Author: Teresa Mummert

“If it’s the truth, how can it be a lie?”

“You’re not making any sense, Marie. Maybe you need someone to talk to.”

My words dripped with sarcasm, and I smiled. Something about Marie made me feel safe. She never judged; she only asked questions to help me understand myself better. She was comforting, like a favorite blanket to hide under when you’re scared of the dark. Brock had been that for me, and now Marie had stepped into that role. But she was teaching me to learn to face the fears and stand on my own. Brock only wanted to shelter me from the real world and keep me from ever facing my demons.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Delilah.” She cocked an eyebrow as she leaned forward to retrieve her glass of water from the small table in front of her. It struck me as odd, and my eyes focused on the intricate glass with rose etchings.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” she asked, and I only nodded. Marie and I weren’t friends. There was a reason she sat with a table between us, her drinking from a fancy glass and me from a paper cup. Perhaps she was worried I’d break it and use it as a weapon. I’d bet money that when I came in next week, the brass cat would be gone. I shook the thought from my head.

“Tell me about lunch.” Marie sat back in her seat, crossing one leg over the other.

“It’s the second meal of the day.”

“Delilah…” Her voice was stern but soft. She sounded like one of those TV moms—the ones who hug their kids when they’re sad and ground them from their favorite toy whenthey break some obscure rule.

“The cafeteria was nearly empty when I got to lunch.” My voice cracked, and I hated how weak I sounded. “I can still smell the sloppy joes we had that day. I remember being excited because my mom never made those at home. She barely knew how to cook anything, so we always had mac and cheese or hotdogs.” I smiled sardonically as I looked down at my Chuck Taylors. My new pair, which I wore today, were blue. The ones I’d worn in high school were white.

“When you grow up where I did, you learn to appreciate the little things. Anyway…” I shook my head. I’d gotten sidetracked. I glanced at Abel. His eyes were fixed on me, and only concern marred his beautiful face. “Shelly sought me out again. It was like a favorite hobby of hers to torture me.” I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t hide the pain I felt at the memory. I took my seat as I prepared to relive that painful day.

“I see you haven’t killed yourself yet. Pity,’” she said with a glare. I swallowed against the lump in my throat.

“Please don’t. Not today, Shelly,” I begged, hoping for once that she could see the pain I was in. Fighting with my mom and now knowing I would lose Brock in only a few days—I couldn’t handle any more than that.

“Oh, how cute. You think I care.” Her lips formed an evil smirk. I jumped, as it sounded like one of the cafeteria doors slammed closed, but Shelly just looked at me, sadness and confusion replacing her wicked grin.

“Shelly?” I said, and her hand went to the table. As my eyes fell, I saw her pink fitted Polo shirt begin to turn red around her shoulder. “Shelly?” I said with more panic as the loud slamming sound grew. The next thing I knew, it was chaos. The sounds of screaming filled the air, punctuated by the ear‐ piercing bangs that rumbled like thunder through the cavernous space.

I slid under the bench seat of the table, and my eyes locked with Shelly’s. She looked oddly peaceful, in shock maybe. I reached for her hand and helped her crawl under the table beside me as my hand went to her damp, crimson shoulder.

“What’s happening?” she asked, her voice shaking.

“I don’t know.”

“It hurts.”

Tears rolled down her cheeks, and I pulled her in for a hug. It was a strange feeling, hugging the girl who, just the day before, had made me contemplate killing myself. Her fingers dug painfully into my sides as my thoughts raced.

Bang.

Screams.

Bang.

Someone fell beside the table, and I recognized the lifeless eyes of Danny London, his eyes fixed on mine, unmoving.

Whoever was shooting was yelling over the noise, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying until a pair of old, worn black boots stepped next to Danny’s body. They kicked at his side, and he didn’t move. I struggled to hold my breath as Shelly cried cry hysterically. I put my hand over her mouth just as the gunman sunk to his knees and bent his head down.

I stared into Brock’s stormy gray eyes as confusion and anger flashed across his face.

“Bird, you weren’t supposed to be here.” His voice was eerily calm, like the way he used to talk to me in the shelter when I’d been upset.

I squeezed Shelly tighter as my heart seized in my chest. The pain was excruciating. I opened my mouth, trying to find words, but Brock placed his finger over his lips to tell me to be quiet as he winked and stood up.

More shots rang out, and I tasted bile as it rose in my throat. I pried Shelly’s fingers from my skin. Her face was gray, and her breathing was shallow.

“Be very quiet,” I said, as I brushed her blood‐sticky hair from her face. “I have to…” A sob ripped through my chest. “I have to go help.” My words were garbled from the next sob as I struggled not to completely lose my mind.

Two minutes ago I hated this girl, and for reasons unknown, she hated me. Now I was trying to comfort her. I gripped the bench seat with shaky hands as I pulled myself up between it and the table. Crowds of people blocked the doorway as they struggled to flee the cafeteria. That just made them a bigger target. I screamed, but I couldn’t even hear my own voice. The smell of cafeteria food and the blood that was smeared across my body was turning my stomach, and I had to stop myself from retching. Someone had bumped against one of the light switches, and half the room was now dark.

