The Choice

Prologue

TESSA
The train gently rocks back and forth giving a false sense of calm. Even the landscape is peaceful. How can that be when my entire world has fallen apart? I try to shut out the weirdness, but every time I close my eyes I get an endless reel of images - memories - I don't know, I can't tell the difference anymore between reality and dreams - nightmares. 
I have taken this ride a hundred times. But really, this is the first and last time. My dad will pick me up at the station, just like always - probably wearing the same sharp suit, shiny shoes, tie and professional smile he uses when picking up his boss. I can close my eyes and see it now... we have been all over the world together. Italy, France, Peru, Japan. I was in England when Princess Kate married Prince William, and in Russia for the Olympics. I have spent the night in some very fancy hotels. And weeks every summer in Martha's Vineyard. All as a second class citizen. Not that I am complaining. I love my dad. And my "normal" life with my  --- God I can't, I can't even think about her. 
My life is in shambles. I could appreciate all that awesomeness with my dad because my real home was so completely normal. How am I going to do this? How am I going to be me without her to balance out all of his baggage? Who am I going to be without her? 
I can't hold in the groan that escapes my lips as the overwhelming anger surges through me again. I have to close my eyes and shut out this ridiculously beautiful vista before I scream. I hate myself for worrying about how her death affects me. And isn't that a catch 22. I am nothing but a selfish little brat, really. All those people crying. Over losing her. Her smile, steady hand, stubbornness, laughing at her own stupid jokes - that weren't even funny. They cried for her. I cried, too. I cried. For me. 
Now I am just angry. Well, mostly angry. I can't figure out who to be angry with though. Her, or me. And every time I close my eyes, I see her. Bits and pieces of what used to be my life. I can't differentiate between good and bad anymore. On the surface the images are pleasant - me at the kitchen table bent over algebra while she cooks us pasta for dinner; the two of us on the couch under a mountain of blankets watching Titanic for the 1 millionth time; her extra-loud and enthusiastic whistle at cheer competitions - but they rip a hole in my chest and make me so angry I taste bile. So, for now, I have relegated them to the nightmare category and block them out as much as possible. 
I keep coming back to that core question though. How am I supposed to do this? I, literally, don't even know who I am. So many pieces of me are off limits. People talk to me and I stare at them blankly. Don't they know I don't exist anymore either? God. 
Thirty minutes and my new life begins. Dad. I love my dad. And I have taken this ride a hundred times. All I have to do is get off the train. Right. Okay.