Page 32 of Good and Gone

I realize they’re talking about me. They think I’m asleep, but this isn’t unusual. Everyone talks in circles around me, like I’m not even here.

“She’s a model. I guess you gotta get it in sometime.”

“Don’t they usually just starve themselves?”

“Girl, you’re asking the wrong person.” The machine stops beeping, and I hear a sigh of relief. But the fumbling doesn’t stop. “Plus, have you seen all those slutty pictures she posted? I mean, what can you expect?”

“I’ve been following her for years. Since she had less than a thousand followers. I like some of her content. I don’t know. She seems nice.”

“I guess. Not really my cup of tea, but to each their own.”

“Yeah…”

“But what if they’re right? Whatifshe made it all up? You hear about that sometimes.”

“She’s in pretty bad shape, though.”

“So? Think about it. I heard she isn’t talking. Like basically, they have nothing to go on.”

“Well,” the first nurse says, “I guess you never know.”

“Don’t shoot the messenger. I’m just telling you what they’re saying online. There’s like five thousand comments on her last post. It’s crazy. Everyone’s fighting with each other.”

After they leave, I don’t even have the energy to cry. I’m too busy thinking and trying to process everything. I don’t care what people on the internet say. I have too much else to think about. I am still scared. I am still on edge. I am still every bit as confused as I was when I was shoved into the back seat of that SUV. And in the quiet moments, when I close my eyes, I can still hear those men. I can still hear their voices. The way they whispered to me. The way it sounded like a hundred voices all talking at once. Sometimes I go back to that place in my mind, and I can see their eyes. The way they seem to stare through me. The way they look, and the way they looked at me. The way they prodded me, and the way they made me feel.

It’s not so different from the nurses.

I tell myself I am safe now. I say it over and over and over until I almost believe it. At some point, I must drift off, because when I feel someone sitting down beside me on the edge of the bed, I jolt awake.

I open my eyes to see Tyler. He’s looking at me like I’m a pariah. I can see that he doesn't know what to say, so he just sits there. It reminds me of when Lily was born, and he was too scared to hold her because she was so tiny. He thought she might break. That's how he's looking at me.

My hand reaches out and finds his. I squeeze it. I squeeze it as hard as I can. I squeeze it until I feel like my fingernails are going to break off and I'll never be able to open my hand again, but I don't stop. I squeeze it until I can feel the blood flowing through my veins. I squeeze it until I can feel my heart pounding in my chest, and I squeeze until the sound of my heartbeat drowns out the sound of those men's voices.

I squeeze it, and I squeeze it, and I squeeze.

22

Tyler

Surreal, I think, is the only word that really does justice to the past few weeks. I thought I knew the direction our lives were going. We had a life we were building together. But none of that matters anymore. That life, the way things were before, it feels like a distant memory.

I thought I was prepared for this. For what it would be like if she came home. I thought I was ready. I mean, I prayed for this outcome every day. How could I not be ready? But nothing could have prepared me for the feeling of her squeezing my hand so tightly I was afraid she might break it. Nothing could have prepared me for the sound of her sobbing in my chest, the way she panics at the thought of letting go. Nothing could have prepared me for the sight of her being interrogated by the police. Or for how she looks now. That vacant stare. The way she’s with you one second and the next, she just seems to fold in on herself.

You tell yourself it’s going to be okay, that it will all work itself out. But then it happens again, and it's just one more thing to be filed away in that box in your head that you make yourself forget about. Another day passes. Another pile of things we file away in that box.

It reminds me of the day I came home from school and found our dog dead. I distinctly remember walking into the garage and seeing my dad holding a shovel and a box. He looked up at me, and the look on his face was a cross between sadness and anger. "I just want her to be at peace," he said. Of course, I had no idea what he meant. It didn’t make sense. I couldn't understand why he was angry instead of simply sad. Later, I'd learn the neighbor backed over the dog because he was in a hurry and wasn't paying attention. My father had to put her out of her misery. There was nothing to be done.

This is something like that.

Only it’s not exactly the same thing, is it? Our neighbor didn't have any malicious intent. He was just careless, and it cost us our dog. Our neighbor didn't have the same bond with our dog that we did. He didn't know how much joy she brought us every day, how much of a companion she was.

And that's what I'm feeling now. Someone else who is carelessandevil—that someone took something from us. And looking at my wife now, I'm not sure we can ever get that something back.

I feel sad about what’s happened. But more than that, I feel angry. I swear to myself I’m going to find the people who did this and make them pay. Even if it’s the last thing I do.

23

Hailey

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