Chapter 64: Chapter Three

Alyssa

It was harder than I thought. Talking to him, I mean. To be honest, I hadn't any idea how famous he was until some girls I'd graduated with ran into the shop and began giggling like little kids.

That was kind of how my life was, though.

Ever since the accident two years ago, I felt shut out of everything. Like I was a shadow going through the motions. Trying to smile at all the right times, and laugh when it was expected.

I was the best worker my parents could ask for. I was first to arrive, last to leave. First to take up someone else's shift.

I liked life better that way. Predictable.

When you planned things, well, it was almost like some cruel joke from God. That once you told Him your plans, He'd try to ruin them.

My parents said it wasn't God's fault — they also said it wasn't mine. Did that make it Brady's?

I shoved my hands into my pockets and hurried into the store. Rain always depressed me. That meant I was living in the worst place on the planet.

Last Christmas my parents even put special lights in my room, so I would smile more.

I've smiled less ever since.

Well, until five days ago.

When that idiot rock star actually stood on a street corner and sang about Taffy, and then proceeded to roll his hips to the beat in his own head, I wanted to call him a dang fool, but I couldn't pull my eyes away.

Brady had been magnetic too. He was perfect, charismatic, the star of the football team.

And look where that love got me.

A year out of high school, still living with my parents, and the inability to drive anywhere more than an hour away for fear that I would have a panic attack and die.

I pushed the door to my parents' store open. The bell jingled. That idiot had started work today, and our sales had never been worse.

He was such a spectacle that even people who didn't know his music wanted to go check out the taffy store. Which was great for our competitors, crappy for us.

It's not as if I could just find some famous person and beg them to wear one of our shirts and throw taffy at people. What the heck was he doing anyway? I even watched him schmooze an old lady.

I would die before I let anything happen to my parents' livelihood, and I would happily take Demetri with me. It wasn't as if I had anything exciting going on now.

Shoving the door to the counter away, I went back to the stool and picked up my cell. Ten missed calls.

“Crap.” I quickly scrolled through the missed numbers.

It was Mrs. Murray, my counselor. I looked at the clock on the wall. “Crap!” I said again, grabbing my keys and running for the door. “Dad! I'm going to be late for my appointment!”

He appeared from the back room. “Oh, okay, Honey. You need me to drive you?” His eyes briefly held mine before looking down at the ground.

“Um, no. I'll be fine. It's only a few miles away. Love you!” I heard him tell me to be careful as I ran out the door.

****

I ran into the large beach house and practically beat down my counselor's door.

“Alyssa! I was worried you weren't going to make it.” Mrs. Murray was in her late forties and wore spectacles that constantly slipped down her nose.

Her brown hair was always in a bun, and she always dressed as if she was in a hurry. In fact, she did everything like she was in a hurry. Everything but the listening and talking part of her job.

I gave her a tight smile. “Yeah, well, I'm here.” If I didn't show, she would just tell my parents, and then I'd be on suicide watch for no reason. At least that was the fear.

It wasn't as if she could do that based solely on the fact that I didn't show up.

But last time I didn't show up… well, let's just say my parents caught me in my bathroom staring at a bottle of ibuprofen and flipped.

I told them I had a headache, but that was the exact moment my dad also asked me to open my hand. I swear the bottle had spilled, and I was just trying to put the pills back in.

But they didn't believe me. Nobody did. Story of my life.

The smell of peppermint tea greeted me as I waltzed into the small office and took a seat on the leather couch. Mrs. Murray did an amazing job with the ambiance.

“So.” She fell into the leather chair across from me and pulled out her notepad. “We're almost to the two-year anniversary of the incident.”

I wanted to give some sort of snide remark. I mean, hello? I was living this nightmare. Believe me, I knew exactly what the day was.

“Yup.” I managed to shrug nonchalantly. I should have been an actress. With a quick smile I leaned back onto the couch and exhaled, knowing what she was going to ask next.

“And how do you feel about that?”

“How do I feel?” I repeated, feeling the familiar anger thump through my chest. “I feel fan-freaking-tastic. I mean, I've learned so much about myself in these past two years.

“I'm going to take up watercolors to share my feelings.

“Sarcasm.” Mrs. Murray scribbled something on her notepad and glanced back up. “Good. At least you're not burying your anger inside anymore. What else?”

