Page 23 of Drop Three

I want to hug him and tell him he’ll never be alone.

But that’s not my role in his life.

Gus stands, striding to Bodhi’s side, and throws his arm around him. “Never. Let’s watch a movie and forget the things we can’t change. There’s always tomorrow.”

That was very poetic for Gus to say.

Without giving Bodhi an option, Gus grabs the remote from his hand, presses play, and takes his seat.

It only takes a moment, but Bodhi follows, and I’m almost positive I witness the smallest of smiles sneak through.

I’d call this unexpected ambush a win.

8

BODHI

“Let’stalk about the last six months. Would you say you’ve felt your best self or your worst?”

How do I explain to Dr. Banks that I wake up daily and feel different? There are no days that are the same. The struggle is unpredictable. That’s the hardest part. I can beg and plead for my mind to be on my side, but if I wake and it’s against me, the torment remains.

My eyes find Dr. Banks across from me, and I draw in a long breath.

“There have been some good and some bad. I never really know how I’ll feel until I wake up. I have been thinking about Gwendolyn more than usual, though.”

Dr. Banks begins scribbling notes in her journal. She’s always taking notes.

What does she do with them?

I bet she goes home at night and studies what a lost cause I am.

Her next question surprises me. “Do you mostly struggle with thinking about Gwendolyn and theday ofthe accident or Gwendolyn and what cameafter?”

In a way, the moment of the accident will always be in my head because it was such a pivotal event in my life, as unfortunate as it may have been.

But it’s not what I think about the most.

I served my time, and despite what my wounded mind fights for me to believe, I know it was an accident.

My incarceration gave me plenty of time to think through my actions and the consequences of them. That’s why I haven’t taken a sip of alcohol since—and I never plan to.

The accident is what haunts my nightmares.

They’re occasional, thank fuck, and most of the time, I forget the effects of them in the morning. The sound of metal screeching across the gravel road is what triggers me the most—that and the agony I heard vividly in Gwendolyn’s screams.

I plead with myself to remember the moments we shared before.

She was my best friend.

Despite what other people may have thought, we never saw each other romantically. It felt good to have a female friend who wasonlya friend.

Similar to how Navy is to me now—or was.

But I miss Gwendolyn and the friendship we shared.

“I think I can manage my emotions on the cause of the accident. Maybe if I never served time, I would have felt differently, but I know it was a product of being young and stupid. It’s strange, but I think about what Gwendolyn is doing now the most. It’s shitty that I couldn’t help her after, and I know I’ll always feel guilty for that.”

The guilt will always be there, no matter what comes from therapy.

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