Two posters hung on the wall. One was a black-and-white image of Johnny Cash flipping the bird. The other was a movie poster for A Clockwork Orange. Derek’s bed was made, and sitting on his small nightstand was an unopened pack of cigarettes; a Zippo lighter with the image of a skull on it; a DVD of American Psycho that was missing its case; and a small, framed photograph of a woman with Derek’s eyes. I could only assume that she was his mother. I didn’t ask. It seemed like such an intrusion to do so. But I did wonder where she was now.
Derek picked up a twelve-string acoustic guitar from the stand in the corner and slipped the strap over his head. He sat on the bed next to me and started playing. I recognized the tune immediately. It was “Mad World” by Michael Andrews. I’d heard it when I saw the movie Donnie Darko and had loved it instantly. Derek’s voice was sweet, the song sad. He kept his eyes closed as he sang. When he finished, he stood up again and returned the guitar to its stand.
“That was beautiful. You’re really talented.”
“I’m okay. It’s kind of my escape from all the . . . Well.” He gestured around the room, and I wondered what he meant, but didn’t ask. “So what about that walk? We should get outta here before my old man gets back. He’s not always in the best mood when he gets home from the graveyard shift.”
I stood up and followed his lead down the hall and out the front door. We moved down the driveway and turned toward the park. Derek kept glancing behind us as if he was seriously concerned that his dad might see us. Once we reached the entrance to the park, he visibly relaxed. We sat on top of a picnic table near Black River. For some reason, it seemed smaller in the light of day, with Derek by my side.
“Sorry about rushing you outta there. My dad’s not the nicest guy.”
I shrugged. “That’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.” Derek swallowed hard and said, “He drinks. And when he drinks enough, he can be a real asshole, y’know? I just . . . I don’t want him to be an asshole to you.”
I smiled. “I’m pretty asshole proof.”
“I wish I was.” He looked a little lost and a lot sad. I could relate.
I nodded toward the bridge. “You see that stone bridge over there?”
He looked for a moment before speaking.
“Is that where you—”
“Yeah.” I could still feel the water on my face, the free-fall sensation in my chest as my feet left the bridge. It had been dreamlike.
“That’s not too high.” It seemed a bit like he was criticizing my choices, but I was probably just prickly because of the subject matter. He walked toward the bridge, and I hesitated for a solid minute before following him. As I stepped onto it, my heart felt like it might explode.
He looked at me and said, “What was it like right before you jumped? Were you scared?”
My eyes welled with tears, but I blinked them away. “I was terrified. And relieved that my life was about to be over.”
In complete silence, we both watched the water rushing under us for a few minutes. After a while, he turned to me and asked, “If you were scared . . . then how do you know it was the right choice?”
“I never said I was scared of dying. I was scared that I would fail. And I did. Still feel like a ghost ever since, though. Part of me died that day, anyway. Even though I lived.” I looked at him, curious if he was willing to give up a piece of his past as well. “What were you thinking when the blade first cut your skin?”
He looked thoughtful for a moment before responding. “That it was a lot harder to cut myself than I thought it would be. It’s not like the movies. It’s not like slice, slice, and slip away from the world. When I finally broke through, at first I thought Finally, and then I was surprised that I didn’t just fall over and die right away. But I was more surprised by the pain. I guess I thought it wouldn’t hurt, for some stupid reason.”
“I was afraid of that. The pain. That’s why I took all those pills and decided on drowning. I thought it would be the least painful way to go. Kinda like going to sleep.”
“Why did you do it, anyway?”
“Why did you?” A heavy silence filled the air between us.
“Because I knew death was the only way out for me. Out of the hurt of it all. Out of . . . just . . . everything.” When he said the last word, he gestured behind him with his arm. I didn’t know what it meant. His home life? His past, maybe? “What about you?”
“I don’t know. I just wanted it to . . . stop. Y’know? All of it.”
For a moment, our eyes met, the sunlight reflecting off the water below. He didn’t look terribly bothered by the subject matter. In fact, he looked relieved to have someone to talk to about it. Someone who wouldn’t judge him. I was feeling the same way. It wasn’t at all like talking to Dr. Daniels. Or even like talking to Duckie. They didn’t understand. They couldn’t understand. But Derek did.
As if something had just occurred to him, he raised an eyebrow at me, his eyes brightening. “Are you religious at all? Do you believe in like heaven or hell or any of that stuff?”
“No. Not that it matters.” I wasn’t counting the time my grandmother had forced me to attend a summer Bible-study camp for a week when I was twelve.
“Yeah, me neither. What do you think’s on the other side of death? I bet it’s just black, y’know. Just . . . emptiness.”
“You ask a lot of questions.”
“Does that bother you?” He pulled a packet of cigarettes from his hoodie pocket and popped a cig into his mouth. He lit it, then inhaled. The ember brightened. As he exhaled, I tried to ignore the acrid smell of it. Smoking was a disgusting, unhealthy habit. But it did give Derek that bad-boy appeal. I was a fan of that, at least. I just wished he could achieve it with something that wouldn’t make his clothes smell and his lungs turn black.
“It’s a little obnoxious. But I don’t mind so much.” I shrugged, trying to keep things casual, despite the fact that I could feel the unsettling, familiar creep of anxiety crawling its way up my spine to the back of my skull. “Can we talk about something else now? I just . . . I don’t want to talk about my attempt anymore for the moment, okay?”
He inhaled again, watching me closely, as if I were a puzzle that he was trying desperately to solve. He exhaled another puff, the smoke rolling out into the air like an eerie fog, then said, “Why not?”
“Because I’m kinda trying to forget about it.”
“Maybe that’s your problem. That darkness is a part of you, just like my darkness is part of me. You can’t just forget it, Brooke. None of us can.”
I rolled my eyes. Like I needed someone else in my life to analyze my every move. “Thanks, doc.”
“I just know what you’re going through, that’s all.” He inhaled again, blowing the smoke out slowly, thoughtfully. His eyes lowered to my mouth and stayed there for a while, as if he was thinking about what it might taste like. Seeing that sent a delicious thrill through me. When he spoke, it felt like he was standing so much closer to me than he had been, even though he hadn’t moved an inch. “So are you going to kiss me or what?”
I straightened my shoulders, forcing my attention away from his lips. “I don’t kiss guys who smoke.”