Sweat began to pool at the back of my neck as I fought to keep my emotions in check. My eyes flickered to the ground, and my breathing grew more and more shallow. “I hate it here.”

“We've been over this, Alyssa.” Mrs. Murray sighed. “I know you hate it here, but do you really think the best thing for you to do is escape your current situation? So, what?

“You run away instead of facing your fears? Your anxiety? Tell me how that will help you, and I'll be all for it, Alyssa.”

I bit my lip in response and tucked my hair behind my ears. Biting my lip was a nervous habit I developed when I was either trying to keep myself from talking too much or crying.

“Listen, Alyssa.” Mrs. Murray set her tablet on the table next to her and leaned forward. “I'm going to be doing a summer grief group. I really want you to think about attending.”

“You're not going to make me?” I snapped. I didn't mean to sound so harsh, but I always felt defensive, because I knew the only way I could please my parents was to come here.

I owed them.

Just like I owed Brady.

“I'll think about it,” I mumbled.

Mrs. Murray smiled. “I think you'll really enjoy it, Alyssa. There will be some other kids your age. Support groups offer exactly that, support.

“When was the last time you even went out with friends? Or went to a movie?”

“I work.” I shrugged.

She lifted an eyebrow and grabbed her notepad to scribble something else. “Right, so you work twenty-four seven, can't drive more than ten miles outside of town, and you think you're just fine?”

My eyes flickered to hers then back to the ground, and I swallowed slowly. “I know I'm not fine.”

“Go on.”

“It's just… I don't think I'll ever be fine again. I feel broken.”

Oh, crap. Now I was going to start crying, and I hated crying. Hated feeling any sort of weakness.

“What does broken feel like, Alyssa?”

“What does it feel like?” I laughed bitterly and clenched my hands together. “It feels like hell. It feels like I'll never be normal again.

“Every night I relive the accident, and every morning it's the same. It takes every ounce of energy I have to keep myself from crying when I brush my teeth.

“I can't even bring myself to listen to music because it reminds me of him. I can't get into trucks. And whenever I even hear a football game, I nearly have a breakdown.

“So yeah, I would say that's broken. When you can't even function in a normal world. When you can't breathe without your chest hurting.”

It was silent in the room except for my ragged breathing.

Mrs. Murray wrote a few things down then looked at me. “Wow, Alyssa. I'm proud of you for being brave enough to share that. You realize we've never talked about your other fears before?

“Only the anxiety about long car rides. I truly think you are making progress.”

“Right,” I mumbled, feeling suddenly drained.

“And…” She wrote a few more notes down. “Since you were late, our session is going to have to be cut short. I have another client expected in a few minutes.

“But Alyssa, I really want you to think about this grief group. The first meeting is a week from Saturday.” She pulled out a small yellow flyer.

The fact that it had smiling people on the front did nothing to ease my misgiving that this was a bad idea. The meeting place was TBD.

I lacked the strength to argue at that point, so I swiped it and stuffed it into my messenger bag before saying thanks and stepping out of her office.

Needing escape, I stumbled toward the door and jerked it open.

And walked straight into a wall of muscle.

“Whoa there.” Strong arms came up to steady me.

I recognized that voice. Slowly, I raised my eyes and met Demetri's horrified gaze.

I jerked away. “Are you stalking me?”

“Are you the famous one?” he stated. Quite snidely, I might add.

“Clearly not, considering I actually have humility.”

He smirked. “Little girl's got a big bite.”

I rolled my eyes and tried to sidestep him, but he grabbed my shoulders again. “So, I guess that begs the question. Are you stalking me?”

Rolling my eyes, I clenched my teeth and jerked away from his touch. “Yes, rock star. I love you. I want to have your babies.

He smirked and his dimples framed his all-too-perfect face. I couldn't pull my eyes away, even though my mind screamed for me to do so.

“I think you're bad for my ego.”

“Someone has to be.”

“Touché.” His eyes flickered to my lips and then back to my face.

“Can I go now?” I pushed past him. He finally released me, but the sensation of his touch remained.

“What's your name?” he yelled after me.

“None of your business,” I said without turning around. The car roared to life, and I was off. Though I'll admit I did glance in the rearview mirror… maybe once or twice.

Any living, breathing girl would. He was a god among boys, but he knew it. And his reckless type of lifestyle would be like my poison and my drug. Staying away from him was necessary.