Jaded

[34] Consequences and Cake

The English language is unbelievably lacking sometimes. Like right now, for example. There should be a specific word to describe the atrocious mixture of pure rage and weary confusion swirling around in my brain.

I may not be sure what my stance is on this email Will decided to dump into my inbox but I do know one thing- I don't need it.

I sigh and slump lower into my second-hand office chair. A pinching sort of pain tugs at the base of my scalp as a few strands of hair get caught in the aged cracks on the leather of the head rest. As much as I try not to, my eyes skim across the text on my screen once again.

Maddy,

I'm writing you to say I'm sorry. I know what I did was wrong, I've always known. I don't know why I still did it. I think maybe it's because I need help. Not an excuse, I know.

Mom and Dad wanted me to 'stand up' to you and 'fight'. They don't know the truth, I wanted to tell them but I'm not that strong. I asked them to send me to rehab, they said I don't have 'those' kinds of problems so there's no need. I know they saw the coke in my bag, they just don't want to admit it. I begged. They said that if I insist, my only option is to leave state, live with Ben. 

Do you remember him? He's the cousin with those freckles you liked. The one we went to the carnival with last year. That was fun.

And just like that, his email ends. No sign off, no segue into a conclusion of any kind. It just finishes with this feeling that maybe he meant to write more but couldn't, for whatever reason.

But the point is, I didn't want to see this right now. I wanted to fly through pages and pages of biology- to eat Mama's chocolate cake and then end the day with a plan for my club meeting tomorrow with the VP.

Instead I've now wasted 40 minutes over Will. Will, of all people. If V was here, she would punch me. Hell, maybe I should punch me, maybe that way I'll get this stupid letter out of my head.

Nope, I can't. What gives him the right?! Does he think he's some kind of a saint?! That he's been redeemed now just because he's in rehab?

Then there's the nagging feeling that I should be glad he's in rehab, at least.

No, no, no. Okay, calm down. It's almost 5 pm, Mama and Dad will be home in a few hours then we'll have dinner. I have time right now, time that I should use to catch up on all the school I missed.

I take a deep breath in and hold for a few seconds, slowly releasing the air. Collette said that when she gets frustrated, usually with the day-to-day of running a whole grocery store, she makes a list of everything floating around in her head.

Yeah, that's what I'll do. Make a list, sort this crap out.

I reach behind my chair, towards my bag and pull out a notebook. Let's see, I'm feeling shitty because:

- Will's a bitch ass

- He's annoying

- Also, stupid

- I wanted to put this all behind me, didn't want to hear from him again

- He wears dumb-looking polo shirts

- What was Will hoping for by sending this?

- Does he expect a reply?

- ??

I pause and stare at the last few points. No matter how much I try, I can't come up with even a single reason to reply. He wanted to let all that off his chest? Good for him, doesn't mean I'm obligated to respond.