Page 15 of The Last Session

When I sat back down, one of the browser tabs started blinking. Facebook. Maybe it was someone responding to a roommate-related inquiry…

But no—another message from Melissa.

Hi! I’m not sure if you got my message before but I just wanted to check in. I’ve been thinking about how nice it’d be to catch up. Maybe we could plan a Zoom? LMK!!

Why was she so insistent on talking to me, a friend she’d dumped decades ago? Maybe she felt guilty? Her profile photo showed her with a toddler and baby. All were dressed in identical white T-shirts and jeans.Oh good god.

It was fun, this bitchy distraction, and I accepted the friend request so I could see her mostly private profile. I was a little surprised we weren’t following each other—a few random people from Our Savior had added me in high school, right when Facebook had opened to the public. I clicked on the Photos section: more pix from the photo shootthat included her husband. He smiled calmly at the camera while she laughed like he’d just said something hilarious.

I had the quick thought,Okay, he’s attractive, before realizing who he was.

It couldn’t be. But even as I hovered the arrow to see the tagged name, I knew.

Adam.

Melissa had married Adam? The class bully? The one who had tortured us, particularly me, at least until… until…

I felt a wave of nausea but couldn’t stop clicking. More photos, just the two of them, gazing at each other with cheesy grins. Someone had written a comment:

You two are SO CUTE. Has it been 10 years already???

How on earth had this happened?

After junior high, I’d begged my parents to let me go to public high school instead of the Lutheran one our school funneled into. I’d been shocked when they’d agreed. Thinking back now, it made sense. They were religious, but they weren’t stupid. They knew their daughter was depressed, even though they didn’t know how to talk to her about it, or offer her support.

So I’d gone and made new friends, mainly emo kids from my art classes. Apart from those few former classmates finding me on Facebook, I’d cut all ties to my past.

I clicked on an album titledWEDDING. They’d married right after college. The photos made me scoff in disbelief as I saw familiar face after familiar face: our whole grade had been there. Here were the speeches: Melissa’s father, bald and gentle, who’d always been kind to me. Melissa’s older brother.

Then Pastor John.

I forced myself to study the picture even as my chest tightened. He was still handsome, especially in a suit. Still had that sandy beard and private-joke grin.

I clicked on his profile, which was completely open to the public. Add on ten more years since Melissa’s wedding—he must be mid-forties now?—and he still looked much the same. He was still with his wife, and I couldn’t decide if that was surprising or not. His voice arosein my mind:It’s been a hard year. With Jamie. We’re not even… you know. She always says she’s too tired. It’s beenmonths. I don’t know what to do.A tilt of his head, a glance to see if Ididknow. His expression was a strange mixture of embarrassment and curiosity.

The moment was crystallized in time; I’d never forget it. I’d nodded, thrilled and desperate to seem knowing and adult, to be worthy of this confidence. A tiny part of me had even wondered, in a vague and murky way, if this was his way of telling me things were ending with Jamie. Because… well, clearly there was some type of energy between us, wasn’t there? Not that we could be together now, but maybe in a few years?

It felt shocking to see him now—and Jamie, and their two kids, who were fully grown adults. A recent family picture showed them hiking somewhere, grinning in front of a waterfall, the son and daughter now with partners who looked a little too much like their parents. I became lost in their family life—football games, cookouts, fishing trips—until…

Blast from the past!!read the caption. This was from the Our Savior era. Pastor John sat on the edge of the auditorium stage with his guitar, which he sometimes played for our youth group meetings. Melissa stared up at him reverently. Next to her was a cut-off arm with a charm bracelet.

That was me.

Rage surged up through my stomach. He’d used me. He’d used me and he’d fucked me up forever. No wonder I felt broken, unable to be in a normal relationship.

I clicked theMessagebutton and typed,You fucked up my life.I sent the message, then stared at the blue bubble. I expected mortification to seep in, but I just felt numb.

I went back to Melissa’s profile.How could you marry Adam?????

This time the sent message made me panic. For a moment I considered deleting my profile altogether.

But why should I? Who gave a shit what they thought? They were the ones who’d burrowed deep into the folds of my soul and had stayed there, festering wounds that would never heal. If they got even a tiny bit of shock, of shame, from my messages, then they deserved that.

They deserved much more than that, actually.

10

The next day, walking from the subway to the hospital under yet another gray-swirled sky, I received a link from Amani:Missing Actress Catherine O’Brien in a NY Loony Bin!

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