Page 81 of The Devil Wears Tartan

That’s what she said. I could have stayed for an hour, and maybe she would have been fine. Maybe I wouldn’t have had to call Chris, and maybe I wouldn’t have had to ignore the hazy drawl in his voice that told me he was buzzed on something before he’d even finished his first sentence.

I thought he’d only smoked a joint. I thought he’d be fine to sit on the couch with her for a couple hours.

I thought for once in my life, I could stop worrying and go on a normal date like a normal girl.

“I should have been there,” I mutter, my arms wrapped around my stomach in the front seat of the car.

My mom’s texts said she thought Chris had some kind of seizure, but I knew what must really have happened as soon as I read the messages. He took something bad or took too much. He might have even OD’d by mistake.

“It’s not your fault,” Moira answers as she speeds up whatever street we’re on. “Kenzie, it is not your fault.”

She keeps saying that, but it just sounds like a cruel mockery, because of course it’s my fault.

It’s all my fault.

I never should have signed up for the scholarship in the first place.

“We’re almost there,” she says, her voice gentle.

Everything sounds like we’re underwater, and the world is moving too slow.

Faster. Faster. Faster.

“Did she say if the ambulance has arrived yet? I can stay with her if you want to ride with them to the hospital, or I can drive her there too. We can—”

“No.”

I blink at the streetlights whipping by my window, and some of the fog starts to clear from my head. I can feel my feet on the floor now, feel the ridges of the rubber mat under my shoes. I grind my heels down and shake my head.

“Just drop me off. Please. It’s not your mess.”

“Kenzie, what are you talking about?” She spares me a confused glance before focusing back on the road. “Your brother probably just OD’d, and your mom is sick, and I am going to help you.”

“It’s not your mess,” I repeat as my whole body tenses.

I know this feeling. It’s the same mix of keening pain and dumb detachment I felt when things ended between me and my high school girlfriend.

I realized there was no way to keep her while keeping up with my life. I’d always be failing someone. I’d always be losing something.

“I mean, it’s not your mess either, but—”

“It is,” I cut her off, the words harsh. A flame of anger flickers inside me. I’m not even sure who I’m angry with, but she’s the only one here to aim the pain at. “Look, Moira, you don’t get it. You have a perfect family full of love and—and being there for each other, and shit like that. I have...I have this.”

I wave my hand at the windshield, at whatever fucking mess we’re heading towards, and my voice gets harder with every word.

“My mom isn’t sick like you think. She has...she has depression. She’s had it my whole life, and it only seems to be getting worse. I’m not enough to make it better. I’m not even enough to make her try getting better. I wasn’t enough to make my dad stay, and even...even Chris doesn’t show up half the times he says he will, and when he does...”

My voice breaks, and I can’t stop the horrific vision that flashes in front of my eyes: Chris face down on the floor, his skin turning grey. I don’t even know what it actually looks like when someone OD’s, but I can’t make the picture go away.

“I have to be there for them. Always. I have to hold it all together, because if I let go for even a second, it all falls apart. It all slips away. I thought for one fucking night I could be someone else, but I’m not.”

The car is silent for a moment, the hum of the engine the only sound until I hear Moira take a shaky breath.

“Kenzie...”

There’s hurt in her voice, hurt I put there, and my stomach twists with even more guilt, but I can’t take it back. I can’t undo the truth.

“It’s not your fault,” she murmurs. “You have to know it’s not your fault.”

---