Making It Through (16 page)

On Monday morning, I found myself walking home from my friends' place feeling unrested, unhappy, and unsure what to do with myself. They had insisted that I stay the weekend, and I didn’t bother fighting them, but it was time to have some space. It had been much better than sitting at home, alone. My house was empty, the silence uncomfortable. It was times like these that I would have picked up my phone and texted Max, or would end up hanging out with him.

But not this time.

I had a class in an hour, and I decided that, regardless of what had happened, I needed to stay on track. Arriving at the auditorium just as the professor was pulling out his notes to begin, I looked down the stairs at my usual seat, only to find Max parked there, no doubt ready to confront me. I snagged a seat in the very last row, in the far corner, and
sank
down. I couldn’t deal with him; I needed to focus.

The class dragged for what seemed like hours, and I could see him glance around every once in a while. As soon as the professor started his ‘see you next class’ speech, I snatched up my bag and rushed out the door. In the safety of my car, I let out a huge breath I hadn’t known I was holding.

With only the one class that day, I headed home to bury myself in my studies. But studying didn’t come. Instead, my mind was distracted, words rolling around in my head. I grabbed a notebook off my shelf and began to write feverishly all over the page.

When I sat back and looked at what I'd done, my eyes linked bits together and began forming the rough draft of lyrics. A jolt of excitement rushed through me; I hadn’t written anything since before Matt died. In fact, I hadn’t been sure if I would ever write another word again, but seeing the paper before me was exhilarating.

I looked to the corner to grab my guitar and paused. Crap. It was still in Max’s room. I was torn; on one hand, I didn’t want to go back over there any time soon, but on the other, I didn’t want to stop the creativity now that it seemed to be flowing.

Snatching my phone with a groan. I texted Jordan to see if, by chance, Max was out. A short time later, he confirmed that was the case. I wasn’t sure how long I'd have, so I grabbed my backpack off the floor, flew to my car, and drove over to retrieve my things. Once I was parked outside the apartment, I hastily dumped my backpack’s contents on the passenger seat, took a shaky deep breath, and headed inside. I held the key Max had given me in my palm as I knocked. When Jordan answered the door, I whispered, “Is he still out?”

“Yeah. Look, Mady, for whatever my opinion is worth, I think you should talk to Max.”

“I can’t right now.” I stared at the floor. “I just want my stuff.”

My heart sank with each step to Max’s room. I closed the door behind me, dropped my bag on his bed, and looked around the room. The picture of the two of us glared at me from the bookshelf. I picked up my guitar from the corner and was moving back to my bag to begin filling it, when I heard his voice. Scrapping the idea of packing in a panic, I dashed from his room. When he saw me, a huge smile exploded onto his face, but quickly fell when he saw my frown and the guitar in hand.

“I just came to get my guitar. Well, my other things, too, but suddenly, they feel very unimportant,” I rambled as I edged my way to the door.

“Mady, wait.” Max took a step toward me.

I shook my head and took a step back. “I’m going to go.”

“You haven’t given me a chance to talk with you. Come on, you know we need to talk.”

“No. Not right now. I don’t want to hear any explanation, or excuse, or whatever. I’m already feeling pretty shitty, and I don’t want to feel like this. It was a mistake coming here; I just wanted my guitar.” I reached the door, pausing to turn back to him. “Here.” I tossed his key at him.

“So, you think that’s it?” he asked incredulously.

I nodded. He looked at me and shook his head angrily. “I’m not giving up, Mady. Not until you hear me through, because you have this all wrong.”

I nodded and slipped out the door without another word.

It had been a week of avoidance. Max was persistent, I would admit to that. He sat in my seat during all our classes, forcing me to always sit near the rear, which I hated. He continued to send texts to me throughout the day and night. Flowers showed up a couple of times at the house—multicolored gerbera daisies. How he knew they were my favorite flower, I had a guess or two which best friend leaked that information. And his last attempt was a huge bag full of food from his aunt’s restaurant. He wasn’t fighting fair.

My life was not the same without him. I missed having my best friend around. I hated to admit that he had become my best friend, but he had. He knew all of my struggles, had been the one to help me through, had been the one to make me laugh, and had forced me to start experiencing life again. I would be forever grateful for that.

What could I do? Sometimes, life doesn’t go the way you want it to. Should I give in to my urges to text him? To tell him that I missed him? I knew I wouldn’t be able to resist him if I did. And I still wasn’t sure that I should give him another chance, even though both Chloe and Meagan insisted so.

It was at night when I still seemed to struggle the most. My dreams about Matt continued, and with out the comfort of Max, I often woke with tear-stained cheeks. Sometimes, I wasn’t sure who the tears were for. I missed Matt so much, and that hole in my heart was definitely still there. But I also missed Max; even though he had hurt me so badly, my heart still wanted him.

I did my best to stay busy and keep my mind off it all. My studies helped, but writing had been very therapeutic, and the songs I had written, I felt were my best yet.

