4 Jet Planes and Rainy Skies

Jet Planes and Rainy Skies

Cael

I DIDN'T KNOW WHAT TO EXPECT FROM THE OTHER PEOPLE GOING ON THIS trip. Everyone was from different places within the United States, accents varying. We were from a range of backgrounds. But watching everyone wait in the lounge, hardly anyone speaking, it was clear we were all lost in the same stinking cesspit of loss—Mia and Leo seemed to have chosen their six hopeless cases well.

My eyes tracked to the seat opposite me. Savannah. I couldn't deny that the minute I'd clocked my eyes on her, she had stopped me in my tracks. Surprising, seeing as though I hadn't remotely noticed anyone that way in a year. She was point blank the most beautiful person I'd ever seen. I gripped tightly on to the arms of the chair when my first thought was to tell Cill about her …

I shifted in my seat, that pull in my stomach turning to nausea at the thought of him. I tightened my jaw so much, I felt my teeth ache. What the hell was I doing here?

Reaching for my bag, I went to take out my headphones, but the string that pulled them closed had become tangled. I pulled and pulled at the string, but the more and more I yanked at it, the more it became knotted.

"Argh!" I bit out in frustration, when the string snapped in my hand and ripped the side of my bag. I kicked my bag away from my seat and clutched my hands in my hair, gripping at the strands, just trying to breathe. I gritted my teeth together and tried to force myself to calm down. But it was no good.

My feet shuffled on the ground, legs bouncing in agitation. I couldn't sit here. Couldn't just burn in this seat. I reached forward and dragged my bag to me. Then, just as I was about to jump to my feet, to try to shake off this impossible weight around my neck, I lifted my head and immediately caught Savannah smiling at something Jade, one of the other girls, was saying to her. The minute I saw that smile, something inside of me calmed. A wave of peace crashed over me. And for second—a single euphoric free moment—everything stilled. Not numbed. Never numbed. But seeing that smile … I didn't understand why it affected me so much. She was just a girl. And it was just a smile. But, for a split second, there was a cease-fire within me.

Lili, the third girl on the trip, leaned over her seat and joined the conversation. Savannah politely smiled as Jade and Lili laughed. Savannah didn't laugh. Her arms were locked around her waist, and I noticed the sleeves of her shirt pulled down over her palms as if it gave her some kind of comfort, protected her somehow.

I tipped my head to the side as I studied her. I'd never seen anyone have a panic attack before. Never seen something so emotionally disabling come over someone so suddenly. Savannah had blanched, then begun to shake, body jumping as she fought for breath. Her blue eyes had widened with fear, and her lips had paled.

Usually I didn't feel anything but pissed. Hadn't in so long. Wasn't affected by movies, books, or personal stories—no matter how tragic. Hell, even my mom crying daily and my dad trying to comfort her still didn't break through the impenetrable walls that now encased my heart. But seeing the petite dark blond with wide blue eyes fighting for breath in the middle of JFK was the first time some kind of emotion had snuck in.

For a moment, a brief moment, I had actually felt something.

As if feeling my stare, Savannah took her gaze from the planes taking off outside and turned my way. Red immediately burst onto her cheeks under my attention, and that same pull inside of my chest yanked again. Then Dylan returned from wherever he'd been, and he dropped down beside her. He passed her a bag of chips. The small smile she gave him, this time, made me tense. Savannah … she was stunning. There were no bones about it. She was beautiful, but if it was even possible, she seemed more closed off than me. The quietest of the group by far, and that was saying something. Dylan leaned in and said something to her I couldn't hear, and she huffed out an amused laugh.

I felt another pull in my heart. And I didn't like it. I didn't want to feel again. I had grown used to the fire. Preferred it to those agonizing early days after Cill …

Travis sat down beside me, breaking me from the spiral I was about to go down. I looked over to the redhead, thick, black-framed glasses sitting on a pale face full of freckles. "You want one?" he said and held out a box of Twizzlers.

"No," I said sharply and looked back to Savannah again. Dylan was still talking to her. She simply replied with nods and kind smiles.

I couldn't take my eyes off her.