“Brock…” My voice broke, and the wind was knocked from my lungs as I was pushed to the floor. A boy I didn’t know gave me an apologetic look as he stepped on my hand and ran for the doorway.

Tears streamed down my face, as I tripped on the cold tile floor and gripped my stomach.

My arms wrapped tightly around my stomach as I rocked in my chair, oblivious to how insane I must have looked.

“You tried to help them,” Marie’s voice broke the silence, and my teary eyes met hers as I nodded slowly.

“I had to try. It was my fault.”

Marie shook her head, and Abel took a step toward me, but Marie cut her gaze to him, and he stopped. “Brock was troubled, Delilah. You didn’t cause his problems, and you couldn’t stop him. No one could have after he made the decision to do what he did.”

“That’s not true. He did it because they bullied me.”

“So you think they deserved what happened?”

I shoved myself up from my seat, enraged. “Of course they didn’t!”

“Exactly my point,” she replied calmly. “You wouldn’t have wished that on them. You aren’t to blame. Not for what happened to them and not for what happened to you.”

I fell back into my seat, but the aching in my stomach only grew more painful as I struggled for a breath that wouldn’t come.

“Let me get you some water.” Abel fumbled with the paper cups at the water cooler, but Marie held up her hand.

“She’ll be fine.” Her voice was assertive, unlike I’d ever heard her before. Abel froze, cup in hand.

I doubled over as my gasping grew louder, and tiny crimson drops fell on the knees of my jeans. I looked up to Marie for help, but she sat unmoving. My trembling fingers ran over my lower lip, and I pulled them back to examine the smattering of blood.

“I’m bleeding. Why am I bleeding?” My voice was shrill with terror, but Marie and Abel seemed unconcerned.

“You’re doing great, Delilah. Tell me what happened next.”

I shook my head as my body trembled like a leaf in a hurricane. I squeezed my eyes closed and tried again to fill my lungs. When my chest expanded, the sound that left my throat was that of a crying child, and I was able to once again speak.

I reached my injured hand out to my left, toward where Shelly hid, the bright overhead lighting causing me to squint. Her head was propped unnaturally against the bench, and her eyes were half open and fixed on nothingness, her skin ash gray.

The bright light slowly faded, as if we were in an eclipse, as Brock knelt over me, his tears dripping onto my face and running over the bridge of my nose.

“Bird! Bird, I’m so sorry.” He pulled me roughly into his chest as I gasped for air. His body shook, and I closed my eyes, lulled to sleep with the thudding rhythm of his hammering heart. “I love you so much, Bird.” A sob cut through his words. I tried to open my heavy eyes, so I could tell him it would be OK. It didn’t even hurt anymore. But I was unable to form any words as his arm rose, quivering as he pressed the handgun to his temple. “I’m so sorry.” His finger pressed the trigger, his eyes locked on mine.

Bang.

My body fell to back to the hard tile, sprawled over Brock’s legs in a twisted heap of broken hearts and unkeepable promises. The steady beating of his love faded into silence along with our future.

I glanced at my trembling hand, which still clutched my stomach, the blood gone from my fingers. The small crimson circles that had spattered on my jeans had vanished. I took in an easy breath as I looked up at Marie.

“It wasn’t your fault, Delilah. You couldn’t save them. You couldn’t save yourself.”

A chill ran through me, and it felt like the temperature had dropped at least ten degrees as realization settled in.

A warm, strong hand wrapped around mine as Abel sank to his knees next to me. He brushed my hair from my face and tucked it behind my ear. It was then I realized the dark‐chocolate curtain that had blocked him from view. I looked over at him through uncertain eyes, and he smiled that heart‐ melting smile.

“You don’t need to hide anymore,” he said.

I pushed myself to my feet and studied my face in the mirror that hung above Marie’s filing cabinet. Sure enough, my hair was as dark as the day I was born, hanging perfectly straight and framing my sad face. Abel stepped behind me, his head over mine, and it reminded me of the day we’d brushed our teeth at the apartment. Trish…Abel…I spun around and looked up at him, unable to ask the question that hung like thick humidity between us. He smiled sadly as he ran his knuckles softly over my cheek.

“You? The boat…” My eyes searched his as he shook his head and looked at the floor between us.

“I know I have boyish good looks, but I don’t look thirteen, do I?” he joked, but his smile fell. “No. That night Becca cheated on me, I couldn’t cope. I lost it when I confronted James, and it cost me my life.”

“The gun,” I whispered, as my eyes searched his. “Did you…”

“No. James did. He shot me point blank.” His hand ran over the back of his head.

“But he’s…Is he like us?”

“Yeah. He hanged himself a week later.”

My hand flew over my mouth as I inhaled a sharp breath. “Brock…”

Abel pulled me into his chest, wrapping his arms around me.

Marie placed her hand on my back. “You did well, Delilah.”

I clung to Abel as he pulled me from the office and into the blinding sun. We didn’t speak during the entire trip back to his home.

We pulled up outside of Abel’s old fixer‐upper, and for the first time, I truly saw why this place was so important to him. Being damaged and broken doesn’t mean something is worthless.

I got out and stretched in the warm summer sun. Abel was by my side and laced his fingers in mine.

“What happens now?” My voice shook as I tried to process everything we’d been through.