The fighting between my parents had slowed. Mom and Dad had sold the house, and we were all beginning to pack up the life we'd once had together. Sam decided that living with mom was probably the best thing for her. The two of them had banded together after Matt left us, so it made sense that’s who she would choose. I, on the other hand, felt bad for my dad. He had been just as hurt in all of this, and I didn’t want him to be alone, so I chose to live with him.

It was Saturday evening, and I had already made a dent in my own room, boxes littering my floor. I decided that it was time to start on Matt’s room—a task that I knew none of us really wanted. I needed to see it one last time as the space that I had spent so much time in. I took a deep breath just outside his door, before turning the handle slowly. I gazed around the room from the doorway. Almost everything had been left untouched, and a shiver raced through me; it was just as if he would come walking in at any second, giving me hell for invading. I halfheartedly laughed at myself for the thought. Who was I kidding? Matt would have always welcomed me with open arms.

Slowly, I walked around the room, my fingers flitting over little trinkets and books, a shot of pain running straight to my heart. Sinking into Matt’s favorite comfy chair in the corner, I curled my knees to my chest, suddenly overwhelmed. How could I box it all up? It was still too soon to imagine getting rid of anything. Tears silently rolled down my cheeks. Maybe I couldn’t be the one to do this.

One of Matt’s shirts had been tossed across the bed, and I dragged it into my lap. It still smelled of his cologne. I could actually feel the darkness settling over me, my hearts wounds making themselves known.

With a tap on the open door, my dad walked in and sat on the bed near me. “What are you doing in here,
hon
?”

I tried to pull myself together before I answered. “Matt’s stuff needs to be packed up, and I wanted to spend a little time in here, before it's gone. I didn’t think it would be so hard.”

“Why do you think it's taken me so long to come in here? I don’t want to do it any more than you do,
hon
. But, we both know it has to be done.”

I looked up at him. He appeared tired, the lines on his face more defined. I hadn’t noticed before now the toll all this had taken on him. “Are you all right, Dad?”

“Of course,
hon
. Why do you ask?”

I shook my head. “I’ve been so focused on myself and making it through it all, that I hadn’t stopped to think about you. Which is pretty selfish, if I'm honest. I know you haven’t had it easy with the divorce and this,” I said, waving my hand around Matt’s room.

“Madelyne, I don’t have the right words to explain how sad I am that everything has happened the way it has. We had a good life, a good family. But death, and especially suicide, can cause such a ripple effect, you can see it. Mom and I just couldn’t find a way to grieve together. I love your mom, but it’s easier now without all the senseless fighting. And you, you almost flunked out of school. I was pretty worried about you for a while there, kiddo.
I'm
glad to see you keeping with it. It takes a strong person to persevere.

“We're about to embark on a new chapter, us two, Mady, and part of me is sad, because life, as we once knew it, is over. Matt will be a part of us wherever we go, but we can’t keep holding on to what is gone. What we need to do is learn to appreciate and hold on to what we have right in front of us.”

I nodded. I knew he was right. He paused a moment before continuing. “Mady, do you think maybe it’s time you let your fellow back in? At least to let him explain what really happened.”

I sighed. Sometimes having a parent aware of the goings on in your life had its disadvantages; this was one of them.

“Dad, he’s not my fellow anymore. Things happened, and he hurt me pretty badly. I’m not sure if I can handle talking with him about it. Besides, maybe he's moved on to someone less emotionally unstable.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.”

I looked at him, confused. “What are you talking about?”

Dad furrowed his brow. “He’s been by to see me.”

“What?”

“Relax, Mady, he just wanted to ask my advice.”

I was bewildered. “I really don’t understand. Why would he come to you?”

Dad shook his head. “I’m not sure, honey, but he was pretty upset and needed to get some stuff off his chest. I think you should talk to him.”

“I don’t know...”

He rested his hand on my shoulder. “Madelyne, it’s not like you to run without knowing all the facts. I’m not telling you to take him back, just talk to him.”

We sat there for a while, in silence. I knew, deep down, he was right, but I was more stuck on why Max had gone to my dad in the first place.

“Okay, Dad,
I'll
try.”

“That’s all I ask.”

“So, I guess the couple of times he was here, you must have made an impression on him, huh? To make him want to come talk to you like that.”

“This isn’t the first time he’s come to talk to me. He came to talk to me about three months ago.”

Yet another bombshell. What the hell was going on?

“Want to explain that one, Dad?”

He shook his head. “That is his story to tell.”

Dad cleared his throat and stood, signaling the end of our conversation. He grabbed an empty box, moved to the bookcase, and began to fill it.

“This is tough as hell, Matt,” he mumbled to himself.

When multiple boxes were filled, and a few silent tears had been shed, I returned to my room, feeling sad and sentimental. I crawled underneath my comforter and released a few more tears, before drifting off to sleep.