Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 119005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Callan grabbed my hand, anchoring me.
I looked into his sad eyes, and I knew he had an inkling of what was coming.
“Someone spiked her drink.” Warm tears rolled down my cheeks again. “They overdosed her on GHB. Her respiratory system failed.”
Callan leaned his forehead against mine. “Beth, I’m so sorry.”
“She was my best friend,” I whispered. “Since we were five. We did everything together. And I was angry at her because she was leaving me for St. Andrews. It was irrational and stupid, and I knew that’s why I left her that night. She tried to call me. I found a voicemail on my phone after. She was still in the club. I could barely hear her … but she said she didn’t feel right. That she couldn’t breathe. That she was scared. She must have collapsed not long after she got off the phone. But my friends told me by the time the ambulance got there, it was too late. If only I’d been there or picked up the damn phone. Maybe I’d have stopped it from happening.” I sobbed as the guilt overwhelmed me.
“It wasn’t your fault.” Callan drew me against him again. “Beth, it wasn’t your fault. The blame lies with the bastard who spiked her drink.”
And we’d never know who that was.
They’d killed my friend, and the police never found them.
Callan let me cry for a while. Got me another drink of water. Just sat with me. Our food was cold. My phone kept beeping, so he silenced it because he probably saw the panic flare in my eyes every time it did.
“No matter how much I try to rationalize it,” I suddenly said, “I feel like I failed her. And that feeling kind of infiltrated every part of my life. I had to begin uni grieving Amanda. Anytime I struggled with a class or an essay, I’d get so anxious. So I went to my doctor, and they prescribed anti-anxiety meds and mindfulness. They also suggested I talk to someone, but I was afraid to. And the other stuff seemed to help, so I got on with it. And I thought I had it handled. But then I launched Social Queens, and I could feel all those fears of failure beginning to creep in, to magnify … I started catastrophizing.”
“So you began taking the anti-anxiety meds again?”
I nodded. “And they were helping.”
“Until me?” He frowned, shifting uncomfortably.
“I think … I think being with you brought stuff back up about Amanda. I started thinking about her more, started having dreams … last week, I didn’t leave your place because of my period. I had a nightmare about Amanda. And I woke up in a full-blown panic attack.”
Callan sighed heavily. “I wish you’d woken me up.”
That wasn’t what we were, though. Right?
“You feel guilty for being with me … even after all this time?”
“I don’t know. I know that doesn’t make sense … I just miss her. I haven’t let myself be close to anyone like that again. I go on and on about finding the fucking one, and I can’t even let myself have a best friend. I put up this wall …”
“And your parents don’t even know about this?” He seemed shocked.
I shook my head.
“Beth … you need to tell them. You need to let the people who love you know what’s going on with you. You can’t carry all of this. Or you’ll never come to terms or make peace with it.” He cupped my face in both hands now. “You are not to blame for what happened to Amanda. You didn’t fail her. Ever. And you need people in your life reminding you of that every single day. Especially because … life is going to throw curveballs at you all the time. One day you’ll be up, the next down, and it’s a never-ending roller coaster of peaks and troughs. That’s life. It’s not because you’re a failure.”
Gratitude eased the constriction in my throat and chest as we stared into each other’s eyes. At that moment, I felt closer to Callan than anyone I’d ever known.
“Believe it or not, part of me gets it. I understand grief. I understand the surprising ways it affects you.”
I wrapped a comforting hand around his wrist. “I know.”
“And I understand what feeling like a failure can do to you, too, because …” He shook his head with an unhappy laugh. “When I’m doing great at my sport, the fans, the media, they fucking love me. But one misstep, one tiny misstep, and they yell atrocious abuse at me while I’m on that pitch.”
Hating that for him, I pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “I’m sorry.”
“It can fuck with your head,” he whispered, “that’s all I’m saying. So I get it. And you’re not alone.”
I kissed him again, a little longer, deeper. Then I broke it, but only to burrow deeper into his arms, my head resting on his shoulder.