I Dont Do Too Well On My Own

The Thirty-Sixth Chapter

The next part of this support group almost made me stand up and leave.

Just image 6 pairs of people opening up- hugging and sobbing into each others shoulder, minus me. Im not crying.

This is the therapy.

You receive affection. You vent.

You get to cry and release energy.

You make a friend that is as fucked up as you are.

Im sitting in the arms of some huge guys whos name I never heard, and he is sobbing.

His parents died. I wish my parents were dead. He can take my parents.

Im looking over his shoulder at everyone else crying. I want to commit murder.

I flinch as someone across the room roars a mighty cry.

I want cry, but its too trendy and mainstream here. Here its the thing to do. Its not suddenly spontaneous and sad. Its what is so pathetic about this place. Its on its head.

After, Im standing up and grabbing my bag and the huge guy that was crying on my shoulder thanks me. I nod, reaching for my bag again.

"Are you from LA? I recognise you?" Zack is behind me.

I turn to look at him. Maybe I am pulling a face because he seems taken aback.

"I was on a wanted poster, if thats what you mean?" I say.

"No... You arent going to kill me, are you?" He laughs, but Im not laughing.

After today, I could murder. So be careful, Zack.

"I think you went to my high school?"

"What was the name of your friend?" I ask.

"Sydney."

And I just sit down, straight on the floor.

Sydney had friends, she was popular, but I was her best friend.

"Sydney." I mouth.

And Zack is sitting in front of me.

"Sydney was my best friend."

And Zack is trying to see my face.

"I saw her the whole day before she died."

And Zack leans in to hear me.

"I still dont know why she killed herself."

And Zack is silent.

"But I left."

And Im crying in this stupid place. Im curled in on myself and sobbing.

And Zack is watching.

Im now a hypocrite.

I clean the carpet.

"You were Jessica." Zack says.

I look up at him. My big watery eyes. His hair is plain brown and swung over his forehead. Bits stick out like waves. He could have a nice smile, given the right situation.

"I dont think Sydney wrote a note, but she talked about you a lot."

He smiles at the memory. You can see his sharp canines. He could be in a boy band.

"She was great. Never saw it coming..."

My shoulders are jumping as we sit on the velcro-like floor of a, now empty, makeshift room.

"Look, here, Ill hug you and we can pretend we are in therapy. Or we can pretend it never happened. Hug guaranteed in both options."

I cry on his shoulder. My arms wrap around his back and he holds me. He tells me what I want to hear. He tells me its okay. He tells me its over now, shes dead.

That shouldnt be comforting.

Then I remember that I left Patrick in Starbucks. I was meant to meet him almost an hour ago.

I squeeze onto Zack, the new stranger not so stranger, and he squeezes back.

"Her death restarted my life." I struggle out.

"Youre telling me. From what Ive heard from you-" Zack starts.

"Jesse? Are you okay?" Patrick turns the corner. "You were gone for such a long time and I have had several too many coffees and- oh."

I lean back and pat the floor next to me.

"Patrick. This is Zack, he- urm- he knew Sydney." I start.

He sits next to me carefully.

"You dont know any of this so I should probably explain."