Nova and Quinton: No Regrets (7 page)

I glance down at the piece of paper, which has a phone number and an address on it. “People go to this because they’ve caused car accidents and caused people to… die?”

He wavers contemplatively. “Well, not all of the instances were driving accidents, but I think it’d be good for you to talk to people who’ve gone through something similar to you and have experienced your form of guilt.”

My fingers wrap around the piece of paper in my hand. “What stuff have they gone through, then?”

“Well, the founder of the group, Wilson Ferrison, ran a red light while he was on the phone,” he says sadly. “It killed an older couple. He got into drugs for a lot of years… he’s actually a friend of mine, so I saw firsthand how bad it got for him. But he does a lot of community service now and spends time talking to people about what happened, trying to not only prevent things like it from happening, but to help people who’ve experienced similar things and are left trying to cope with the guilt.”

I put the piece of paper into my pocket, taking what he said in, but it’s hard to process. “Should I call first or just go?” I ask, getting to my feet.

“Call first and tell them who you are. I’ll give Wilson a call and let him know,” he says, putting the notes he took throughout today’s session into my folder. “Just please make sure you do call. I really think it’s important for you to know that you’re not alone.”

Not alone. Such a foreign concept to me, and I’m not even sure how to respond. When I died and came back, I felt sort of like a ghost that no one wanted to talk to, because I was the reminder to everyone of the horrible thing that happened. So I did the world a favor and did everything I could not to exist. Over the last few years the world has felt really big and empty, but now he’s saying that’s not the case and that there are people out there who will understand what I’m going through, understand what it’s like to live life with a void in your heart, put there by pain.

“Fine, I’ll call,” I finally say, and a tiny bit of the weight on my shoulders chips off and falls to the ground.

“Good,” he says, and then he shakes my hand, something he does after every meeting. “And work on taking down those pictures. Like I said, it doesn’t have to be all of them. But only leave enough up that you’re not overwhelmed by the past.”

I don’t respond to that comment and leave his office with my thoughts jumbled inside my head. For the briefest second, I wonder if talking to someone who gets what I’m going through could possibly help. What if I
am
helpable? I don’t know how I feel about that. I’m not sure how I feel about anything, but maybe I’m on the right track to finding out.

November 29, day thirty-one in the real world

“Life is strange. Life is complicated. Life is messy. Watch the news. Read headlines. Go help out at suicide hotlines. You’ll hear stories. Heartbreaking stories. I’ve heard my fair share and lived a few of them myself.” I’m sitting in the living room on the sofa with my legs crisscrossed, passing time filming while I try to figure out what to do for the rest of the night. “Today my film professor, Professor McGell, was talking about the heartbreak in the world after he showed us an interview clip with a woman who lost her husband to suicide… a clip that made me think of Landon and Quinton…” I trail off, remembering how much the woman cried in the video and how I wished I could tell her that everything would eventually be okay again.

After staring into empty space for a while, I concentrate on the camera again. “My professor said he wants to do something that could show what people are going through, not just when they lose someone to suicide but to other kinds of death, drugs, abuse. He said he was starting up a program that would be committed to making a documentary about the aftermath of surviving. He said he would have more information on it at the start of the next year. That it would require travel. Part of me wants to join. Take off and do what I’ve always wanted to do. Film stuff that matters. But it’s a four-month program where I’d be on the road, in different countries. I’d have to leave everything behind… I’m not sure I can walk away and just leave everyone behind when they need me.” I shift my legs out from under me and lower my feet onto the floor. “How can I just walk away when Tristan and Quinton are still healing? Leave Lea behind? My mom? Walk away from school for a semester? It just seems too… I don’t know… impulsive, selfish, risky.” I seal my lips shut, not wanting to say the words tickling at the tip of my tongue, but I ultimately let them slip out. “But I really want to do it. So much.”

I leave my recording at that and put the camera down on the coffee table, figuring out what to do next. Classes are coming to an end and I don’t have a lot of homework left to do. Most of my free time is spent texting and talking to Quinton and Tristan. I’m glad, though, because I’m getting to know Quinton better. And with Tristan, I figure as long as he’s here talking to me all the time, then I know for sure that he’s not going to parties and getting into trouble.

After thinking about what I really want to do for the night, I end up getting my cell phone out and texting Quinton.

Me: I saw something really interesting today.

Quinton: Let me guess. A purple dog.

Me: What kind of response is that???

Quinton: With you, it seems like a reasonable response.