Travis cleared his throat. "So, no hockey this year?" I froze, his question as effective as a bucket of kerosene being thrown over my head. I turned to the boy about my age and felt fire swarm through my veins, hot and potent. It took me a moment to realize that everyone in our group was looking our way. I saw Savannah and Dylan watching us, Lili and Jade beside them, waiting for my answer.

"I don't talk about hockey," I replied, even more sharply this time. I glared at Travis, making damn sure he didn't continue with this line of questioning, but he just nodded like my answer wasn't laced with a threat to not continue down this road. In fact, he didn't seem affected by my shitty attitude at all. And he was clearly a hockey fan.

Great. Just what I needed. Someone who knew my past.

Travis took another bite of his Twizzlers and casually said, "I like data." He pointed at himself. "Math nerd." He ignored my dark expression. "Sports makes for some of the best data." He shrugged. "I watched some of your junior hockey games while gathering it. I recognized your face the minute I saw you, and your name, of course." A flicker of sympathy filled his brown eyes and I saw it—he knew why I was here. If he followed hockey, if he followed my stats, maybe Harvard's stats too, then he would know .

That was the part I could never escape from now. What happened to Cill … it had been huge news in the sports world. In the hockey world, it was the biggest shock in recent years. The biggest tragedy.

But in my personal world … it was Armageddon.

I jumped up from my seat, cutting him off before he could say anything else. I felt the group's eyes on me as I did, could feel the same pity directed at me, the same way they had looked toward Savannah earlier. Spotting a coffee shop, I beelined for the long line. My fists were clenched at my side and I fought not to plow my fist through the nearest wall.

An addictive scent of almonds and cherries suddenly swarmed around me. When I turned to look behind me, Savannah was there, right behind me. Her wide blue eyes were focused on me. She had a blush to her cheeks again. My chest tightened, threatening to feel something, but I pushed it away. I couldn't deal with feeling anything right now. Not after being reminded of my bro—

" What? " I snapped, my voice laced with venom.

Savannah looked shocked by my attitude. "A-are you okay?" Her nervous, sweet voice sailed into my ears and hit me like a freight train. She was southern. Bible Belt, I'd guess. Her country accent wrapped around the vowels of her question like silk, soft and melodic. The opposite to my harsh Massachusetts brogue which cut like glass.

"What do you care?" I bit out, voice hard. "Just go back to the group and leave me alone." I turned back to the line, feeling my stomach turn for some inexplicable reason. I didn't care that I'd snapped at her. I didn't . I felt her presence behind me like that of an angel—comforting, caring, calming. But I didn't want that. I wanted to sear, wanted to stay incinerated. I waited a few seconds, then couldn't help but look behind me. I caught her retreating to the lounge where the others waited, head slightly bowed.

She'd clearly gotten the message.

Ordering a coffee, I had barely made it back to the lounge when the announcement to board the plane came through. Mia handed us each a ticket and we fell into line. I held on to my coffee and broken bag and ignored everyone else. I saw Savannah with Dylan two spots in front of me and tried not to let guilt creep into my heart. She'd only been checking on me. I couldn't remember anyone in a long time even caring anymore. I'd successfully pushed everyone I loved away. But she had tried …

It didn't matter. I didn't need her or anyone in my life.

Like cattle, we were led to the plane, and I huffed a disbelieving laugh when I arrived at my seat. It was one of the plane's middle seats, in a row of four. My three companions were already seated—the free seat was between Savannah and Travis, Dylan next to Savannah on the aisle.

Perfect.

I sat down, stowed my bag under the seat in front of me, and went to put on my headphones. Before I could, an elbow nudged me. Travis. "I'm sorry," he said and pointed to his mouth. "Sometimes I forget how to keep this shut. I need to learn how to not say everything that comes to my head out loud. I shouldn't have mentioned anything." The guy looked so guilty that I couldn't stop some of my irritation from falling away.

"I don't ever talk about hockey," I said again, making sure to hammer that point home, then put on my headphones, my music immediately drowning out all noise. I closed my eyes and didn't intend to open them again until we landed. But as the scent of almonds and cherries sailed past me again, I cracked an eye open and caught Savannah nervously looking my way. And I didn't know what propelled me, but I found myself answering her question from the coffee shop line. "I—" I took a deep breath, then said, "I'm fine …" In a break between songs, I caught her hitch of shocked breath. "Thanks," I tacked on awkwardly.

