Page 22

“Sometimes, when you write things down, they can trigger your memories, even if it’s just bits and pieces. It can also help you make sense of everything you’re feeling. I can’t imagine the last few weeks have been easy, especially going back to college amongst everything else.”

“It hasn’t.” The admission was a small weight off my shoulders. “I can’t talk to anyone else because all they do is worry. I just wish they’d give me some time to figure it out.” I bit back the urge to cry, feeling emotionally exhausted. “Do you think writing in a journal will help me remember?”

Natalie shrugged. “It might, and it might not, but I think it will be good for you to get those suppressed feelings out. Writing down your dreams can also help you.”

“I thought I’d be having dreams or nightmares about my accident, but I haven’t. It’s like my mind shuts down completely, even when I’m awake and something feels familiar.”

My mind drifted to Vaughan, and how easy it felt to be around him.

“Be patient with yourself, Kenzi.”

“I’m trying.” I rubbed Kyle's’ back when he stirred, and a thought occurred to me. “Do you know what happened between me and Vaughan last year?”

I should’ve probably asked Vaughan, or even Maddy, but I doubted either of them would tell me. In fact, no one seems too concerned about telling me anything about last year. Maybe Natalie would take mercy on me and give me something.

“I don’t think I’m the person you should be asking.”

I deflated. So much for her having mercy on me. I could pepper her with more questions, but I suspected that not only will it lead to more questions, but also that her answers would be as evasive as everyone else’s.

“It will get easier,” added Natalie. “You’ll see.”

I wanted to believe her, but that would mean letting go of the fear that I might have lost more than just a year of my life. Something more than my first year of college. And I wasn’t sure how to let that go. By the time I left the hospital, I’d decided to come back again when I could. I spent too many afternoons at the apartment on my own while Maddy was teaching dance classes, and after my chat with Natalie, a new sense of determination was spurred to life. Maybe keeping a journal was the answer, and on my bus ride back home I resolved that it will do one of two things.

Either help me remember.

Or help me move on.

And I was no longer sure which of the two options I’d be happiest with.

I WALKED THROUGH the front door just after five, and my ears were assaulted with the smell of burnt food and Amy Winehouse singing about going to rehab. Under normal circumstances it wouldn’t have set the alarms bells off in my head, except Maddy cooked like a trained chef most nights — courtesy of her father — and I knew for a fact that she hated Amy Winehouse. With a passion. So naturally I was concerned, and on high alert. With cautious steps, I rounded the corner where I found my best friend sitting on the kitchen counter, drinking white wine from the bottle, her face stained with tears. My somewhat uplifted mood after my visit to the hospital plummeted at the sight of a very distraught Maddy. She muttered incoherently, and then started singing along. She was a fantastic dancer, it’s the reason she was pursuing it as a career, but she couldn’t carry a tune if her life depended on it. Her pitch resembled the mating call of a cat.

Yikes.

“Maddy?”

She halted mid-screech and when her red eyes landed on me her bottom lip started trembling right before she burst into a fresh fit of tears. I was taken aback by her uncharacteristic behavior that it took me a good five minutes to go over to her. And even then, I approached carefully.

“Ihatehimmmm,” she half cried, half slurred. She lifted the now half-empty wine bottle to her lips, and a gulped more down. “And I hate his penis too.” Another gulp. “His magic, multi-orgasm giving penis.”

Mother trucker. I hope she wasn’t talking about-

“Your brother and his magic penis can” — hiccup — “go get fucked.”

I opened my mouth unsure of how to approach this topic, but something Maddy said registered and the waterworks intensified. She went from screeching to flat-out wailing, and I stood there gawking because what the fuck? I was sure hearing her talk about Jackson’s…appendage… had something to do with it — because ew, he’s my brother! — but it had more do with the fact that she was acting like a crazy person. I’d dealt with Maddy in every form, but this? This I had no fucking clue what to do with.

She tried to stand, and that’s when I reacted. I gently grasped her arm before she could get further than kneeling, and helped her down. Couldn’t have her breaking a damn limb. No man is worth that, not even my big brother.

“What happened?” I pried the bottle from her hands, placed it on the counter, and led her to the sofa. She wobbled, and had it not been for my own balance we would’ve both face-planted into the coffee table.

After a few breaths — and more wailing - Maddy calmed down enough to talk, albeit a little difficult to understand. “Jackson called me after class.” Her throat worked as she swallowed, and her teeth snagged her bottom lip. “He said he had something to tell me.”

I rubbed her back, waiting her out. Maddy had a hard time articulating herself when she was so upset, not that it happened very often. All the more reason why I was worried.

“I’ve been a good girl.” My brows dipped. Where is she going with this? “I haven’t even looked at another guy.” Hoo boy. “And then he comes to the studio after his afternoon at the rink and tells me he fucked someone else.”

She spat out the last part, but I was too thrown by what she just said to care if it landed on my face.

“Come again?”