try to calm myself down. I don’t know what the fuck I want to do, but I want to do something. I have to do something! The sting of betrayal is too much for me to fucking bear. I run my hands through my hair and yank on it until I feel the roots sting. Dr. Russell takes one look at me, sees my bloodied wrapped up hand, and frowns. He looks sad, but even in my distressed state I can tell his look is neither pitying nor judgmental. He ushers me inside and follows me as I barrel down the hallway toward his office. He quickly unlocks and opens the door before flipping on the lights. I don’t look at him. I merely walk straight to my usual seat and put my head in my hands.

“What happened?” he asks, pulling his chair close to mine before taking a seat.

I shake my head, unable to speak. I wipe my face with my good hand and try to keep the tears that are pricking my eyes from rolling down my cheeks. “Something happened,” I gasp, unable to meet his gaze. “Something horrible. I just don’t know what the fuck to do. I don’t know what to do,” I say on the verge of hysteria. I’m so scared that I’ll lose myself all over again. What if I do? What if I forget the man I’ve worked so hard to become?

“Take a deep breath and try to calm yourself, then explain to me what happened,” Dr. Russell firmly suggests, his voice is the slap in the face I fucking need.

“Travis…” I begin, taking a shuddering breath. “Travis was the one.”

“The one what?”

“The one who killed them,” I gasp, finding it devastating to say the words aloud. “I heard him confess to the whole fucking thing.”

Dr. Russell’s eyes widen for a moment, and he leans back in his chair. I watch him as he runs a hand through his hair and looks at me for a pregnant moment. It’s as if he were assessing my mental state or some shit like that. I’m sure whatever he sees isn’t good.

“How did you feel once you heard this?”

I shrug. How the fuck does he expect me to feel? Fucking peachy? My entire life has been fucking dragged through the mud in a few short hours. I thought I wanted to know the truth. I thought any truth would be better than fucking ignorance, but I was fucking wrong. I wish I were still painfully ignorant about this whole thing. How fucking blissful would that be, to be able to walk blindly through life never aware of a truth which could destroy me.

“I wish I didn’t know,” I answer honestly, then jump up from my seat and begin to pace around the room, clenching my fucked-up hand to my chest. “I don’t know how he could’ve lied to me. I don’t know how he could’ve looked me in the eye, knowing he killed my brother and his wife. How could he not fucking say shit to me? How the hell could he look at Grey? Knowing he killed both of his parents…” I stop pacing and sit back down, running my good hand through my hair before smacking myself in the face.

“Stop that!” Dr. Russell immediately commands. “So, your friend betrayed your trust. What do you plan to do about it?”

“I’m going to fucking kill him.” The venom in my tone is muffled by the sob which escapes my throat. “Fuck, it should’ve been me.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I feel like I’m running up this hill and with every step I get weaker, wondering when I’m going to reach the top. After a while, I’m afraid the top of the hill will never come and I’ll be running forever. You can’t imagine what it feels like to never know if you’ll reach the end. Sometimes, I want to turn back because part of me knows I’ll never overcome all of my problems. It feels like no matter how hard I try, I’ll always be fighting a losing fucking battle.”

“And how does that make you feel?”

“Lousy. It makes me feel fucking lousy. It’s like my past has fucking branded me. It’ll always be there, lurking over me, waiting for me to screw up again. Like I screwed up today… You don’t understand. Dean gave everyone in his life everything he had to offer, and now he’s dead in the ground while I’ve been allowed to go on living. I’ve always been the accident waiting to happen. No one has ever really been proud of me.”

“You can’t believe that.”

“No, I shouldn’t believe that… but I do. I’ll always believe it because it’s the truth. I’m a poor fucking replacement for Grey’s father. It should’ve been me in that fucking car! I should’ve been the one who died!”

“So, you’re feeling guilty? What could you have done, Trevor? How could you possibly have saved your brother?”

“I don’t know!” I shout. It feels good to yell. “I don’t know! I just wish I could take his fucking place!”