A flicker of what seemed like relief passed in Savannah's gaze, and she nodded, focusing back on the paperback in her hands. I didn't pay attention to what it was; I was too busy trying to keep my eyes closed and not picture her pretty face and the way she'd just looked at me.

Like she cared.

The Lake District, England

Frost clung like white lace to the many gray walls we passed, walls made up by layers and layers of ancient brick. Tiny, windy roads tested the driving skills of the bus driver, fat drops of rain pelting against the windows as we swayed side to side on uneven asphalt roads littered with potholes, trying to reach our destination. Small, old buildings sat dotted around fields that stretched for miles and miles, only a mass of sheep and cattle in residence. I gripped on to the edge of the seat, counting down the minutes until we got to the accommodation. I hated being in any kind of car or bus for too long.

I stayed transfixed at England spread out before me, trying to take my mind off everything. I'd never been here before. And I'd only ever heard people talk of London and other major cities when it came to the UK. Apparently, we were going to be far, far away from any of them. Good. I didn't want to be near masses of people.

Out here in the rural countryside, the skies were moody and overcast, no sun in sight. The air was frigid, and in only the short walk from the airport to the bus, that cold wind cut deep to my bones. But I had a fondness for that sensation—for a moment, it reminded me of how it felt when I stood out on the ice. Warm breath turning into white mist with every measured exhale, the bitter and brutal chill slapping against your skin like a whip made of a thousand blades.

After ten more minutes, the bus that was taking us to England's Lake District came to a slow stop. I'd sat at the back of the bus so was the last to depart. But as I stepped off the bus's steps, the sight of the lake before me made me still. It was huge, as far as the eye could see, mist hovering over its surface like a fallen dark cloud. It was like something from an old-fashioned Gothic movie. Boats bobbed in the distance, dressed in the gray fog. Small islands looked haunted with their spindly trees and camouflaged birds calling from within the mist. Mountains surrounded the lake like stark castle walls, and tourists milled about in small rows of shops on the other side of the lake, wrapped in warm winter coats, hats, gloves, and scarves.

I hadn't held out much hope for this trip. But this … this was something to see. No big stores, no high-rises, no heavy traffic. Just the sound of the lake and the whistling frigid wind whipping around the trees.

"Welcome to Windermere!" Mia said as the driver collected all our luggage from the bus's compartment, placing it on the pavement where we stood. Standing behind us was a large hostel-type building, made of the same gray brick everything else seemed to be made from in this place. Outside, the hostel had benches and a fire pit with logs surrounding it. It was dark and eerie. And it was completely on its own.

I imagined that was why it had been chosen.

"This is home for the next couple of weeks," Leo said and gestured for us all to grab our bags and follow him up the path to the front entrance. Wooden rowing boats were docked on the stony shore that surrounded the house, and makeshift wooden swings hung from the branches of the surrounding trees.

As we followed Mia and Leo into the house, we were led into a hallway, then to a large room that was furnished with couches and a TV. "We have sole use of this hostel for the duration of our stay," Mia explained. Leo began handing us each a key. "The boys will be sharing a dorm room, and so will the girls," Mia continued. I took a deep, exasperated breath. I was sharing with Dylan and Travis. The last thing I wanted to do was share a room with other people. I wasn't unused to it; in hockey we roomed with others all the time.

But that was then. That was before . Now, I needed solitude.

"We'll each be in the supervisor rooms next to your dorms." Leo pointed to the stairs. "In case you need us for anything. How about you get settled, and then we'll meet back here in about an hour to discuss what will happen on this leg of the trip." Leo smiled. "I know jet lag must be kicking in, but believe me, from experience, it's best to push through as long as you can to help switch to this time zone."

I rarely slept anymore anyway. I didn't think my body knew what time zone it even lived in.

Lili led the way to the stairs. The girls started up to the top floor, when Dylan grabbed Savannah's luggage and began climbing to the top.

"Oh, you don't need to do that," she said, her southern accent trickling over me again. It sounded like she was singing.

