Not Like Last Time

Chapter 9

I was in a much better mood by the time I got home, but the empty feeling in my chest wouldn't go away. It felt like it was ripping me from the inside out. I walked my bike behind the house and put the kickstand out. I went inside through the back door and made my way upstairs.

I went to my desk, and saw that the window to Cassie's room was still open. I had a clear view to her ceiling fan, where a part of the rope still hung. And suddenly I saw Cassie again.

Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. She looked at me through the window. "It's all your fault," She gasped before falling still. I blinked and the vision went away. I shuddered and wiped the tears that were threatening to overflow.

I grabbed my notebook from underneath her pillow, but I didn't feel like writing. I felt like I didn't have anything to write, when I clearly did. My pen hovered over the page, but I couldn't write. The words wouldn't come.

So instead I just sat there, staring down at the blank page. Anger welled inside me. I was angry at myself and Cassie. Why didn't I listen to my gut and just go over there after I'd hung up? Why did I have to let my stupid grudges kill my best friend?

I slammed the notebook shut and threw it across the room. Why'd she have to die and not me? Cassie'd never been suicidal. She cut with me because she thought it would help me. Then she thought it was cool. But she'd never wanted to die. She'd always talk about how she wanted to travel the world and the seven seas, like in the song.

But maybe after everyone had left, me to the hospital, Marcus probably dead, and Sam got clean, maybe she felt like she was alone. God, if I had thought of that before and wasn't so focused on being angry at her maybe she'd still be alive.

I clenched the pen that was in my hands, running my thumb across the ink. It stained my thumb. I set the pen down quickly. My wrists were itching, not in the oh I just have an itch but in the You need a different pain come on a few more scars won't hurt, itch.

I clenched my fists. No. No, I wouldn't go back. I could get better. I will get better. I must be already halfway there if they let me out of Rivers in the first place. I just needed to breathe.

I went downstairs. I didn't bother telling Mom where I was going. She was probably asleep, I know that she didn't get much last night, that's for sure. I got on the bike and rode to Jake's restaurant, which, ironically, I still haven't learned the name of yet.

I glanced at the sign above the door. Family-Made and Family Owned!

Wow. Cheesy. I parked my bike in the rack, locking it. I went inside the restaurant and went to the counter. A woman was there, who looked to be in her middle age.

"Hello, table for one?" She asked, looking up. She had smile lines on her face, and her eyes reminded me of someone.

"Yes, please." I replied, and she led me over to a small round table towards the back.

"Someone will be with you in a few moments." She said, hurrying back to the front desk.

It must've been the lunch time rush, people kept pooling in. I stared down at the table. I hadn't been in a busy social setting–not counting Rivers–in a long time. Was it always this loud? Everything seemed amplified. God I could hear someone chewing from where I was sitting.

"Hey, staking out before your first shift?" Jake's voice teased from beside me. I basically jumped out of my seat.

I forced a laugh. "Yeah, I guess."

"Alright, so what can I get you?" He gave me a grin.

"A coffee and some sort of pastry please." I gave him what I hoped was a convincing smile.

"Coming right up." He walked away and back into what I assumed was the kitchen. I didn't have to wait long before Jake came back out, dodging other servers and customers.

"Do you work here every day?" I teased, taking the coffee and what looked like a croissant from him.

He rolled his eyes. "No. Just...every other day." He smiled but there was something behind it. As he walked away to get another person's order, I heard him sigh.

I went out to my bike after I'd paid and unlocked it. I walked it out onto the sidewalk then got on. Just before I was about to turn onto my road, someone was walking. They had blonde hair, exactly the same length as Cassie's. Same height and build, too. I knew it wasn't Cassie. But some delusional part of me had hope.

I couldn't stop pedaling. My feet wouldn't stop. I couldn't open my mouth to talk to the woman. All I could see was Cassie swinging. Back and forth.

Your fault. Your fault. Your fault.

I blinked and I was about to run into her. I yanked my tires to the left into the grass. I turned too sharp and fell hard, scraping my knees on the concrete and smacking my head on the grass.

The woman was yelling and I managed a few sorries. I got out from underneath my bike and just sat there a few minutes, forcing my breath to slow.

I tried to wipe the blood from the knees with my hands but only succeeded with smearing it on my hands and more on my knees. I grit my teeth and set the bike up, riding the rest of the way home without any more problems.

The sun was only just beginning to go down the horizon when I walked back into the house, bloody knees and all. It was only 8PM. Mom had gone to bed early, I assumed, to make up the lost sleep from last night. I went into the bathroom and rinsed my hands and knees. I put the bandaids on my knees.

I counted my steps up to my room, taking deep breaths. 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. Back and forth. No. 15. 16. 17. 18. Your fault. Your fault. Not my fault. 19. 20. 21–YOUR FAULT.

I made it up to my room and then I fell apart. I literally fell apart. It felt like I broke into a million little pieces all over again. I closed my door and sank to the floor, covering my mouth with my hands.

It felt like I was dying. My breathing was too fast and I could hear the blood roaring in my ears. I couldn't think, I couldn't see. Couldn't see anything except the fucking rope. Couldn't hear anything except her parents sobbing. The way she'd hit the ground after her dad had cut the rope.

Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. That's what she was. And it felt like it was my fault. Tears soaked my face. Blood soaked my hands. Her blood. On my hands.