Mr. Knight/A Jordan Knight Fanfic ✔️

6

6. archetype

Maybe Claire's right, and the scars aren't as bad as I think. They're eleven years old, after all, most of them faded nearly white. But the roots of tragedies like mine sink deep into the psyche, a virus designed especially for the cracks of broken hearts.

My scars are daily reminders, just like the ache in my knee when I overexert myself or when the weather drops below a certain temperature. Derrick is dead. Because of you, he's dead. There's no escaping the truth. The recurring nightmares. The moments when reality breaks apart and I think I see him in a crowd. Or I hear a laugh that sounds exactly like his.

The writer and theologian Frederick Buechner said, 'Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don't be afraid.'

He's partly right. There's beauty here, and terrible things certainly happen. In some form or another, tragedy strikes everyone at least once in their lives. An illness, a death, violence, a natural disaster... I've yet to meet someone who's been spared. I hope that most, however, will never have to live through what I have. That they'll never have to learn the lesson that fear is sometimes all that saves you.

When the memories are particularly bad, I call my mom and tell her. The same disease lives inside her—the disease of tragedy that forever atrophies a portion of your heart. But these days, it's harder for us to reach that place of commiseration. She's been in therapy for a long time. Eight years ago, she fell in love with a nice man and got married. I have two stepsisters now, one of them still in high school. My mother is busy raising her, being an adored wife, and teaching dance to toddlers. Pursuing happiness. Like she should.

Like I should.

Monday morning, I stare at my reflection the bathroom mirror and say, "I'm happy." My eyes—selkie-dark, he called them—are squinted with skepticism. "Happiness is a frame of mind. A choice. Today I will be happy."

The affirmations work most of the time, temporary psychological bandaids on my brokenness. Today, not so much. I feel fractured and odd. Having slept on damp hair, the white-blonde strands are wavy and haphazard. I consider a bun, but the weather has taken a turn and my ears need the warmth.

Claire, who's put up with my sullenness all weekend, hands me a thermos of coffee when I walk into the kitchen.

"Bless you," I say, tucking it under my arm as I yank on gloves.

She peers into my face. "Did you have a nightmare last night?"

I nod, and she clucks in sympathy. "Anything I can do?"

I smirk tiredly. "Dump Monty and go out with Griffen."

A blush blooms on her cheeks and she laughs.
"You're merciless. I thought you liked Monty."

I shrug. "There's nothing wrong with him, per se. But more importantly, do you like him?"

She purses her lips. "He's really nice and super smart."

I point at her face. "That look, right there. The faintly irritated one you get around him. That's why I sent you sexy cowboy bait."

She snorts, turning to gather her bag and thermos, then joins me at the door. We take the elevator down in silence, lift the hoods of our raincoats as we walk across the lobby, then step into the grey world of drizzle.

Not until we're waiting among other students at the crosswalk leading onto campus do I make my final move.

"You've been dating Monty, what, four months now?"