"No problem," Dylan said and dropped it off outside her room.

Travis nudged me as we reached our room. He wagged his eyebrows in suggestion, then tipped his head toward Dylan and Savannah. I stepped away from him. But I got what he was insinuating. And I tried. I really friggin' tried to not let it bother me, but no matter how much I fought to repel the thought of them together, the twist in my gut told me I'd been unsuccessful.

Ignoring the boulder that was forming in my chest, I followed Travis into the room. There were two sets of bunk beds. I took in the size of them, and then the size of me, and just accepted that I'd be getting no sleep even if I could manage it.

I threw my rucksack on the bottom bunk of one of the beds against the far side of the wall. No way was I even attempting to get on a top bunk. The walls of the room were a generic cream, the bed sheets a rusty red color. Travis followed me, throwing his bag on the top bunk above mine. I gritted my teeth. I was hoping he would have bunked with Dylan. I'd never known a person so oblivious to someone not wanting to speak to him.

Just as I thought of Dylan, he walked in. He looked at me on the bottom bunk and Travis up on the top and walked to the spare bunk. "Just like the Four Seasons, huh?" he said, cracking a joke. I just lay back on the bed, ignoring them. It wasn't uncomfortable, but as predicted, my feet hung over the edge. I was agitated and tired and just wanted to stay here and not deal with whatever Mia and Leo had in store for us.

I slipped on my headphones and turned up the music just in time to block out Travis and Dylan talking. I closed my eyes and just tried to think of nothing until a hand shook my shoulder.

I yanked my arm away and opened my eyes. "What?"

Dylan motioned for me to remove my headphones, seemingly unfazed. "It's time for the meeting," he said when I slipped them off. I must have fallen asleep, which was surprising. Sleep didn't come easily to me these days.

I sat up, trying to inject some energy into my body. Dylan gestured to the bed. "I just about fit. Not great for you though, huh?" Dylan was fairly tall. About six feet on the nose. Travis was more around five ten. At six four, I was used to being the biggest in the room of most people my age. In hockey, I was just one of many.

Silently, I followed them out of the room, down the stairs, and into the main living room. A fire was roaring in the open fireplace. A large red rug covered the stone floor. Framed paintings covered the walls, landscapes from what I assumed were the many lakes and mountains in this region.

The girls were already seated, taking up one of the three-seater sofas. Despite myself, I immediately sought out Savannah. She looked tired. Her blue eyes were red, her peach skin pale. She was drowning in a thick cream sweater that she held tightly to her by the arms wrapped around her torso. She had pulled her long hair up onto a messy bun on the top of her head, and I couldn't stop looking at the curve of her neck and her pretty profile when she turned her face.

I sat beside Dylan and Travis on the second three-seater sofa. Mia and Leo entered a few minutes later, and each sat in an armchair beside the fire. They were holding a bunch of what looked like notebooks in their laps.

"So, what are your impressions of our first stop?" Mia said, smiling.

As far as therapists went, Mia and Leo seemed okay. But I didn't want or need therapists trying to dig into my psyche and help me. I just wanted to be left alone.

At least Mia and Leo didn't seem pushy—not yet. In the past year, I'd been through four therapists. None had ever gotten me to "open up." I barely spoke in the sessions, clock-watching until our time was up. None of them had ever been able to smash through the walls that had built themselves around me after Cill died. I didn't hold out much hope that Leo and Mia would be any more successful than their predecessors.

"It's beautiful," Jade said, her voice boasting an accented English.

Mia nodded when no one else offered an answer. Leo cleared his throat. "We have designed this trip to help you. Each country we visit is to aid you in overcoming the challenges you have been facing." Leo met each of our eyes. "Mia and I have an open-door policy. You're free to come and talk to us anytime. But you'll also have one-on-one time with us too. We understand, for some of you, conventional therapy has not been successful." The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end when I saw Leo's eyes momentarily flit over to me. Maybe I'd just imagined that. "But we hope this new approach will make you more comfortable about helping you through your individual grief journeys.