“Surviving is hard.”

Death is easy—living is what’s tough.

“So, I’m a coward? I’m a coward for wishing I were dead instead of him?”

“Do you feel like a coward, Trevor?”

“I don’t know how I feel,” I respond, feeling defeated. “I don’t understand how I feel about anything. All I feel is fucking rage.”

Hot tears pour down my face and I gasp for air. I want to punch something. I want to hurt myself more. I need to feel physical pain. Fuck, I just want to feel something other than this torment.

“Are you angry because your brother died, or are you angry at yourself for being here without him?”

I pause for a moment, gaining control of myself before I answer him. “I’m angry at myself.”

Before I know it, I’m sobbing and falling back into my seat. The image my mind has created of Dean gasping for air is all I can see. Suddenly, I hate everything. I hate Travis for murdering two members of my family; I hate Dean for not being strong enough to survive the crash; I hate myself for still being here. Dr. Russell reaches out and puts a hand on my shoulder. The comforting gesture only makes me fall to pieces further. When I finally do regain my self-control, I’m too fucking exhausted to speak. He gives me all the time I need. I sit in silence, watching car lights shine through the blinds and dance around the room. Finally, I relax enough to continue speaking.

“He said that he looked into Dean’s car and could see he was dying. He said Dean was gasping for air. He looked at Cat in the passenger seat and saw she wasn’t moving. He didn’t call anyone for help. He didn’t try to help either of them. He simply drove away. How can he live with himself?”

“Will you be able to live with this?” Dr. Russell asks me after a moment with his hand still resting on my shoulder.

I contemplate his question, finding it’s a lot harder to answer than I thought. I’m so lost, but at the same time I realize I have so much to live for. I have Ronnie and Grey. Fuck, I have two parents who love me, as well. I can’t just lay down and let this consume me. Not when I’m at the start of a new chapter in my life. I can’t just throw everything away now. Travis has destroyed so much already, and I can’t allow that fucker to destroy my future, too.

“Yes,” I say quietly, wiping the tears off my face with my unbandaged hand.

I’ll be able to fucking live with this, but who knows when I’ll be healed, if ever. This will be a scar I’ll wear for the rest of my life. There’s nothing left for me to do but move forward, but before I can do that, I need some fucking answers. I want to know why Travis acted the way he did. Why he killed two amazing people without a second thought? I won’t be able to move forward unless I can fucking understand. Travis needs to make me understand! Until then, I’ll be fucking lost in limbo.

“I believe you,” Dr. Russell finally says, pulling me from my frantic thoughts.

My eyes shoot up to meet his and I find nothing but sincerity. He does believe that I’ll overcome this, and that alone gives me some peace of mind. I need to find Travis. I need to find some fucking answers. I close my eyes and try to remember what it felt like before I knew all of this. I can’t and it’s fucking terrifying.

“You’ll pull through this, Trevor,” he assures me, although, it feels more like he’s commanding me to do so. “I’m not only your therapist, I’m also your friend. I’ll always be here for you.”

Unconsciously, I throw my good arm around Dr. Russell’s shoulders and allow a few lone tears to fall down my face. An emergency therapy session was just what I fucking needed. As much as I want to return home to Ronnie and Grey—just to remember my two reasons for living—I know there’s someplace else I have to go first. I have to go to Travis’s. I have to talk to him and figure out what the fuck he’s done. Now that the truth has already poisoned my life, I want to know every detail.

I leave my therapist’s office with the promise of meeting as scheduled later in the week. He locks up, then we walk to our vehicles in silence. I thank him and try to pull myself together as I slide into the driver’s seat of my truck. I turn on the ignition and blast the radio, willing the sound of heavy metal to drown my thoughts. Halfway to Travis’s something in my gut beckons me to drive faster. It was as if there was a little voice in my head telling me if I don’t get there soon, I’ll arrive to find an empty apartment. I step on the gas and zoom down the dark and empty street with imagines of Dean’s last moments plaguing my mind.