I raised my head to look out the window, searching for my own escape, but there was no escaping my terrible choices. They’d been made.
The only thing I could do was…unmake them? Was that even possible?
The sun had shifted and was slowly beginning to set. The rays now streaming into the room were hitting something shiny on the set of drawers by my father’s bed.
Releasing his hand, I stood and made my way over to see what it was. There, sitting on the flat surface, was a pen resting on a single sheet of paper. Scrawled across the middle was a quote.
Nietzsche.
My father had always been a fan of his work and passed the love of his writing on to me. I picked up the note and touched the words he’d written.
Gray,
‘What is done out of love always takes place beyond good and evil.’
I understand.
Dad
I clenched the note in my fist and brought it to my mouth, trying to hold myself together.
He was still teaching me, and here I was, still trying to learn from his lessons.
As tears blurred my vision, I shoved the paper in my pocket and once again, the pen lying on the drawers caught my eye. Picking it up, I noticed it was his old faithful.
As a teacher, he’d always prided himself on having something nice to write with, and this was the pen I’d given him for his 50th birthday.
It was black with a beautiful gold finish, and along the side his initials were engraved—G.M.—just like my own.
He’d never gone anywhere without it, and from now on, neither would I.
Present…
Tick, tick, tock.
I’ve been sitting in Doc’s office for the last thirty minutes, but he hasn’t said one word. Usually I’d enjoy the silence, but today it’s starting to worry me.
What is this? A new tactic?
If so, I’m surprised to admit that I enjoyed the old ones better. This silence is nerve-racking. After yesterday in the library, I was almost certain we’d be discussing the flora and fauna in Colorado, but so far—nothing.
Well, nothing except for the new habit of tapping his pen and my new preoccupation of focusing on it.
It was irritating. It was intrusive. It was…familiar.
“Can I see your pen?”
I’m the first to break the silence, and Doc’s smile is slow as it appears.
“Why? It’s just a pen.”
My eyes find his, and I call him out. “You’re lying.”
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
Shrugging, Doc holds the pen out and looks it over. I too let my eyes move over the black and gold casing. If only I could see the other side.
Tick, tick, tock.
“How do you know I’m lying?”
“Isn’t it unethical for you to lie to a patient?”
“How do you know I’m lying?”
Beginning to get annoyed, I roll my eyes at him and stand. “I just do.”
“How?”
I cross my arms and refuse to talk.
“Addison?”
“What?” I snap, anxious to know if this is what I think it is and more importantly, why Doc has it.
“You need to trust me.”
I watch Doc as he stands and holds the pen out to me. I reach for it, and it’s almost like he’s here in the room with me.
For the first time since I’ve been here, the loud ticking of the clock stops. Cautiously, I lift the pen and turn it to see G.M. engraved along the side—suddenly, the loudest thing in the room is my heart.
Past…
The sun had finally set when I made my way through the gates of the cemetery and stepped down onto the green grass. In one day, everything had become extremely complicated.
I walked briskly between the tombstones, careful not to tread on the flowers sprouting out around the edges.
Brandon had followed me…followed us. What if he hadn’t gone back for practice?
Not only were my actions reckless, they were putting Grayson’s freedom in jeopardy. One wrong move and his career would be over, not to mention he’d end up in jail. He could lose everything, all because of me.
What made me think I had the right to ask that of him?
Doc was always telling me, one choice can change the entire path you were once on. Is this the kind of thing he’d been talking about?
Maybe it was time for me to make the right choice—the one to say good-bye.
I could choose to be unselfish and allow Grayson to move on from what he surely now felt was an obligation.
“Addison?”
The deep voice that drifted through the night didn’t belong to the man I’d told to meet me here. No, the man standing in front of me was family.
“Dad…what are you doing here?” And when are you leaving?
“Why do you think I’m here?” he asked, his voice full of disgust as he looked away and faced the stone that marked his son’s resting place.
“I’m sorry. That was a stupid question.”
“Yes, it was,” he agreed and lifted his arm, bringing up the bottle.
Whiskey. His go-to when he needed to numb the pain. They sent me to a shrink, but he swore he didn’t need one.
Why see a doctor when liquor is cheaper?
“I’ll just leave then.”
“No,” he discouraged. “Stay. You should apologize every day.”
My head jerked back as if he’d slapped me. “I didn’t come here to apologize.”
He turned with a sway and spat at me with loathing. “Well you should.”
Those three little words shouldn’t have been able to cause such damage, but after Brandon and Jessica, they cut wide the wound that I usually held somewhat stitched together.
“I don’t have anything to apologize for,” I stressed, reminding myself what Doc always told me.
I turned to leave and had taken only two steps when I was pulled to a stop by a hand grabbing my wrist. He spun me around and yanked me in close before shoving his face close to mine.
I could smell the stench of alcohol on his breath as he assured me, “You have everything to be sorry for. It’s your fault he’s even in the ground.”
I tried to pull my arm free, but my father’s grip was stronger. I knew I’d have bruises tomorrow.
“Yes, Addison. Because of you.”
I shook my head in denial. “Let me go!”
“It’s hard to hear the truth, isn’t it?”
“You’re hurting me!
“No. Noooo. I’m hurting!” he shouted and the torment in his voice was evident. That was quickly forgotten when his palm met my cheek, and the back of his hand caught my lip on the upswing. The reverberating crack that echoed through the night seemed to keep beat with the painful throbbing of my newly bloodied lip.
He’d hit me before but never where anyone could see it.
He hated me for what happened to Daniel, and I hated him for what he’d become.
Sobbing uncontrollably, I looked up into the face I once worshipped and managed to tell him, “I’m hurting too.”
I stumbled back as he released me with a hard shove and heard him hiss under his breath. “Leave me alone. You’re as poisonous as the fucking flowers that grow here.”
Present…
“My father,” I manage as I drag my eyes away from the engraving on the pen.