"You have all lost someone or more than one person of significance in your life. We won't push you to share with the group who those people are. We do, however, encourage you to bond, to share your personal pain, but how much you confide is up to you. You are all in the same boat, and peer support can be life-changing in terms of your own path to healing. But please know, we are here for you."

Mia smiled, and I caught Savannah's shoulders relax. Seemed she liked to talk about whoever she'd lost about as much as I did.

"Now," Mia said and got to her feet. One by one, she handed us what I saw was a journal and a pen attached to it. "As well as sessions with us, we will have a group session each day. These will be focused on anything from techniques to help you deal with feelings, or an open space for us to talk and answer any questions you may have. Or, of course, if you ever want to share your story with everyone else here." She held up a spare journal. "But one thing we require as a must is for you to start keeping a journal."

Mia sat back down, the flames from the large open fire casting shadows across her face. "These journals will be for your eyes only and can be used in several ways." The journal lay in my lap like it was laced with poison oak. "You could write about your time here—the experiences you have. The sights you see."

"It could be a place for you to write your feelings. Help you process your grief as we work our way through it," Leo tacked on. "It could be a place for poetry, if you so wish. If you draw, it could be where you sketch out whatever inspires you."

"Or, something we have found has worked exceptionally well for previous groups," Mia said, "is the journal could be where you get to express whatever you didn't get to say to the one or ones you have lost." The mood in the room went from neutral to downright clogging. Mia seemed to feel this, and her voice grew gentler. "We know, for many of you, you didn't get closure." An invisible hand gripped on to the front of my throat and began to squeeze. "You didn't get to say goodbye." She gave that sentence a moment to breathe, which was the last thing I needed. "When that happens, there are lots of things left unsaid." I shifted on the couch and felt people's eyes fix on me. Or maybe they didn't. I just felt like I was under a huge friggin' spotlight. I forced myself to still, feeling that hand around my neck squeeze tighter and tighter as unwanted images of that night began flashing through my head. The loud screeching of tires, the sound of metal crunching … the smell of blood—so much blood—the horn … the continuous, never-ending sound of the horn …

"And for others, it may be somewhere you tell your loved one how you're feeling, how life without them has been. Your dreams and fears. Your aspirations and your apprehensions. Everything and anything you want. No one will be reading them but you. These are for your eyes only," Leo said.

"You could use it as a place to talk to them again, no matter how trivial. Like a conversation," Mia said. My eyes began flickering around the room. Most of the others were nodding, seeming to readily accept our task. I wanted to get up and leave, my hands itching and my feet bouncing on the floor. I wanted to catch the first flight back to the States and get the hell out of this place and away from this group.

But then I caught sight of Savannah.

She was clutching the journal in her hands, her knuckles turning bone white. She wasn't nodding in agreement. She didn't seem sold on the idea like everyone else. Instead, she was staring at the plain blue color of the journal with such a devastated expression that I felt my stomach drop. Her breathing had grown quicker, and I was sure she was about to fall headfirst into another anxiety attack.

So, I watched her, just to make sure she didn't slip. And I began to wonder who had left her life and ripped it wide open. Had it been an illness that her loved one had had, or was their death quick and unexpected? Was it the other person's choice, like it had been—

"It's not happening," I suddenly bellowed, my harsh voice filling up the room. Those thoughts … I'd hit my limit. Couldn't take thinking of it anymore. I waved my journal in the air. "This is useless. And I have nothing to say to him anyway."

"We understand you think that way, Cael, we do," Leo said. I looked around the room, needing to find a way out of here. I felt caged. Trapped. I needed to leave.

"But we want you to hold on to it. Our hope is that, after some time with us, on this trip, you may feel differently. Maybe learn to open up. To explore your feelings."

I scoffed a laugh, then got up and walked to the fire. I threw the journal straight into the roaring hearth. " That's what I think of the journal," I said, feeling deep satisfaction at watching the blank pages begin to burn. "I'm not writing in it. What's the point? What's the point in any of this? He's dead, and he's not coming back."

There was total silence in the room, but my inner rebellion cheered me on. I would never talk to Cill again. Not in any form. Especially not in some journal where the entries to our lost ones were nothing more than a pathetic fantasy, a way to trick us into feeling better.

