56. I should be here.

FIFTY-SIX

I SHOULD BE HERE.

SHEP

When my phone rings and I see it’s Lennon, my stomach drops. I know Harlow has been having a hard time, but it hadn’t reached the point yet where her best friend reached out. I quickly answer and she explains what’s going on.

My body immediately goes into action. I don’t even think about what I’m doing, I just know I’m going to pack a bag, get my dog, and go see my girl.

Margot is the one in the background of the call who speaks up and asks me to bring Dahlia. At first I’m confused, but remember Harlow told her sister about the training I have been doing for E.V.E.S.T.

As I walk through the apartment door, I’m not expecting for the two girls sitting in the living room to also make my heart ache. Lennon and Margot both look like they haven't slept in days. Their eyes are the same shade of red with matching darkness underneath.

Dahlia quickly runs to Lennon, who scoops her up into her lap and gives her the attention she wants. Margot walks over to me and when I offer my arms out for a hug, she all but collapses into them. It’s evident the effects of what happened to Harlow are radiating beyond just her.

We aren’t very close but there was a moment in the waiting room we shared after Harlow told me to leave. Margot was just as shocked as I was, but also explained that, with trauma, oftentimes people push away those closest to them. It’s hard for them to understand why someone would want to be with them when they feel as damaged as they do.

She told me to hang in there and, eventually, Harlow would come around, but as the days passed by and I didn’t hear anything other than the occasional update from Lennon, I started to worry.

After exchanging a few words with her sister, learning about what exactly has been going on since Harlow left the hospital, my chest hurts deeply. I was confused why Harlow didn’t want to go home to their parents’ but Margot says she made it clear the apartment with Lennon is where she wants to be.

Margot tells me that for the first week, her parents came by in shifts and everyone took turns staying up at night because Harlow’s only been sleeping for a few hours at a time. I feel the blood leave my face when she goes on to explain how every night, Harlow screams herself awake at the same time. It’s apparently the same nightmare on repeat and I don’t miss the haunted look on her sister’s face as she tells me she can’t stop hearing Harlow’s blood-curdling scream.

I find myself frozen in the living room, my mind reeling. How are they all shouldering this? It doesn’t seem right, and obviously nobody is going to leave Harlow alone.

With every detail Margot shares, the guilt in me rises higher and higher. I should be here. I should be a part of this group helping Harlow, especially since it’s clear she’s barely getting by. She isn’t showering, sleeping, or eating. She’s just existing in this cycle of trauma and emotions.

Margot assures me that it’s best I wasn’t around in the beginning and while there’s likely some truth to that, I still feel every bit responsible for what happened to her sister.

It’s my own nightmare I’m stuck in because she wouldn’t have stayed late to the swim that night if we hadn’t been at odds. I shouldn’t have overreacted to her telling me about the texts. But it doesn’t matter now.

What matters is this exact moment I’ve found myself in: picking Harlow up off the floor and trying to help her break through the fear that’s paralyzing her.

I just hope she lets me stay this time.