I FEEL BEAT UP.
Worn out.
Emotionally drained.
It’s been two days since Mac’s heart beat for the last time in the University of Pittsburgh Presbyterian emergency room. We watched as his parents wept when doctors delivered the terrible news, no more than a couple hours after they arrived on the soonest flight they could get out of Boston. We consoled them as they fell to their knees, wrapped in each other’s trembling arms and breaking out into a fit of retched sobs, their cries filled with a sorrow and pain not even I am familiar with. I’ve lost friends—best friends—but to lose a child, a child so young at that, is something I hope to never face personally. To see Mr. and Mrs. McDonald as their only son took his last gasping breath is to know the apex of heartbreak and pain.
We cursed the motherfuckers who left him there to die, who drew dicks on his fucking face as the alcohol began to kill him, vowing to Mac’s parents that we would find out who did it, though we knew in our hearts—I knew, at least—that it was improbable.
No one fessed up to drawing on his face or leaving him passed out behind the bar. Those who saw him late that night said he didn’t look any drunker than normal when they left, and the others who stayed the night in the basement could’ve been victims themselves they were so intoxicated. They were of absolutely no use.
I was initially worried that Sarge’s moonshine was a contributing factor in Mac’s death, but he was quick to ease my concerns, promising he has never, and would never, give his moonshine to anyone underage, and I believe him.
With Crescent Falls just a week and some change from fading to nothing in my rearview, LA on the horizon, and the fraternity’s complete lack of empathy or responsibility in regard to Mac’s death, I have severed all ties with the organization. My fraternity certificate has been shredded, and with a little help from a credit card and Zane’s shitty room lock, my name has been Sharpie’ed out of the fraternity scroll completely. The act of writing in the scroll with anything but the sacred quill is strictly forbidden, which makes it that much sweeter.
I don’t care anymore. They are as dead to me as they left Mac. The majority of them might as well be six feet under too as far as I’m concerned.
I’ve said my goodbyes to the few brothers I liked within Delta Iota Kappa and I promised to email my new California number to them when I get it. The rest of them can fuck right off, and I let them know just as much the last time I was at the house a few days ago. I went in yelling like a mad man, the overwhelming sadness within me externalized in the only way that makes sense … anger. I cursed the younger brothers who played no real part, shaming them for being a part of such a worthless unbrotherly organization. I stormed Trevor’s room and said a few choice words, something along the lines of ‘Karma is a bitch, my friend, and yours is comin’ soon … by my hand or the Lord himself.’ Damian received much the same, and though he puffed up, and threw around a few four-letter words, I didn’t spend enough time on his floor for any altercation. As soon as the words left my lips, I was walking away, headed toward the stairs for Brady’s room. It wasn’t words I had for him though. No, I had a special treat for him. The lucky little bastard has no idea how close he really was to an ass kicking had he not left the house when he did.
Despite my languishing sorrow over Mac’s death, and the anger I use to mask it, the bond with those brothers I have met and fallen in love with has strengthened tenfold from the loss. The three of us remaining recognized that in order to keep Mac’s spirit alive, we have to keep the friendship between us alive too. Jeremy, in his grief, pledged to join Carter and me in California. Breaking down in tears last night, he told us he could no longer stay in Crescent Falls and be a part of the fraternity with Mac’s death hanging over them. Nor could he stay behind as the two of us left. He had talked to his parents, he said, and after much argument, they finally relented so long as he maintained his grades once he transferred. I don’t know if he’s for real, or if his new plan to join us is just a product of his own heartbreak, but the idea of it excites me—what little bit of excitement I can currently muster.
I’m left with a nagging sadness that has just about crippled me this week as I drag myself through my finals, most of which I’m sure I’ve failed. It’s hard to really care about much after losing him. It’s hard to see the significance of some stupid test when I’m reminded yet again that a life can be snuffed out so quickly, so unfairly, without a moment’s notice. There are no goodbyes. No last words. There is only silence.
If it weren’t for my last breathalyzer and drug test today, and a session I most certainly intend on having with Dr. Jacobs, whether she likes it or not, I would still be in bed, mourning the loss of someone who not only grew to be a dear friend, but someone I began to see as a little brother, someone I could mentor.
And I can’t help but blame myself. If I had stayed that night, swallowed my anger and hung out with my guys, things may have been different.
Once I get to the clinic and meet with the nurse, we knock out my last urinalysis and breathalyzer, my eyes remaining locked on Carleigh’s closed office door down the hall. For the briefest of moments, our last encounter behind that very door crosses my brain, and I can almost see her there, bent over the desk, her body writhing, but I’m quick to force the thoughts away.
Instead, I let all the things I’ve been dying to say take hold again; the things I’ve thought about for weeks now. I’m hurt, and confused, and I have questions that need answered. Things that need to be said. I don’t know if she was at one point genuine and just got scared, or if this was all just a big game, but she fucked me up good, and she owes me an explanation. I won’t leave this hospital without one.
Once the nurse finishes up, she turns to me, and says, “That’ll be it, Mr. Bishop! Dr. Jacobs said she already let you know the last session is more of a formality, and is not needed, so you are free to be on your way.”
