Page 18 of If Only You Hurt

Chapter Eight

LANEY

Winter 2013

My parents are sitting up front while I take in my hometown from the backseat. The holidays are usually one of my favorite times of the year; however, I feel absolutely nothing for the festivities that just passed. In all honesty, I feel so lost in general. My sister, Beau, Becca, my parents, and Grant have all tried to get me out of this darkness I feel, but it just seems to pull me deeper each time I open my eyes.

The night terrors are intense, Artie’s gaze haunting me at every corner. Loud noises still make me freeze, and I feel utterly terrified in crowded places. My parents took me to the winter bizarre in Saddle Ridge, a tradition I loved participating in for as long as I can remember, but this year, I felt like the crowds were caving in on me. I felt uncomfortable and wanted to leave within minutes of arriving.

At this point, I think everyone feels clueless about what to do for me. I get it; I’m not myself. But I’m not sure I ever will be again. And forcing me into habits I used to love in hopes the old me will return seems useless at this point. I feel empty. Things that brought me joy nearly shatter me now. That day, the shooters didn’t just take lives, they took with it our innocence. And I think mine is buried somewhere in my past. I feel like I may not ever recover it in order to feel like myself again.

“What do you think, Laney? Want to head to your sister’s for dinner tonight to start 2013 off on a positive foot?” The hopefulness in my mom’s voice is evident. I can tell, just from the tone of her voice, that she’s walking on eggshells when she speaks to me, much like she and everyone else have been doing since the day they met me at the hospital in Wyoming.

Today is New Year’s Day, and my family is doing anything and everything to make me feel comfortable. The fact I have such incredible support really means the world to me; but, I just feel a little lost right now, so my ability to give more than this shell of myself feels difficult.

“Yeah, sure.” I see my mom let out a breath. She may not notice it, but she’s been doing that since I got discharged from the hospital. My quiet demeanor is very much not a common trait of mine. I have always been vocal and spirited, and here I am now, feeling void of many emotions aside from fear and sadness.

Leaving the hospital was overwhelming for me. I didn’t know how I’d react to leaving a place I felt safe in. However, I felt safe on campus, and that turned into a nightmare, so that started to cause a lot of anxiety for me anywhere I went following the shooting. Eugene’s visit felt like the only time I was connected to someone else that understood the pain that pierced my heart that day.

I don’t know if this connection stemmed from the fact that I was able to tell him Artie’s final words or if it was telling him that his boyfriend saved my life. I explained how he sacrificed himself to ensure my safety. And a part of me is dealing with survivor's guilt because it’s hard to come to terms with the fact that I was saved and someone as good as Artie had to die. Eugene listened, and we both cried. There’s no good to come of such a disaster but having him there brought me comfort.

It turns out twenty-five people were injured, and sixteen lost their lives. The shooters did not survive as well, and every day, it seems another piece to their plan comes out. Of course, their need for vengeance stemmed from their perception of being ostracized and wronged by the university. They felt wronged but somehow thought their actions were right? That question seems to be on repeat in my mind every hour of the day.

I feel tears pricking my eyes, and I try to control myself from spiraling while sitting in the car with my parents. I’ve been able to at least keep myself from crying uncontrollably for a few days now. It seems my longest stretch was about four days.

Grant was here for a few weeks after the incident but had to head out to a project a while back. I begged him to go, and it took everything in him to pack his things and travel. But I could see the pain in his eyes about what I went through, however, I needed space to process the events from that fall day without feeling like every movement I made was being watched. It’s the first time I ever wanted Grant to give me space when previously, I would have begged for him to stay.

We arrive home, and I head straight to my room. I see sadness each time I look over at my parents, and I tend to flee from their gaze because I can’t stand the version of myself I can’t seem to step away from right now. I need a change, but I have no idea how to accomplish that.

Hours later, I’m lying on my bed, and I hear my phone vibrating. I have a feeling it’s Grant, so I’m surprised when I flip my phone over and see Becca calling me. Picking up, I can't help the panic that enters my thoughts, thinking something is wrong with someone I love.

“Hey, Laney! Happy New Year!” Becca might be the only person who hasn’t coddled me throughout this entire experience. She has given me space to process and feel the emotions necessary when dealing with such trauma, but she also doesn’t treat me like a fragile puppy who’s about to break at any moment.

“Hi, Becca. Happy New Year to you and the family. How was your evening? Do anything fun last night?” This earns me a little laugh on the other end.

“If by fun you mean hanging out with nearly four-year-olds and a teen while my lawyer husband works all night, then yes, it was loads of fun.” That makes me smile, which has been a rare occurrence here.

“I’m actually calling with a proposition for you. I know you’re dealing with so much. I heard from Ellie you’re not planning on returning to Wyoming to finish out school. I hope you don’t mind her confiding in me with that information.”

“Yeah, I just can’t fathom going back on campus. It’s too painful.” Add in my panic attacks, and it just won’t work.

“Well, I spoke to Hudson and the kids, and we’d like to offer you to stay with us. We have an extra room, and we’ll give you the privacy you need. But I thought maybe a change to a busy, noisy city might be just what the doctor ordered. I know New York is crowded, but it is just what you might need to get your mind focused on something else. There’s just one catch.” I knew there was something Becca would add to her proposition. She’s picking up on her lawyer husband’s negotiating skills.

“Um, before I agree, what is the last part of this offer?” I love the idea of leaving Nebraska and starting anew. A crowded city seems like the opposite of what I'd run toward, but I also find the idea thrilling to be somewhere completely different than Saddle Ridge, Nebraska. Also, nothing about New York City reminds me of Wyoming.

“I have a friend who’s a therapist, and I’d like you to connect with her. I think it will help you digest what happened to you.”

I saw a therapist in Wyoming while I was in the hospital, and it felt like a waste of time. I just sat there, unable to form words or put my feelings out there for a complete stranger to digest and analyze. Then, when we made it back to Nebraska, I felt like I was being examined by everyone in my small town, and my skin was crawling when I saw Dr. Newsick. I grew up with his daughter, and it felt weird confiding in someone I knew on a personal level. I mean, I knew his daughter peed in the community pool when we were seven. That thought made me chuckle when I sat in his office one morning, and it was the first time I had even smiled since the shooting. That then catapulted me into grief because I was laughing after my friend had just died in my arms. The cycle caused me to fall into a deeper darkness, and I haven’t returned to therapy since then.

I stay quiet for a bit longer than Becca might find comforting, so she speaks up again.

“Laney, listen, I’m not trying to fix you. I’m here to support you. I know you’re home and near your family, but I want to find a way to?—”

“I’m in. I’ll do it,” I tell her with as much enthusiasm as I can muster. “How soon can you accommodate this move?” I think this might be what I need to find myself, or at least a new version of myself, which I’m desperate to find.

“That’s great, Lane. You can come whenever you’re up for it. What sounds good for you?” I can hear the relief in her tone, and knowing I will be around Becca feels right.

“Let me get some things handled here, and maybe this coming weekend? I can do that. I just need to figure out the drive and see if someone will go with me.” I don’t have much to bring with me.

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