Page 20 of If Only You Hurt

“I guess so. My sister promised pizza, and that’s the only reason why I’m here.” I wink at her, and it feels like we can at least have these moments of simplicity in the middle of the chaos that I know she’s living with in her mind.

We make our way downstairs and grab a box. I tried to tell her I would carry everything while she unpacks, but she insisted she wanted to stay busy for as much of the day as possible. Ellie and Becca stay downstairs, keeping the kids occupied. Ellie brought Tyler, her son, to visit as well, so I know everyone is pretty busy downstairs.

Laney and I work in tandem, little being spoken but moving throughout the room easily. I’m familiar with how Laney likes the layout of her room, so I set up her bookshelf, along with hanging some new artwork above her desk. Laney hasn’t mentioned going back to school in any capacity at this time, so I don’t want to say anything along the lines of going back to her studies. I think she already felt lost regarding picking a major prior to everything that happened, so with how she has been feeling, I think putting a pause on that part of her life will not be a deterrent to finding ways to embrace life again.

“I think I’m going to call it a day,” Laney says as I’m placing the last handful of books on the shelf. I look over, and I can see the exhaustion in her eyes.

“Okay. Maybe a shower to freshen up? It might feel good after traveling so much.” I smile, hoping she knows I’m here to help her through it.

“Yeah, I think I’ll do that.” She grabs some clothes and walks into the adjoining restroom. I finish up a few little things around the room, then sit at the end of her bed, waiting for her to come out. I know Laney feels lost, but if she feels supported by me and those in this home, I think she will start to use that strength that I know she has to start taking steps in the right direction.

Soon, I hear the water shut off and movement on the other side of the restroom door. I sit there, my hands all of a sudden damp with sweat. My nerves are shot as I try to shift this friendship that is now taking strides down a new path.

We’ve busied ourselves since she arrived, and now we’re here without much to keep us occupied. Something that came naturally to us in the past feels slightly foreign as we navigate this time together. But the moment she opens that door, all my fears are put to rest.

Laney stands there with her red hair damp, dripping water onto her bare skin, the towel wrapped around her body. Her eyes are puffy, and I assume she cried while she sat under that stream of water. I sit there, waiting to see her next move.

In what I can only describe as the old Laney, she walks over, each step determined to wash away the pain, and she sits in my lap, and I instinctively wrap my arms around her. She puts her face in the crook of my neck, and I simply hold her. My sweet Bean, full of life but unsure how to live it now.

I put my hand on her head and whisper, “I've got you, Laney. I’ll step through fire to make sure you are safe. I love you.” And I kiss her exposed shoulder. She hugs me tighter, and right then, I know that we will be okay. As long as we have each other, we’ll be okay.

Part Two

Chapter Ten

LANEY

Summer 2023

“So you think it’s a good idea for me to go on this trip, across the country with Grant, after everything I’ve told you?” I can’t help the frustration seeping from my voice. I turn my head to the side to look at my therapist’s face.

Evelyn McNeal, Dr. McNeal as others know her, has been seeing me for a little over ten years now. She knows everything about my life, and believe me, I have been candid with her. She knows about my childhood, about the life I left behind after that tragic day in Wyoming, and she knows how I’ve dealt with the pain since then.

“Why do you feel it wouldn’t be a good idea?” She always answers a question with a question, and I’m realizing that’s the foundation of psychology. Slightly ironic, I was teetering on the idea of going into this profession.

“Ugh. Why do I have to answer that?” I get irritated that she won’t just tell me flat-out how to react to something. But I guess that’s part of growth.

“Listen, Laney, it’s been over ten years. Your friendship with Grant seems to be on solid ground now after years of what felt like unknown territory for the two of you. Why do you hesitate to do something with him when you know being around him brings you joy?” She has a point, but now I’m being stubborn because I know deep down why I’m hesitant.

“I can see by your expression you know why. Tell me. Say it out loud so we can talk through it.” She continues, and I let out an exasperated breath, knowing that I dug this hole and I am the only one who can see myself out of it.

“The last time I felt this good between us, everything went to shit. Life is ugly, and I was a witness to that. Not just a witness but a survivor of that. I feel like I’m finally standing on my own two feet without feeling like a gust of wind is going to knock me down. But if I open this door, I feel like I may not be able to close it.” So much has happened in the last ten years, yet, in some ways, not much has changed at all.

Grant and I took time to heal. He thinks I was healing from the incident as a whole, but he doesn’t realize what I lost that day was what I was really having a hard time coming to terms with. I felt like the detour my life took me on had a lot more to do with the what-ifs in the scenario versus the trauma that day brought into my life.

Survivor’s guilt, something I have really embraced since starting therapy, is something I have learned to deal with. It doesn’t mean that I don’t feel an ache each time I get to accomplish something, knowing that Artie and many others who lost their lives that day will never have a chance to do the same.

Eugene has been a part of my recovery throughout the last decade. I had to do a twelve-step program of sorts that involved forgiveness toward myself, and I had to feel that Eugene felt no anger toward my survival while his boyfriend was taken from this life.

I still have a connection to Artie’s past love. Eugene met a lovely man about seven years after the incident in Wyoming. I was at his wedding last year, and it was beautiful to see him smile in that way. He lives in Oregon with his husband and golden retriever. He and his little family are thriving.

With that part of my heart mended in some way, I feel like I have put more of a focus on Grant recently. Since everything happened at my school, Grant and I haven’t been intimate. It’s like that part of our relationship never rekindled, but not from a lack of desire on my part. It seems Grant Stanley only got more handsome with time. But each time I felt a tug toward reconnecting on that level, I found something inside stopping me from taking that happiness back.

He continues to travel the world, his photography taking off not long after I settled here in New York. His glimpse of life through a lens is something to envy. He’s currently in Japan, and the photos he sends me are extraordinary. His smile still manages to warm my heart in a way no one has ever accomplished.

We’ve kept our relationship fully in the friendship zone. We haven’t crossed a line, and a part of me is craving him more in that way each time I see him. But another part of me fears how I will react if we start things up again. My mind wanders back to that morning and how naive I was to think life could simply exist with no difficulties or ugliness to creep up. I fear something will erupt and cause things to go backward. I’m letting fear take a front seat to the possibility of us being together.

I know he hasn’t been a saint, waiting for me to initiate things again. Nor have I. Let’s be honest: a girl has needs. And I fulfill them but without any emotion attached. I date someone for a bit of time, but then I just don’t find a deeper connection. In reality, I don’t find what I have with Grant anywhere but in him. So, I’m just avoiding what I know is right in front of me.

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