I’d been dreading this day all week, just like I did every year. Not because of what it did to Sean, but because of what it did to me. It was like my body remembered the trauma of this day and I got to relive it every year.
Because I had been driving the car.
It was one of Sean’s first big shows, and I’d convinced Serena that we needed to surprise him by showing up.
He’d certainly been surprised. Horribly, traumatically surprised. They said it wasn’t my fault. The other driver had crossed into our lane. Not my fault. I think that was supposed to make me feel better. It didn’t. Because I was the one driving the car that Serena died in. And I didn’t even remember her last moments. I wasn’t awake to hold her hand. I didn’t have a chance to lie to her and tell her it would all be okay. No goodbye. I remembered the moment before, when I looked up and saw the headlights coming straight at us.
Then nothing.
My next recollection wasn’t until three days later. They wouldn’t let me go to the funeral. I wasn’t there to hold Sean’s hand. My most vivid memory from my time in the hospital was when Sean came to see me right after the graveside service. He didn’t say anything, just pulled a chair close to my bed and let his forehead drop onto the blanket next to my hand. No words left my mouth because what could I say? When it was my fault? So I had just reached out my hand that still had an IV taped to it and ran my fingers through his hair. He didn’t lift his face, just cried into my blankets as tears ran down my own temples and soaked the pillow.
Sitting there on the couch, Sean and I both sat in the memories. He rolled his head to look at me, his eyes filled with an emptiness I recognized. I gave him a sad smile, knowing that simple solidarity was the only comfort I could give. My guilt was stuffed down so deep that he couldn’t see it. I wouldn’t give him that burden too.
Suddenly he slipped his hand to the back of my head and moved until his lips landed on mine. I froze, not sure what was happening while he leaned toward me until his chest hovered over my own, keeping his mouth on mine as he tried his best to get me to respond to the press and pull of his mouth. My mind was a complete jumble. This was…not what I had expected. What was he thinking? Sean didn’t kiss me. Ever. “Sean,” I said gently, trying to pull him out of whatever crazy pool he was swimming in.
He just kissed me harder.
I pushed on his chest and turned my face away. “Come on, Sean. I don’t want to be some girl you use.”
He didn’t move away and his nose skimmed against my jaw as he spoke, his breathing more labored than it should have been. “You think I go around using whatever girls I find?”
Yes. No. I don’t know. He tended to push people away when he was drunk, not invite them in, but that didn’t mean he’d been a saint. Just because I didn’t know about other girls didn’t mean there were none. I pushed on his chest again and he moved back enough that I could look at his face. “That’s not what I meant.” I put my hands on his cheeks to make him look at me. “You’re sad, and I know that I’m comfortable and safe for you, but it’s not fair for you to…” to what? What was he doing? Using me? Confusing me? “I just don’t want you to confuse your sadness for bigger feelings that aren’t real—”
He pulled away. “Right. Because I’m incapable of any real emotions.”
I shut my eyes and breathed through my nose, choosing my next words carefully. I sat up to look at him. “Can you look me in the eye and tell me you want to kiss me for any reason other than wanting to forget?”
He was silent for a lot longer than I would consider normal as he studied my face and had some sort of internal dialogue with himself. Then he dropped his gaze. “Forget about it,” he said as he turned away.
Forget about it? That wasn’t an answer! What did that mean?
He walked over to his liquor cabinet and pulled it open.
Fiery indignation sparked in my chest. “I thought you said you wanted to spend time with me.”
“I do,” he answered, selecting a bottle.
Anger pulled me to my feet. “Then will you please put that down and just be with me for a while? I want to be with you. I want to talk to you, Sean. I’ve had too many conversations with the alcohol and I’d rather not do that tonight.” My frustration leaked into the last few words, making them biting.
His hands were poised, ready to twist off the cap. Instead he put it down and turned toward me, leaning back against the low cabinet. “Sorry. It’s just my go-to thing lately.”
My nostrils flared, but I managed not to scoff at the understatement.
He dug his hands into his hair. “I’m usually with people who I have no real desire to interact with,” he tried to explain. “So it’s just easier…”
“But I’m not just anyone.” So why was he acting like I was?
“I know that.” He pushed off the cabinet and came over to me, circling me with his arms and pulling me into his chest. “It was just a reflex. It’s how I escape.”
“You need to escape me?”
“No. Not you. Never you.” He kissed my forehead. “I just use it as an escape so often with what I do, that sometimes my body doesn’t remember that I don’t need to run.”
“Why do you need to escape? Don’t you like what you’re doing?”
He rested his chin on top of my head. “Parts of it.”
“Do you want to quit?”
A long pause. “Sometimes.”
“Then why don’t you?” As much as that idea hurt, I also knew it would be a relief for him to step out of the limelight.
I felt him shrug. “What else would I do? This is what I know. This is what I’m good at.”
“But if you’re not happy—”
He pushed away from me. “I’m not going to quit, Libby.”
And just like that, my hope died. The hope that we could break this routine of him spiraling down and me having to drag him back up. My muscles ached from the effort it took. I could almost feel them trembling with the exertion, ready to give out.
I would always hate myself for pushing him into this life.
♪♫♪
We ended up watching Netflix and not talking much at all. It broke my heart because even though I wanted to talk, I couldn’t think of anything to say. I kept thinking of Serena, of the way she had grounded Sean and kept him humble. If I was his cheerleader, she had been his critic. A loving and supportive critic, yes, but a critic nonetheless. She didn’t tell him he was great. She told him he was normal; she told him he could do better. Sean’s fame had given me starry eyes, but she tended to brush it off like glitter. She treated it as if it were a necessary evil to be tolerated instead of it being a prize. It wasn’t until after her death that I realized she was right. Then the fame started to chafe. It became an irritant instead of a high.
Now I had come to view it as the price we paid. And yes, we both paid it. Throughout the evening, there were a few times where Sean would get up to get snacks or a drink and I would see him drifting automatically to the liquor cabinet, but he managed to steer clear of it all night.
It made me wonder what would have happened if I wasn’t there. Would he be drowning in drinks? Would this day—this dark day that marked the anniversary of his sister’s death—have driven him even deeper into the bottle? Was I the only thing keeping him sober tonight?