“Actually, I was hopin’ to speak with Dr. Jacobs.” I point down the hall. “Is she in her office?”
“Yes sir, but she asked not to be disturbed. She’s very busy today.”
I wave the nurse off, making my way toward Dr. Jacob’s office despite the nurse’s request. I can hear her clogs click-clacking against the tile floor behind me.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Bishop. She was very adamant about no one bothering her.”
Reaching the office door, I turn back, my hand on the door handle, and I say, “Oh, it’s alright. This’ll only take a minute.”
She goes to say something else, but I ignore her, opening the door, and barging into the office, catching Carleigh off-guard. She lets out a little yelp as she stirs in her chair, surprised, a hand meeting her heart as she takes a steadying breath.
“Mr. Bishop!” the nurse scolds, grabbing my shirt sleeve.
Once the shock wears off of Carleigh’s face, she puts a hand up and waves the nurse off. “It’s okay, Donna. He’s fine. Can you shut the door on your way out? Thank you.”
The nurse passes a confused look between me and Carleigh, and then she shuffles out, shutting the door behind her.
“Session is in, Doc. We gotta chat,” I say, plopping down in my usual chair across from her.
“Bishop, I’m really—”
“Busy, yeah, the nurse mentioned that. I’m really sorry to be such a pill, but I figured one more session was in order. Just a few minutes. What do you say?” My tone is purposefully patronizing.
“Bishop …”
“One of my good friends died on Sunday. Big celebration for Bin Laden’s death, and all that.”
She looks at me with remorseful eyes. “I’m really sorry to hear that, Bishop. Who was it?”
“One of my pledge brothers. Alcohol poisoning. Kind of ironic, don’t you think?” I don’t give her any time to answer. “But listen, I don’t want your pity. Just your ears. And, in a minute or so, a goddamn explanation I think any decent human being is owed. Sound good?”
She lifts her hands up. “Do I really have a choice?”
“Not a chance in hell. This is my time. I deserve it. So yeah, I lost a friend on Sunday, the day after you decided to throw all your bullshit on me. I ain’t gotta be a rocket scientist to figure out I was given one last good fuckin’ on Thursday, taken out to the goddamn pasture like Ol’ fuckin’ Yeller. Don’t even waste your breath denyin’ it. There’s no changing my mind. I did appreciate one last good nut before you discarded me, though … But to be fucked over for him, of all people. I mean, fuck, Carleigh, some of the shit you told me about him. Really?!”
“It’s complicated.”
“It’s really not. You fucked around with me while you were feelin’ things out with your piece of shit husband, figurin’ out what you wanted to do. That’s cool. But did you have to get so involved? Did it ever have to go past that first kiss? Did the kiss even have to happen? Why pull me into this mess? You’re supposed to be the fuckin’ professional here.”
Her head drops, a shameful look crossing her features. “I know,” she mutters. “I’m sorry. I just, I couldn’t help myself with you, Bishop. And the alcohol—”
“Yes, the alcohol. Let’s blame that.” I slow clap. “Really great substance abuse counselor behavior, Carleigh.”
She glares at me. “I will not sit here and be ridiculed by you.”
“Just tell me what happened then. Tell me when. Tell me what I did wrong and why that fuck got chosen over me.”
“It wasn’t like that, Bishop,” she says, her features softening a little, a wrinkle of concern replacing the furrow in her brow. “It’s not like that at all. You didn’t do anything wrong. Nothing! That message you sent me Saturday night … I bawled when I read it. You are an incredible man, Bishop. I meant every word I said to you, all of it, but I love my husband. I will always love my husband. And I have to do our relationship the justice it deserves. I’ve put this much time in, so much of myself into this relationship. If he is making a clear and valiant effort to get better, I have to take that into consideration.”
I put my hand up. “Wait, wait, wait. So what exactly changed in the past week? What about the baby? Gonna play Brady Bunch?”
She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “That’s absurd. They decided not to keep the child. He said when I served him with divorce papers, his whole world crumbled, that he gained clarity. He came back to me and told me about the abortion, told me how he cut all times, how much he wanted and needed to get help. And I believe him. He’s given me every password to every account. He’s started getting counseling. He’s really trying.”
I smirk. “Must have been a very busy and tryin’ week for him, what with the whole personality transplant and all.”
“I’ve answered all your questions, Bishop. And it’s really painful seeing you and being talked down to by you right now. Can we end this, please?”
I nod, glaring at her with my lips pinched together. “Yeah, I think I’ve heard enough of the bullshit and fairytales for one day.” Standing from the chair, I hesitate for a moment before I look her in the eyes and smile. “You know, Doc, all the talkin’ you do in here. All the Dr. Phil bullshit that’s come outta your mouth over the last, what, twenty years sittin’ in that chair, all the advice you’ve dished out …” I take a few steps toward the door, opening it and letting my words linger in the air. I look back toward her once more, my hand on the door handle, my head held high. “You’d think, just maybe in all that time, you would’ve picked up some of your own advice. May have helped you in the future when this bullshit fairytale marriage of yours is sure to self-destruct. Shitty people don’t change, Carleigh. Take care of yourself, huh?” And with that, I shut the door, walking away from her office with a wide, toothy grin as the weary nurse eyes me curiously from her station.