Page 118 of Wanted You More

A few hours later, I’m cross-legged on the bed with my laptop in front of me, looking up Everytown for Gun Safety and reading about its short history online.

That turns into twenty minutes of research. Then thirty. Forty. The deeper I go, the more articles I find, and the heavier my heart sits in my chest because of how many stories are connected to the necessity of this group.

It’s well past midnight when I rub my sore eyes. Staring at my computer and reading all the tragic interviews from other mass shooting events is too much.

I can feel the emotion swarming in my throat, but it doesn’t reach my eyes.

I want to cry.

For those people impacted.

For me. For Mom. For Wolfe.

But I still can’t.

I grab my phone, hands shaking slightly.

Me:I know you’re still mad but, I was wondering if we could talk about something important

Me:It has to do with my mom

Biting my thumbnail, I wait for my roommate to text me back.

Instead of doing that, she calls.

When I hear her concerned voice, relief fills my chest. “Are you okay?”

Sniffing back tears, I blow out a breath to collect myself. “I think so. I wanted to talk to you about the charity work that your parents do. Have they ever worked with a group called Moms Demand Action for Gun Sense in America?”

I remember her listing a bunch of organizations they’ve partnered with in the past, and this one rings a bell.

“Maybe,” she answers. “I’ll have to ask tomorrow when they get up. What’s this about? You sound like you’ve been crying.”

Blinking back the tears that stick to my lashes, I shake my head. “I just miss you. A lot. And my mom. And my dad wants me to go to a marathon that would raise money for a bunch of gun control organizations, and it’s got me all twisted up inside and I think—” I start breathing heavier. “I think I’m going to have another panic attack or a heart attack or something because why do bad things keep happening? So many people are damaged from these events. That night at the park…” My throat tightens as I think about it.

The screaming.

The pain tearing through my shoulder.

Seeing Benjamin Kingsley for the first time after he found me under Elmer.

“I didn’t know you had panic attacks.”

“I didn’t want you to,” I whisper, feeling my chest tighten from the stress of it all. Hands shaking, I push up from the bed and search for my medication.

It’s like I can hear the fireworks ringing in my ears. Then how they turn to more.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Smell the food—burgers and hotdogs and pork and everything in between. I don’t like eating any of that because it makes me want to vomit.

Kennedy makes a sad sound. “Text me your address so I remember it.” I’m taken aback by the demand but do as she asks. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes. Okay?”

I stand still in my room, still feeling the weight press down on my chest. It eases, only slightly, when I whisper, “Okay.”

Half an hour later, Kennedy is standing at my front door. She doesn’t hesitate to hug me, wrapping her arms so tight around me I can’t breathe for a new reason.

“I’ve been a shitty friend,” she murmurs against me. “But I’m here now and I’ll help you however you need. Promise.”

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