One Minute Till Tomorrow

Chapter Fourteen

No one called me a hero. That’s because I wasn’t a hero. I was a second too late. If only I didn’t go to Ari’s house first. Caleb would still be alive. So I wasn’t a hero. I was a witness. And as a witness, I was asked the same painful questions over and over. “What did you see?”

“His blood all over. His skull cracked. His dad bringing down a baseball bat to his head. I saw everything you’d expect to see from a cracked skull plus more.”

“Are you sure it was Caleb Bryan’s dad, Scott Bryan, that killed him?”

I just nodded. “He was abusive. I begged Caleb to tell the cops or someone. He wouldn’t. I knew it was only a matter of time.”

“If you knew, why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“It wasn’t my secret to tell. Caleb would’ve still been powerless if I told the cops, not him. I didn’t tell because I wanted him to have that power.”

“How long did you know his dad abused him?”

“Long enough. Are we done here?”

“I have a few more questions…”

“Well, I’m done answering.” I stood up and walked out of the interrogation room. I had already been poked and prodded from all I knew. I was done.

“I want to leave.” I said that night, two days after, to my mom over dinner.

“Then go. You’ve finished eating.”

“No. I mean I want to move. Move out of this town. I’m sick of the cold and sick of the people and sick of the questions.” I stood up and put my plate in the sink. “Think about it.” I walked out of the kitchen and up the stairs to my room.

I shut the door and decided to clean my room to take my mind off of everything.

I hooked up my phone via BlueTooth to a speaker and blasted my My Chemical Romance station on Pandora. I started with my dresser, bursting with clothes that needed to be folded. After my dresser, I changed the sheets on my bed, cleaned my bathroom, dusted, and tidied up the various knick-knacks in my room. After all that, I clean out underneath my bed.

As I pulled out the various items under my bed, I pulled out a record. My Chemical Romance’s Black Parade. I took out the record. It was relatively new and the record’s slip case wasn’t bent at the corners. I flipped the case over and looked at the back.

After where the songs were listed, written in black ink, Caleb’s messy handwriting, was a letter. A letter to me.

Dear Gwen,

It took you long enough to clean out under your bed. At least, I’m guessing it’s been awhile since I put this there. Okay, now, before you smile at my charming self and go off and thank me for the record, listen to me:

If anything ever happens to me—and I mean anything, car accident, cancer, heart attack, my dad—I want you to know how much I love you. Even though I’ll never admit it to your face, I loved you when I met you that first day at camp. I thought when you left camp, I’d never see your bright face or your beautiful smile ever again.

Then, that first day back from winter break, Kevin ran into your shoulder—barely—and he knocked over your books. I just bent down and helped. I didn’t expect you to be you. But you were.

And you never looked so effortlessly beautiful. And never in my life—and I don’t think ever again—have I ever seen someone pull of beautiful as well as you—and there’s a lot of beautiful people out in this world. But none of them compare to you.