Rehab, Actors & Love

Guilt Round 2

Dylan's POV

I haven't heard from Della since I left the center. I would've called her or at least texted her, but I never got her number. Not like she would answer if I did text her.

Ever since I left the center, I haven't been able to sleep. Part of me wants to go get drunk and just forget the whole thing. But then I remember that drinking caused all of this.

Forget rehab. Just meet the person whose life you destroyed. That's stronger and more effective than any rehab program.

I was currently sitting in my apartment, scrolling through Della's Instagram. I smiled when she updated a picture last night of her and two boys. That must be her brothers, the twins, Jason and Jack. They were sitting on her bed, watching something.

I scrolled through the rest of her account, guilt overwhelming me. I kept going over what happened when I told her the truth. The things I said. The things I should have said. The things she said. The way she looked at me when I told her.

"What could you possibly have to say to me right now? It was you, Dylan. You got drunk and hit me that night. It was you!"

Evan was right. Della is too good for me. I wanted to apologize. I wanted to somehow make it up to her, but how do I do that? I ended her singing career, almost ending her life. And I got away with it.

"I'm so sorry, Della." My voice broke as I begged for her forgiveness. "I didn't know."

"How could you?" She said, her voice emotionless. "There was no way of knowing that your drunken actions would ruin someone's life. There was no possible way of knowing that our actions have consequences, and sometimes you aren't the one to pay the price. Others are."

She was right. I spent so much time creating a reputation for myself, I never thought or even cared about what happened to others. Until now. Until I met someone whose life I ruined.

Until I met Della.

"You alright?"

I looked up to see Charles standing in my doorway, leaning against it.

"I'm fine," I mumbled, looking back down at a picture of Della and her family after one of her singing competitions. She had a first-place medal around her neck.

"You're clearly not, man. Talk to me."

I sighed as I decided there was no point in lying. "Do you remember that girl? From the center? She was playing the piano in the music room my first day and that guy Evan mentioned she was his favorite."

"Oh yeah," Charles laughed. "Didn't he warn you to stay away from her?"

"Yeah," I shrugged.

"I'm guessing you didn't," he smirked. I sent him a glare, making him laugh. "That's what this is about? A girl?"

"She's not just a girl," I sighed, standing up and running my fingers through my hair. "She's. . . She's funny and smart and beautiful and. . . Evan was right. She's too good for me."

"Whoa," Charles laughed. He stopped when he saw the look on my face. "You really like her, huh?"

"I do," I sighed. "But she hates me."

"What makes you think that?"

I sent him a look before sighing. "She was at the center because she was hit by a drunk driver. Care to take a shot in the dark of who that drunken asshole was?"

"No way," Charles mumbled when it clicked. "You?"

I nodded as he sighed. "Holy shit," he said under his breath. "Small world. Was it the same accident you were there for?"

"No," I said, my stomach turning sour. "It was my second offense. The one about 15 months ago."

"The one. . ." Charles thought about it for a minute before his eyes widened. "The one you guys got out of because the judge was your friend's dad."

I nodded as I started to pace back and forth in front of him. "That accident destroyed Della's life. She had to go through physical therapy for her legs. And what's worse is the fact that the seatbelt cut into her neck, destroying her vocal cords. When I was at the center, she finally was strong enough to speak every day. As long as she whispered and was careful."

"Wow," Charles tried to jump in but I kept rambling.

"And! And! Get this! She was a vocal legend. Like the competitions and awards and everything. Now, because of me, she can never sing again. I ruined her life. Not only did I meet her at rehab and started to fall for her, but it turns out I was the one who completely fucked up her life."

"Dylan," Charles said, grabbing me and stopping me from pacing. He dragged me over to the couch and forced me to sit down.

"Look, kid," he started.

Before he continued, my phone started ringing. He gestured for me to answer it as he leaned back further into the couch. I tilted my head in confusion when I saw who was calling me.

"Who is it?" He asked.

"The center," I mumbled as I answered it. "Hello?"

"Dylan."

"Evan? What. . . Why are you calling me?"

"It's about Della."

I sat up straighter at the mention of her name. "What happened? Is she okay? Can I talk to her?"

"Dylan," he cut me off. My heart jumped into my throat at his tone. "It's not good."

Those three words made everything stop. My stomach dropped, my heart stopped beating, and I couldn't breathe.

"What happened?" I asked, barely audible.

"Della. . . She tried. . . She's on. . ." He hesitated.

"Evan," I said harshly. "What happened?"

"Della was put on suicide watch yesterday," he rushed out.

I didn't know my heart could drop any lower until now.

"What?"

"A couple of days after you left, I found her in her bathroom. She had taken a handful of old pain pills that she had in her bathroom from her leg therapy."

"She tried to. . ."

I couldn't finish that sentence. I didn't want to. If I did, that meant it was true. And it was my fault. Again.

"Why are you. . . Why are you telling me this?" I stuttered.

"I just thought you'd want to know," he said softly.

There were a few beats of silence between the two of us. My mind was racing as I processed the news.

"How is she? Is she okay?"

"She's fine," Evan sighed. "Her family was here, her brothers visit every day after school and don't leave until visiting hours are over. She's getting better. Slowly. At least, she's pretending to be getting better. It's hard to get a read on that girl."

"I want to see her," I rushed out.

"I don't know, Dylan," Evan hesitated. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why not?" I asked, trying not to get angry.

"I don't think. . . She may not. . ."

"You don't think she'll want to see me," I finished for him.

"I'm sorry, Dylan. I would say just give her time, but. . . I'm not sure she'll ever be okay with what happened. It took her a long time to work through the accident, and that was before she knew who caused it. Now that she knows? It's worse than her simply knowing because. . . She let you in, Dylan. She doesn't do that."

I closed my eyes, taking a few slow breaths. "Will you at least tell her something for me?"

"Of course."

"Tell her," I hesitated, trying to figure out the perfect way to say this. "I'm sorry. For everything. If I could take it back, I would. I know that doesn't really mean anything, but. . . I'm glad she finally has someone to blame."