Me: Hardy-fucking-har, u r soooo hilarious.

Quinton: I think that might be the first time I’ve ever heard you use the word fucking. It seems… unnatural.

Me: Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Is that more natural now?

Quinton: No. Now it’s just making me think of fuck and you.

I pause, staring down at the screen, wondering if he meant that as dirty as it reads. He’s usually so careful with his comments, making sure to never get too flirty. It’s completely sidetracked me from telling him about the filming project. But maybe it’s better I don’t say anything about it to him, so I don’t either set something off or worry him that I’m going to leave. Although I’m not that confident in our relation… friendship… whatever it is, that I know for sure he’d even care if I took off for a while.

Quinton: Sorry. I didn’t mean for that to come out that way. It sounded really dirty, didn’t it?

Me: No, it’s okay. And I figured u didn’t mean it.

I’m glad you said it
. That’s what I really wish I could type. But I don’t because I’m not brave enough, nor do I think Quinton is ready for anything like that.

Me: Off the subject, but how have things been going with that Wilson guy and those meetings?

Quinton: Okay, I guess. It’s nice to hear someone talk about stuff that I’ve been through. I haven’t really talked to him much personally, but I think I might want to one day.

Me: You should. Talking to Lea helped me deal with Landon’s death a lot, since she’d been through something similar with her father.

Quinton: Can I ask you a really weird question?

Me: You can always ask me anything.

Quinton: I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable… it’s about Landon…

Me: I’m fine. In fact, I sometimes like talking about him because then I know I’m not forgetting him.

Quinton: U think it’s important not to forget, even if remembering is hard?

Me: I think remembering is important but you need to get to a place where it’s not so hard to remember and maybe even therapeutic.

Quinton: Yeah, I guess that sort of makes sense… I’m going to ask you that weird question now… please don’t hate me, but I really just want to understand something.

Me: I never could hate you, so ask away.

Quinton: Yeah, we’ll see… do you, I don’t know, ever feel guilty about Landon’s death?

I pause. I once told him I did, but I guess he was too high to remember. I also remember that he didn’t really want to hear it, which makes me wonder how much he’s changing if he wants to hear it now.

Me: Yeah, I used to. Not really anymore. I mean, I do have days when I overthink it and I feel shitty all over again, but it’s not as hard as it was when it first happened. Back then, I nearly went crazy thinking about all the things I could have done to save him… it was really bad that summer I spent getting high. And honestly, I kind of felt that guilt again this summer… it’s part of the reason why I wanted to help you so much… to make up for not helping Landon.

I push send, but when he doesn’t respond right away, I think maybe I shared a little too much—I’m never sure with him. But then my phone beeps.

Quinton: And how do you feel now? I mean, do u still feel the need to save people?

I can’t help but think about the film project again. While it wouldn’t necessarily be saving anyone, it could help people realize that they’re not alone in this world, which I feel is important. I remember when Landon died and how no one seemed to really talk about it and I felt really alone, confused, and just plain lost. But perhaps if I’d had Lea earlier on, I wouldn’t have fallen so fast and so hard.

Me: Yeah, but not in the helpless obsession sense. I still volunteer at the helpline sometimes and that helps. Plus, you’re okay so that makes me sort of happy.

Quinton: I want to stay okay, but sometimes it’s hard, you know. Especially when I really start thinking about stuff.

Me: I know it can get really difficult sometimes, but I know you can do it.

Quinton: Why, though? Why have you always had so much faith in me when you barely know me?

Me: I think I know you more than you think I do. And I think that you’re going to be okay because you’re working on being okay. If you were still running away from the problem, then I’d feel different.

Quinton: I hope you’re right.

Me: I’m always right and the sooner you realize that the easier things will be. J/k ;)

Quinton: You’re so goofy sometimes.

Me: Thanks :)

Quinton: It’s actually one of my favorite things about you.

I smile to myself as I type.

Me: Want to know one of my favorite things about you?

It takes him a moment to respond.

Quinton: Sure.

Me: That you’re a good, strong person.

Quinton: Are you sure u know who you’re talking to?

Me: Yeah, the person who was good to me when I was in such a vulnerable place. The person who managed to pull himself away from a life of addiction. That takes strength, my friend.

Quinton: It takes weakness to get to that place to begin with. To walk away from my life like that. Give up everything instead of being strong and actually just facing my problems. I wish I could be stronger and face them now. And I wish I hadn’t given up everything.

