Page 159 of Life of the Party

Riley was undeterred, raising his eyebrows in doubt. “I know you wouldn’t be in here if not for him.” He stated. “When I left town, you weren’t anything like—”

“Yeah, exactly. When you left.” I interrupted. “You left me Riley, you totally abandoned me. And Grey was there. He was there for me when you weren’t. He…he took care of me…he…” I shook my head, unable to continue.

He loved me.

My anger was rapidly dissolving, the all too familiar tears of heartache burning just below the surface…the sadness, the aching. I wrapped my arms around the fearsome blazing in my chest, swallowing heavily.

“You know what Riley?” I managed, trying to breathe through the surging pain. “I think you should leave now.”

“Mac, come on—”

“No. I mean it. Please.” I blinked back my tears, avoiding his gaze. “Just go.”

“You think you’re the only one suffering? You think this isn’t hard for me too?” Riley sat stubbornly. “To see you like this, to put you in here? Grey did this to you, Mackenzie, but still he can do no wrong. Do you know how frustrating that is?”

I shook my head vehemently, my entire being rejecting his words, refusing to hear them. “Just go.” I pleaded desperately. “Please. Just go.”

Riley fell silent. The air was tense between us. I could feel his eyes on me, but refused to meet his gaze. I didn’t want to know it, I didn’t want to see the concern there, the sincerity sure to be in his expression, the truth. I wiped the tears hastily from my eyes and stared down at the floor, wishing he would leave.

After a long moment of my silent defiance, Riley sighed heavily and got up off the couch, rubbing a hand through his hair in defeat. He grabbed his jacket from the chair and I listened, distraught, as he opened the door behind me.

“I’m sorry, Mackenzie. I really am. Forget what I said, okay? I’m an idiot.” Riley admitted lowly. “I’m staying at my mom’s, and I’m just a phone call away. I’ll come back anytime you want, anytime you need to talk.” He paused, as if waiting for aresponse, but I gave him nothing, not even a nod. Resigned, he spoke again, but now his voice was soft. Sad.

“I know you’re hurting…I know you’re going through hell. But it doesn’t have to be this way forever. You have so much to live for, Mac, you just have to stop feeling sorry for yourself first.”

I let out a heavy breath. I didn’t want to hear it, but somewhere deep inside me, I knew Riley was right. The reason I wasn’t getting any better was because I didn’t want to. Life sucked, but it was up to me to change that. If I could. If I wanted to.

The door shut quietly, and then Riley was gone.

That evening we headed back to our room after an uneventful night of TV watching. I’d spent almost the entire time since Riley’s departure pensive with anger, with confusion, with sadness and denial—too distracted by the severity of his words to feign an interest in anything we’d been doing. Now, I flopped down on my bed and pulled my diary from the nightstand instead of getting ready for sleep like Allison was.

Riley wanted me to try, I was going to try. I was going to write down all my thoughts and all my feelings and all the different ways I knew he was wrong. How Grey and I were good together, how what we had was special, right, something I would never, ever regret. How it had been real, how it had been true in every way.

I flipped quickly through the few first pages of my diary I’d written in, my pathetic attempts at composing lyrics Grey’d encouraged me to do. I could never write like he did. He was so brilliant, so gifted and talented. My thoughts were stunted, immature. His poetry so deep, so meaningful…

I flipped another page and found, to my surprise, Grey’s messy scrawl. I frowned, tears stinging my eyes as I looked down at his familiar writing.

There, at the bottom of the page, were four lines of simple prose:

“If I have the strength to leave,

It’d be the greatest gift that I could give.

The greatest gift that I can give,

I want you to truly live.”

And then, at the end:

“I love you. Forgive me.”

My frown deepened. Confused, I read and re-read his lines, my fingers passing delicately over his words. “If I have the strength to leave…”

And then, abruptly, I understood.

The diary fell from my trembling fingers, and I looked up, seeing nothing, blankly staring. These words weren’t just an idle poem or a song or a lyric.

They were a message to me.

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