The crackling of the burning logs sounded like a thousand thunderbolts crashing as it devoured every inch of the journal. It felt like hours as I watched it. Then, I looked up and caught Savannah's gaze. Her face wore an expression of shock, but there was also something else … Understanding? Sympathy? I didn't know. But I didn't like how it made my chest ache, made my heart beat in double time. I didn't like how her big blue eyes were locked on me like she could see right through me.

I couldn't stand being in this room. I turned to walk away, to get the hell out, when Leo stood in my path. "Please, Cael," he said. I stared at the door. It was my escape to freedom, to get away from this woeful attempt at healing us. I felt the others' eyes fixed on me. How were they just sitting there accepting this? How did they want this?

Leo took a step closer. "Cael, please sit down." His voice was firmer now.

I fought with the need to disobey, but when I found myself looking over my shoulder at Savannah again, the expression of worry on her face made guilt or something like it run through me. Did she want me to leave or stay? Did she understand why I didn't want to be here? Was she scared of me? My stomach pulled tightly at that thought.

I didn't want her to be afraid of me.

I turned to face Leo. His hands were held up like he was handling a rabid dog. "We're just going to talk about the trip now and what we'll be doing. That's all." I smelled the journal burning in the fire, the paper singeing. It comforted me.

I turned back to Savannah again. Her eyes were filled with tears. It friggin' cut me. She met my gaze and then looked at the journal I'd thrown in the fire. I didn't know what she was thinking. Did she think what I'd done was wrong?

"Cael?" Leo pushed.

"Whatever," I said, then sat back down. I wasn't sure why I didn't leave. I decided not to think about it too much. Leo sat back down too, and I stared at that journal melting and merging with the burning logs. It reminded me of my now-ruined heart. That had burned to ashes too.

Mia's soft but steady voice cut through the weighted silence that followed my outburst. "Tomorrow, we climb." I blinked, turning my attention away from the hearth. I'd zoned out without realizing it. I felt the soft, velvety material of the couch brush under my palm, and the sound of Travis blowing his nose beside me hurtled me back to the here and now. When I looked over to him, his glasses were resting on the top of his head, and he was wiping at his eyes. He looked over at me too, and I saw the raw pain he was harboring glaring back at me.

Had I done that? Had my outburst done this? Or was it the idea of writing in the journal?

As I looked around the group, there wasn't one person spared. The way they all clutched the journals, it had to be that. The thought of the person you lost … expressing how it felt to miss them … it was brutal.

Losing someone you loved—the club no one ever wanted to be in, but one we would all be forced to join at some point in our lives. No one would escape it. It was simply a matter of when.

I found myself nodding at Travis, a subtle nudge of support, and he gave a small self-deprecating smile in return. I found myself wanting to know his story too.

One thing was for sure—we were all completely messed up.

"The Lake District is known for many things," Leo said, moving past how troubled we had all become. "Mountain climbing and walking being two of the most popular. And that's why we're here," he said and inched forward in his seat. "We're going to climb. We're going to walk. And we're going to explore this beautiful landscape on foot. Three of the region's biggest peaks."

My brows furrowed. We were here to walk? I could see the outlines of the misty mountains from the window in the living room.

"We have everything you will need for hiking," Mia said. "So we are giving you the rest of this evening to yourself. Dinner is at seven. Then it's an early start tomorrow. For now, get settled. Unpack. Hang out, get to know each other. And we'll see you soon."

Mia and Leo left the room, Leo's concerned gaze fixed on me as he did so.

"Well, that was heavy," Dylan said, earning a few awkward laughs from the others. I stared down at the journal in the fire. I had nothing to say to my brother, no feelings or life updates to share with him. He'd neglected to inform me of his, so I'm sure he would recognize the sentiment.

He'd given me, his little brother and best friend, no consideration when he'd made his choice. No communication. No signs. Just the seven scribbled words he'd rushed to write on the back of an old hockey ticket before he blew our world apart.

Instinctively, I reached down to my pocket and checked for my wallet. It was still there. And in the back zipped compartment was that goddamn ticket. And those words. Words I hadn't looked at in months, burning my skin like they had been written in an eternal open flame. Impossible to extinguish, forever seared into being.