Me: You’ll get there. It’ll just take time. Facing the hard stuff is… well, hard. And as for giving everything up, you can still get it back. You just have to know what you want and work toward getting it.

Quinton: But I’m not sure what I want exactly. I know I like helping people and everything. It keeps me busy and makes me feel like I’m giving stuff back. But other than that, I don’t know what I want to do. Draw and paint, yeah, but that’s not a whole hell of a lot.

Me: Sure it is. U just have to do it.

Quinton: I don’t even know what to draw anymore. All my sketches and paintings over the last couple of years have been trippy. I want to draw things that mean something. I want to draw things that I can put passion into. Like life. Happiness. Sadness. Pain. I want to draw stuff that’s important to me… I want to draw you, too. And not from how I see you in my head. I want to draw you in front of me. Every line. Every inch of you.

Before I have time to react to the text, another one comes in.

Me: I’m sorry if that last text made u uncomfortable. I’m blaming it on the fact that Greg made me share way too much today and broke me down I think.

I take a deep breath, thinking about what it would be like for him to draw me like he described. I remember when Landon first sketched me: halfway through it, he kissed me for the first time. It was magical at the time and it’s heartbreaking to remember it now, but I wouldn’t want to forget how it felt for anything.

Me: I want u to draw me like that. In fact, I’m going to hold u to it and make u do it the next time I see u.

Jesus Christ. Did I seriously just text that? Wow. I can’t even breathe.

Quinton: I wish I could do it right now… see you right now… touch u right now.

My heart pitter-patters inside my chest and I have to suck in a huge breath when I realize I’ve been holding it. My initial response is to skirt around the conversation because of where it’s heading. But then I realize that it’s been a long time coming so I just go for it.

Me: I wish I could see you and touch you, too… I wish you were touching me. In fact, I think about it all the time.

My hands shake as I hit send.

Quinton: Nova you’re killing me right now. I swear to God. Now I’ve got pictures inside my head of us touching each other.

I shut my eyes and bite my lip as images appear inside my mind as well. How it felt when he ran his hands across my body. How his tongue tasted. How his tongue felt. How his fingers felt when they were in me. God, it’s been a long time.

Me: Good, because I do, too… do u remember that kiss we shared right after we got off the roller coaster last summer? It was our last kiss.

It takes him a moment to answer and I grow worried that maybe it was the wrong question to ask.

Quinton: I do. I should have never kissed u when I was like that.

Me: And I probably shouldn’t have kissed u when I knew u were like that, but at the same time, I’m glad u did. It made me realize a lot of stuff… how I feel about you. And how much I want to kiss u, over and over again.

Another pause and I start to feel stupid for being so forward. But then a message comes through.

Quinton: Nova, I don’t want to sound like a jerk, but I don’t think I can take much more of this kind of talk with u. It makes me want to do things I’m not ready for. I’m seriously one step away from getting on a plane and flying over there so I can kiss u again—do a hell of a lot more than kiss. But I don’t think I’m ready for that just yet.

I restrain a grin. He said
yet
. Which means he’s thinking about us in the future sense. That has to be good, right? Part of me believes so, but the other part has to wonder how long is too long. What if the waiting goes on for years?

I shake the thought from my head, not ready to go there just yet. Not ready to give up hope yet.

Me: Okay, we can talk about something else. Anything u want.

Quinton: How about something to cool me off and settle me the fuck down. You’ve got me all riled up.

Me: Popsicles. Snowflakes. Icicles. Does that help?

Quinton: Lol, you are so crazy and I love it.

Me: Good. I’m glad because not a lot of people get me.

Quinton: I doubt that at all. Everyone loves u. I’m sure of it.

I want to ask him if he loves me, too, but I’m not even sure I’m ready for the answer, let alone if he’s ready to give me one. Even though I’ve let go of Landon for the most part, it still feels strange to think about loving someone again, but alarmingly exciting.

Quinton: I actually have a problem I’m trying to figure out. And since you’re a problem solver I thought u could maybe help.

Me: Of course. What’s up?

Quinton: Well, my dad’s moving to Virginia.

Me: What? Why?

Quinton: It’s for work. And he wants me to go but I don’t want to go.

Me: I think if u don’t want to go with him then don’t go. You’ve been through enough already and I think u should be focusing on getting better.

Quinton: But I worry about living by myself. Too much freedom for one thing.

Me: U could get a roommate. It’s hard to get into trouble when u have people watching u all the time. Like Lea. She’d kick my ass if I did anything.