Page 7 of One of Our Own

“I had no idea you could do all that.”

“Yeah, well, those kids sure do. Scary world we live in these days.”

I couldn’t help but agree. “I don’t know what to do now.”

He raised his shoulders sheepishly. “Maybe just let it go, unless you hear from her again? I get that you’re upset, but you followed the protocol. You did what you could to help.” I’d heard those words before—they took me right back to those awful months after my sister passed—and I still wasn’t ready to accept them.

“I wish I could, but I can’t.” I completely understood why you weren’t supposed to counsel anyone you knew. Even with only a few details, I was forming a picture of this girl in my mind, starting to feel attached. I was never breaking the rules again. “She’s just a kid. I feel too indebted to the parents. What will they think if I don’t do everything I can to make sure she’s safe? To stop whatever she’s planning?”

He nodded his head in understanding. “It’s so crazy you ended up with someone from Hunter’s school. I mean, I know it’s possible, but still. Must feel so weird. Have you talked to him?”

“I asked him if he knew about any videos circulating around his school, and he said no. I was hoping he might’ve seen it or that someone had sent it to him, but no such luck.” I frowned. My brain was racing for solutions. There had to be a way to keep everyone safe.

“Maybe you should ask him again,” Stan said, motioning to the bartender for another beer.

I gave him a strange look. “I guess I could. It was early this morning. Maybe he forgot, or he wasn’t fully awake yet?”

He snorted and batted his hand at me. “Please,” he said, laughing.

“What?”

“Do you know how many times you have to ask teenagers about something before they tell you the truth?” He leaned in closer. “You remember when all those cars were getting broken into over on Third Street and vandalized after the football games? All the kids knew it was happening. Every single one of them. But I couldn’t get anybody to talk.”

“That’s different. You’re the police. Of course they’re scared of you. They don’t want to say anything that might get them into trouble. But I’m his mother. We have a good relationship.”

Stan shrugged. “My kids are young, so I don’t have any personal experience,” he said, taking the final sip of his beer, “but I do know one thing about teenagers—they lie.”

CHAPTER FIVE

I hurried out of the bar, and didn’t even wait until I got to my car to text her:

Hey! Just checking on you to see if you’re okay. Been thinking about you all day.

I had no idea if it would go through. I took my time driving home, replaying my conversation with Stan. Even though he’d gone through my phone for me, I was pretty sure he still thought the whole thing was an elaborate prank. But he hadn’t been on the phone with her. He’d only seen the texts, and those didn’t convey the desperate emotions in her voice.How did therapists do this every day?I wondered. I was exhausted from the past twenty-four hours. This was why I only volunteered once a month.

It’d been so hard in the beginning because it brought all my feelings about Holly to the surface, but it had propelled me to face them, exactly like my therapist had predicted. Sometimes it still did; I had just learned how to work through my emotions. But it wasn’t only that. Being with others in their pain, especially the kind of pain people were experiencing when they called the center, was tough. I used to get sick every Monday after my weekend shifts. It was like my body’s way of shutting down to process things. I’d probably get sick once all this was over.

I pulled into the driveway just as my phone vibrated with a text. I looked down. It was an unknown number. Was it her? Adrenaline tensed my muscles. The exhaustion gone that quickly.

Hi

Are you okay?

She sent a shrugging emoji.

Have you talked to anyone else today? Told them about how you’re feeling?It could be too much too soon, but every minute counted when it might be our last conversation.

I don’t want to talk to anyone. I don’t want to see anyone. I just want everything to be over.

I understood how she felt. I’d gone to grief counseling after my sister died, because no matter what anyone else said, I just didn’t get it. My sister was happy. She loved life. She had a family that cared for her and if she’d reached out to any of us, we’d have parted the ocean to save her. My therapist explained that depression was a cunning beast, and it could sneak up on you slowly. It didn’t always happen like you might see it portrayed in media: visible despair, days in bed, withdrawing from life. There was a kind of depression that couldn’t stop moving or working. That got up every day and wore a big smile so the ones the person loved didn’t worry. The depression that needed more and more until it became intolerable, like being force-fed something you could no longer keep down. And in that moment, the person didn’t want to die—they just wanted to feel nothing. That stuck with me. It was hard enough getting adults to see a future outside of that moment, and getting a teenager to do that was going to be almost impossible. Teens lived in a world where the future didn’t exist.

But I had to try. I wrote back:

I know right now it feels like this experience is going to ruin your life and things will never change; that there’s no way out, but I promise you things can change and you won’t always feel this way.

You’re just saying that bc you’re an adult and you have to

No, I’m not. I know what it feels like to be trapped in a really dark place. To feel powerless. I’ve been there.

---