That ticket hidden in my wallet felt like it weighed a hundred tons. But I couldn't bring myself to throw it away. It was the thing I hated most in the world, yet my most treasured object.

Getting to my feet, I didn't even look back at the others as I ran for the front door. I rushed straight into a sheet of ice-cold rain. The wind slapped at my face, a thousand palms across my cheeks. I didn't have my jacket, but right now, the elements attacking my body felt good. The stinging of my cheeks reminded me I was still here, alive, even if I wasn't really living.

Just thinking of that room filled with broken kids like me, Savannah clutching the journal to her chest like it was her biggest fear made flesh, made me furious. Travis crying just at the thought of writing something down.

It was bullshit. All of it.

Reaching down, I picked up a rock and launched it into the lake with all my strength. Before it had even hit the surface, I had another in my hand, bigger this time, pushing my forearm to its breaking point. Allowing the pent-up rage to race up my throat, I roared into the quiet night as I threw more rocks into the lake.

A broken branch came next. Then more rocks. One after the other until my muscles burned and my voice grew hoarse.

When I was exhausted, the questions came. Questions I knew would never be answered. One in particular— why? Why did he have to do it? Why did he have to leave me here like this? This wasn't who I used to be. But now … I didn't know how to be anything else.

Breathless and tired, I was left with only the self-hatred that always came after an outburst. Hatred with myself for not seeing the signs. For not seeing he was struggling. Tears built in my eyes. I tipped my head back to the heavy flow of rain, letting my tears meld with the heavy droplets, disguising the pain.

On a deep breath, I blinked open my eyes. I always felt a brief spell of numbness after an emotional outburst. It gave me a few moments of peace. Just a few precious moments to not sear. To just feel nothing.

I shuffled to the very edge of the lake, my boots an inch deep in the freezing water, and stared out over it. It seemed endless. Still and ancient. Like it would have seen a million people just like me, lost and alone and here for some kind of redemption arc. Some last-ditch attempt to save them from themselves and the shit hand the world had dealt them.

The gray clouds and moody weather reflected my dark inner thoughts. Then I cast my attention to the peaks, and for the first time in a while, I actually looked forward to something. There was a flicker of a spark. Some heat from a long-forgotten ember, deep down in my subconscious.

I liked exercise. I was physically fit. For a long time, sport was going to be my life. I was going to go professional. I lived for the dopamine rush that came with playing with my team, with the addictiveness of competition. Of playing the game I once loved more than breathing. I thrived in the coldness—the ice rink being my best friend. The idea of being trapped in hostel rooms and forced to talk about my past and feelings sounded like hell. Being outside in nature and walking, just … walking …, that I could do.

I stood out on the lake's edge until I was drenched and shivering, and the chill of the harsh wind began to rattle my bones. I turned to go back to the house, taking the long, winding path that skirted around the back of the garden. Just as I was about to leave the surrounding forest's tree line, I caught sight of someone sitting on the elevated rocky ledge that looked over another part of the huge lake.

Savannah.

I recognized her blond hair and petite frame. She was alone, huddled underneath a large umbrella, and she was holding something to her chest. For a moment, I thought it was the journal we'd just been given. But the notebook she held was larger and different in color.

I wondered what it was. For a second, I debated going over to her. I didn't know for what. I had the sudden urge to just sit with her. She'd met my eyes in the living room. For a few minutes, it was like I'd ripped my chest open and she was seeing all my jagged scars.

Maybe she'd understand. Maybe she would be the one person who wouldn't need to ask me probing questions because she knew what this living nightmare felt like. To have someone understand … to not have to explain what it felt like to be shattered so thoroughly, to understand that no words existed that could possibly ever explain this level of soul destruction. And to understand what it felt like to be alone with such devastating pain that, maybe, sometimes, made you wonder if it would be easy if you just ceased to exist too …

But then something inside stopped me, and the controlling, consuming darkness that kept me from doing so many things these days wrapped its arms around me, and I headed past where she sat and went straight into the house.

It reminded me I wasn't here to make friends. I just had to get through this trip. Then I could go home. And as to anything that happened after that?

I didn't even care.