Page 43 of Bad For A Weekend

“No, it’s fine. Now, if it were six months ago, there’s no way I could talk about it. But things are better now, and maybe it’ll be good for me to say it out loud to someone other than my therapist.” He looks sheepish, as though he doesn’t like admitting he’s in therapy.

“I think it was brave of you to seek help. If Dad wasn’t forcing therapy on me, I don’t think I would’ve ever sought it for myself.”

“I didn’t have much of a choice either. My parents told me it was either get help or move out because they couldn’t watch me destroy myself anymore.”

“How were you destroying yourself?”

“It’s probably best if I tell you the whole story.” He crosses his arms and turns to me. “But I’d appreciate it if this stayed between us.”

“Of course.” It warms me up inside to know he’s trusting me with this.

“I already told you I was a school resource officer before this, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, four years ago, I worked with a kid named Ryan. He had a rough home life and liked to take it out on people with his fists. I intervened, and we spent hours upon hours together. Whenever things got to be too much for him, I told him to come find me, and I’d help. Some days we’d shoot hoops while he talked about the things bothering him. Other days, I’d help him with his homework or mediate a conversation between him and his teachers. I thought he was doing well. I even patted myself on the fucking back about it.” He shakes his head slightly and lets out a humorless laugh. “I was such an idiot.”

“What happened?”

“Four years ago, he came to school with an arsenal of guns and killed four staff members and eight kids.”

I gasp and cover my mouth. I know exactly which school shooting he’s talking about. Dad and I had just returned to the states after our year abroad when it happened, and I remember Dad saying maybe we should’ve stayed out of the country.

“Owen, I’m so sorry.”

He rubs his upper arm for a second, then stands and removes his suit coat. I watch him with curiosity as he unbuttons his black shirt and takes that off, leaving him in a white ribbed tank.

“I was shot in the arm. You can kind of see through the tattoo.” He steps closer and points to a spot where his skin is mottled and thin. I reach out and skim my fingers over the area.

It’s then I remember the rest of the story. The school resource officer was the one who shot and killed the student, stopping the killing spree.

Oh my God. Owen was the officer.

A lump forms in my throat, and my nose stings, knowing what he had to do to protect the rest of the kids. Everything about him suddenly makes sense. No wonder he is the way he is.

“I’m so sorry,” I say.

He takes a step back out of my reach and redresses. “Yeah. Me too.”

“You did what you had to do.”

“I know that now. But at the time, I went a little crazy. I became obsessed with never letting it happen again. Even though I was on leave, I sat in the parking lot of each of the schools, just watching and waiting for something to happen. Whenever I was driving, and a cop or ambulance passed me with lights and sirens on, I’d follow them to make sure they weren’t going to a school. I obsessively watched and read every single story about the shooting. I lost weight because I’d forget to eat, I couldn’t sleep, and I isolated myself from everyone I loved. My days were filled with anxiety over it until I cracked.”

“What do you mean you cracked?” I whisper, desperately wanting to wrap my arms around him but knowing he wouldn’t allow me to.

“Remember when you crawled under the seat of the SUV?”

“Yeah?”

“It was like that, except worse. I locked myself in my closet and wouldn’t come out. My parents had to call an ambulance. They put me on a psych hold, and my parents told me when I came home, I could either get help or leave.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.” He picks a piece of lint off his pants and twists it between his fingers before releasing it on the ground. “But I’m glad they did it because I’m much better now.”

“I’m worried I’m heading in the crazy direction,” I admit.

“That’s understandable. You’ve been through a lot.”

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