Page 34 of Severance

“Look, I’m sorry.” Jess reaches for my hand. “I know I’m a shitty friend. I haven’t called. It’s just that I’ve been so busy with Luke and all.”

“I understand. It’s okay.”

“You should come to the meet-up,” she says, releasing her grasp on my hand.

I silently watch Jess dig through the contents of her designer bag. My stomach roils at the sight of the brochure she lays on the table in front of me. My mother’s been driving me mad with her support group ideas, as if my weekly sessions with the therapist aren’t enough. Besides, I’m not convinced they’re helping. They just frustrate me more. Kind of like the empty diary.

“I believe this could help you deal.” Jess smiles gently.

I look down at the blocks of text and notice her name printed in red at the bottom of the page.

The dread gushing through me explodes inside my chest like a grenade.

My best friend is organizing weekly meetings for the survivors of the attack while I’m waiting for a guy I’m not even supposed to think about to return my text.

How pathetic am I?

My voice is low and sounds strained because the rock in my throat makes it hard to speak up, but I push through it. “What do you do when you get together?”

“We talk about our experience,” Jess explains.

Her jaw begins to quiver and her eyes glisten with tears. For the first time since the attack, I’m seeing my best friend almost losing it. And I hate to say it, but I almostwanther to fall apart, because I’m tired of being the only one who’s weak.

Jess wipes her cheeks with the heel of her hand and draws a deep breath through her teeth to calm down. “This is lame,” she says, putting her brave face back on.

The noise of the street looming around us is too loud and too distracting and my thoughts begin to trip over one another, turning my mind into melting jello.

“It’s not.” I shake my head. “You have the right to be broken whenever you feel like it.”

“I don’t want to be broken.”

“But we are.”

My words float in the air between us like an invisible cloud of toxic waste.

“We all are,” I repeat quietly. “You, me, Luke. Mikah, Blaze.”

“We don’t have to be, Alana,” Jess counters, grabbing my hand. “We can’t let grief and fear rule our lives. We have to take charge and fight through it.”

She sounds too radical, almost maniacal. She’s nothing like the Jess I used to know who only cared about makeup and outfits. My brain understands everything that’s being said, but my heart’s stuck somewhere between the night of the Black Rose show and the day I nearly ripped Dakota’s hand off his dead body. It’s almost as if I’m trapped in that time—it’s a strange feeling that comes and goes, but I’m not sure if I want it to dwindle away. Perhaps not just yet.

“Will you come?” Jess presses.

“Sure.” I nod.

“Great. I’ll text you the details tonight.” She smiles victoriously.

* * *

Tino picks up on the first ring.

“Thank you for calling Toro Bravo. How can I assist you today?” His tone is the definition of cheery and it makes me a little uncomfortable because that’s what I’m supposed to sound like too, but I don’t know if I have it in me anymore.

“Hey, Tino. This is Alana,” I say with my eyes trained on the steering wheel of my Prius. I’m still in the parking lot, my mind replaying the conversation with Jess.

“Alana.” His voice drops to a disappointed mutter. “How are you?” Dishes clank in the background.

“I’m good. I just wanted to see if Angelo’s in.” I already left three messages with the restaurant manager over the course of the past ten days, but the answer I get every time I call is always the same.He’s not available.

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