Page 65 of Drop Three

After Dr. Banks put my personal penalty into perspective, I began to view the accident differently. Not that I’ll ever have an excuse for my actions; that will never change. But I am starting to not hate myself as much for it.

I’m not sure if that makes sense, but it feels simpler in my head.

I know I fucked up, and Gwendolyn paid the cost physically, but I also suffered a cost. I might not have been the one with an injury, but I see now that I served my time, and it’s unfair for me to continue to punish myself.

I still need to find a way to reconcile with Gwendolyn. Deep down, I know what I need to do, but the thought of it petrifies me.

What if she hates me and refuses to hear me out?

What if her condition is worse than I thought?

Although my sister was there to care for Gwendolyn while I was locked up, I refused to ask Penelope what injuries she had. Not that I didn’t care, because I did. I needed to be reassured she was safe and would be okay in order for me to serve my time without worrying.

That didn’t happen, clearly.

The one thing I can’t seem to shake, though, are the nightmares and anxiety of going out in public. The nightmares haunt me with the blood-curdling sounds from that night. They are in constant rotation in my ears and the image of Gwendolyn in distress.

After Dr. Banks suggested I get out and have some fun, I’ve been challenging myself to do that. The other day, I ordered a different protein shake from Smoothie King. It may not be a monumental step, but it’s big for me. Although I don’t think changing my smoothie order is exactly what she had in mind, baby steps, I suppose.

I know what I need to do.

I have to build up the courage to do it and stop being a fucking pansy.

On the drive home, I decided to go on a date today. I’m confident that’s the only way I will step out of my comfort zone, learn to have some fun, and allow myself to get over Navy.

Deep down, that’s the farthest thing I want, but it needs to be done to keep my friendship with both Navy and Callaway.

I don’t have a single clue who I’m going to date, though.

Pulling up to the front of the house, I’m greeted with a change.

I can’t quite figure out what it is, but a fresh exterior lightens the entrance.

Plants. Flowers. Vibrant black mulch.

That’s it.

This has Navy written all over it.

Did she really do this in the few hours I’ve been gone? When I left before everyone was awake, there was nothing but overgrown weeds and dirt in the front flower bed.

Now, vibrant green Cypress plants line the wall of the house, staggered with the brightest clementine orange marigolds between them. I only know the name of the unique flower because my mother had a green thumb. She would spend hours in the garden, bringing life to our home.

How ironic is it that she also ripped the life out of it?

Black mulch acts as a warm contrast to the brightness of the plants but ties into the cold tones of the exterior paint colors.

It looks incredible.

I’m slightly taken aback by the notion of Navy doing this for us.

From the outside, one would look at her and immediately assume the opposite—gardening looks beneath her. It’s no secret how beautiful she is, but she’s also so fucking humble and caring. She always considers the happiness of others before her own.

Take this, for example, it’s the smallest gesture of her nurturing side and the fact that it’s no burden for her to use her day off to betterourhome.

Fuck.Something stirs in my chest that shouldn’t.

I need to thank her.

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