The Things I've Never Told Lindsey (A Nash Grier Fanfic)

I. Little Video Clips

I don't remember a lot from the night Michelle died. I remember small pieces, as if they were little video clips. First there was loud dance music, pounding the floor boards and assaulting my eardrums. Plastic cups filled with God-knows-what were being passed around, and the putrid smell of alcohol and smoke burned my lungs. I remember seeing my boyfriend, Dylan, pressing another shot to my lips while Michelle was styling his hair with some shaving cream she found in the bathroom.

The next thing I remember is slightly disoriented. Blurry lights, Dylan's hand becoming fuzzier and fuzzier, his hand reaching farther and farther down. I told him not to touch me like that at parties, but he never listened. "I'm sorry, babe, but you know how I get when I'm wasted," he would tell me. I was so drunk that night that he probably could have gotten away with anything if Michelle hadn't dragged me to her car.

I don't remember how I got behind the wheel. We didn't exactly have a designated driver. Dylan was knocked out in the back seat, Michelle was drunkenly singing Blurred Lines in the passenger seat, and I was trying to figure out where the road was.

The last thing I remember from that night was a tree coming closer and closer into view.

I never forgave myself. Michelle got the worst of the accident. I got away with a broken arm and bruised ribs, and Dylan only got a couple of minor scrapes. I couldn't even look at myself after that. Michelle was my other half. We were like Batman and Robin, Spongebob and Patrick, Sherlock and Watson. People knew us as Michelle & Savannah; Shellie & Sevie; a package deal, never one without the other. We knew more about the other than we did about our own self. She was the only thing that made me feel safe when I was around Dylan. With her, I never felt like I had to face the world alone.

I blamed myself entirely for the accident. I couldn't even look at myself in the mirror without being overcome by hatred and guilt. Dylan didn't get it, of course. He was totally fine. He was probably flying high in Wonderland during the accident and forgot he was even there. He told me that it was a sad thing, a crying shame, and then asked if we could order pizza. Sometimes I swear he's a sociopath, but then I realize that he's probably just brain-dead.

The weeks after the accident were some of the hardest weeks of my life. I couldn't sleep, couldn't eat, couldn't leave the house, but couldn't stand to stay in, either. Everything I saw reminded me of Shellie: the charm bracelet she got me for my 13th birthday, the locket with our picture, the toothbrush she left at my house and always forgot to pick up. Even the less obvious things, like gossip magazines, peanut M&Ms, the cat clock in the kitchen, her empty seat at the dining room table were enough to make me feel sick. I spent most of my time sitting on the bathroom floor hoping that binge-watching Netflix would make help me to forget. It never did.

The only other time I ever felt so sick in my life was the two-week anniversary of her death. It was the fourth day in a row that I was successfully able to avoid all human contact by locking myself in the bathroom and eating nothing but peppermint Tic Tacs while watching old episodes of Breaking Bad. I managed to ignore any communication with the outside world until 9:43 P.M. That's when I heard an aggressive banging on the bathroom door.

It wasn't my father because he was working late that night. I knew it wasn't my mother since her knocks were always cautious and gentle. She acted as if one loud bang would be enough to send me over the edge. The only other person I could think of was the one person I dreaded most.

"Sevie!" Knock, knock. "Hey, Sev?" Knock. "Savannah, open the door!" Bang, bang. "I know you're in there!" Bang, bang, bang. "You can't hide in there forever!" Bang. Then silence. "Fine. I'm going to sit here. Right here. I'm not moving until you get your ass out of that bathroom."

I sighed. Dylan. Oh, Dylan. I knew he wasn't going to leave that spot. It wasn't like he had anything better to do. Stubborn jackass.

"What do you want Dylan?" I shouted.

I heard a sigh from the other side of the door. "Savannah, you've been in like, lockdown for the past two weeks. People are wondering if you like, ya know, died or something."

I laughed to myself. My heart was still beating, but I sure felt dead.

"Well, I'm pretty much alive, so thanks for checking."

Even though I couldn't see his face, I could practically hear him rolling his eyes. "Well I know that. But nobody else does. I mean, have you even seen anybody since the accident?"

My silence was answer enough.

"Anyway, Josh is having a party tonight. It's gonna be huge. His parents even have one of those big ass wine cellars loaded with expensive shit, and there's no way in hell I'm missing that. You shouldn't either, ya know? It'll be good to get out of the house."

Dylan was so repulsive. Michelle was supposed to be his friend, too. He was finding this whole "moving on" thing a lot easier than he should.

"Dylan, you just want me to go because you don't want to show up without a date."

"That's not the point," he said. "This'll be good for you. Trust me."

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Author's Note:

Hey, hey.

I hope you're enjoying the book so far. I really enjoyed writing it. Probably a bit too much. I actually lost a few hours sleep writing this chapter, haha.

Don't worry, Nash will come within the next two chapters. Ah, Nash Grier.

AnYwAy, have a lovely day. Or night. Or both.

xxCharlotte