Queen of the Wood ✅

2 - Facing the Past

I'm not a nervous flier, at least not typically.

However, this trip had me jumping out of my skin. I kept looking around anytime there was a bump, unable to relax even though I was thousands of miles up in the air.

I was pretty sure my mother knew by now that I was no longer at home.

Maybe not even in Miami.

Maybe that's why I kept looking around, worried she'd pop up from a seat a few rows back just to drag me onto a flight back to Florida as soon as we landed. She'd do that. However, she'd find a way to make sure it wasn't a "scene." God forbid she have a single hair out of place in public, let alone raise her voice or draw negative attention.

"Nervous?" The old woman sitting next to me spoke softly as she patted my hand, not seeming the least bit upset when I yanked it away like she was a branding iron.

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat, though I didn't say anything.

She seemed friendly. Part of me yearned to open my mouth and let out all the anxiety currently surging through my body, but instead, I turned and leaned against the window. I watched the clouds below us as they glowed in the sunset.

As usual, my thoughts turned to Maeve. She wouldn't have had any issues striking up a conversation with a random stranger. She used to tell me that we'd need to work on my small talk skills. But that's why I had her as a best friend - to teach me more about life and the best way to live it.

No one thinks twice about making those kinds of attachments when you're a kid. You think you're invincible; things like death are for old people. Something to start thinking about when you're 60 or something. You also assume that your best friend in high school will be your best friend for life.

I wish I had known.

I was now intimately aware of the repercussions of tying yourself too closely to someone. Your entire world gets thrown off balance so badly once they're gone you can't right it. At this point, I wasn't sure I could walk properly if something were to set things right.

All because of that damn night. The night that will never leave my thoughts or my dreams. Because that's all it is. Images my brain comes up with to compensate for the fact I can't remember. At least, that's what every therapist I've been to has told me.

There was a time when I was convinced it was buried memories resurfacing. But then the therapist would assure me they were nothing but a reaction to the trauma that I went through. I guess it made sense. How does one actually react to one's best friend disappearing at a party in the woods, never to be found?

Not well, if you're me.

Granted, even I must admit there's always been something wrong with me—something always off-center. The only person who ever knew the fucked up things that went on was Maeve. And she was gone.

The pilot came over the PA, announcing we were preparing to land at Will Rogers International Airport. I was already strapped in, so I settled back into my chair, pulling my headphones back on even though I wasn't listening to music. I didn't want the old lady to try and talk to me again. People find it weird when you don't talk back, so it's easier to pretend I can't hear them.

I couldn't believe I did this. I was going back.

For the entire time I had been gone, I wanted nothing more than to come home. I cried. Begged. Pleaded. Hoped. Prayed. Thought that, surely, Grams and Dad would come to get me. They had promised they would.

But they didn't.

They left me with her.

My stomach flipped as the plane began descending. I tightly gripped the armrest, holding my breath. There was an odd sort of excitement in my gut. I finally managed to thwart Mom.