Toxic (Better Than You) (24 page)

“
And then that same night, I got in a car accident. My friend Sam was driving. She had been drinking. I wanted to call 911 right away, but she told me to wait, asked me to help her move Sophia into the front seat. And I did. I helped her because she was my only friend. The man in the other car died. I woke up the next morning in the hospital with a scar covering my stomach. They gave me pills for the pain, but I kept taking them even when it was gone because I wanted to forget. And they
finally
made me numb, which was perfect timing because I was stuck in a relationship with a boy who took everything from me, stuck with the secret of having ruined a girl’s life just to save my friend’s. Nothing was the same after that.

“Nobody tried to help me. It was so fucking obvious that something was wrong. I was a
zombie
, for chrissake. So when somebody
did
offer their help, I turned it down, over and over again. I couldn’t understand his motives.” I shrug my shoulders. “I still don’t. It’s not something I deserve. I’m only here because I don’t want to end up rotting away with a mouth full of maggots like I found my mom. She always told me it was just us against the world, that the best things are toxic, and I believed her. For my whole life, I believed her. A part of me still does. But now she’s gone and I have no one. I’m alone.”

~~

After group, Beth approaches me, tries to tell me that I should talk to the police and set things straight. I didn’t even mention what happened with Dave, but that eats at me the whole time she’s talking. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I should do the right thing for a change.

December 31, 2009- Day 58 in rehab

             
“Who called you toxic?” Beth asks while the group watches. I shift in my seat, clear my throat. Talking feels weird, even though it’s been over two weeks since I broke down.

             
“Her name was Catalina. She was my first friend in kindergarten. Told me she couldn’t hang out with me anymore cause her mom said I was toxic.”

             
“And it made you mad?”

             
I shake my head. “No. Just confused. I was five and used to repeat whatever my mom told me.”

             
“Your mom, Lena, was it?” I nod. “She agreed that you were toxic?”

             
“Yep. Told me that we both were, that it was what we were made up of, that only the best things are.”

             
“You do understand that it was her that was toxic, and that she wanted you to be right there with her. She didn’t want to be alone, even if it meant bringing you along for the ride.”

             
“I’m just like her, though.”

             
Beth shakes her head, her silver hair flying side to side. “That’s where you’re wrong. You’re here, alive and breathing and getting help, and she’s not. You’re nothing like her. You have the chance to change, to live a normal, happy life. She’ll never get that chance.”

             
My hands start to shake a little. I can feel my pulse in my fingertips.
One, two, three, four, five…

             
“You control your own life, Logan. You may have made bad decisions, bad things may have happened to you, but that doesn’t make you a bad person. It doesn’t mean you have to be a bad person.”

             
Six, seven, eight, nine, ten…

~~

January 11, 2010- day 70 in rehab

             
The police come by today. I tell them everything I can remember about the accident; the time, the date, little details like what we were wearing and not so little details like whose idea it was. Then I tell them about Dave, give them vivid details down to the sound of the knife penetrating his flesh. They’re quiet throughout my story. One of them shakes his head and takes a deep breath like it may be too much to listen to. It scares me, makes me feel like I’m in trouble, but then he reaches over and pats my arm, tells me everything is going to be alright, and I start to wonder what it would have been like to have a dad. Wonder if he has little girls of his own and would expect them to do the same thing to any man who tried to touch them.

             
Before the officers leave, they tell me that they’ll be in touch, that there’ll have to be a hearing but not to worry. I still worry anyways. People like me don’t get away with things like murder, even if it was self-defense.

             
The nurse walks me back to my room after the confession and all I want to do is sleep, even if it’s only six in the evening. Lucy stands outside my door, her shoulder leaning against the frame like she belongs there. We make eye contact and she smiles brightly. The nurse notices Lucy, smiles back, puts a hand on my shoulder and says, “You two stay out of trouble, ya hear?” She winks, walks away, and then it’s just me and Lucy.

             
Neither one of us say anything for a few seconds. Then Lucy stands up straighter and looks at the ground. “I heard you talking to the police.”

             
My heart stops. She knows how terrible I am. This is the part where she tells me that I’m toxic and she can’t afford to be around me. How could she, when she’s trying to get better, too? All I’ll do is bring her down. All I ever do is- “I wish I was as strong as you were.”

             
What?
Did she just say what I think she said? Maybe she’s mistaken. I know
I’m
mistaken. I am
not
strong. “I was ten years old when my sister’s boyfriend raped me,” she continues. I just stare at her. “I wish I was strong enough to fight him like you fought that guy. Maybe I wouldn’t be so fucked up now.”

             
“You were ten,” is all I say, but she gets what I’m trying to tell her. That she was young, small. That ten year old girls shouldn’t have to fight off nasty perverted guys.

             
She nods her head but still won’t look at me. “I know.”

             
I feel like she needs to know that it wasn’t her fault. That being small and weak physically doesn’t mean she was or is
weak.
So I tell her that. And she just laughs. “You know,” she says, “a lot of people have told me that over the years; my parents, the therapists they sent me to, even my sister when she gets the balls to talk to me, but it sounds so different coming from you.”

             
I shrug my shoulders. “It’s just true.”

             
“For you too.” And then she finally looks at me. Her big brown, watery eyes find mine, hold them, and I feel like this is one of
those
moments. “
You’re braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think
. That’s what my mom always used to tell me, back when she was annoying and clingy. Now she kinda just chooses to ignore me.” She winces and bites her lip. “Sorry, I know you probably wish your mom was clingy and annoying or at least-”

             
I laugh, cutting her off. “Lucy, it’s fine. You can’t miss what you never had, right?”             

             
She shakes her head. “That’s not true. Not at all.”

             
We fall back into silence, but it’s comfortable. Maybe in another world, Lucy and I are friends. In a world where we don’t meet in rehab. Maybe we’re college roommates right now, skipping class to go to the beach and gossiping about boys. I’d like to think it’s possible.

“Are you hungry?” Lucy asks. “Dinner should be ready soon.”

I’m not hungry, but I tell her yes because I like Lucy and I know that in twenty days, when my time is up, I will most likely never see her again.

January 16, 2010- Day 75 in rehab

             
“You’re ninety days is almost complete. What do you think about that?”

             
“I think that it feels like I’ve been in here for a lot longer than seventy five days.”

             
Dr. Roberts scratches his nose. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

             
“I don’t know. You tell me.” When he narrows his eyes at me, I sigh. “It’s not a bad thing. I feel…safe here. I don’t know what’s going to happen when I leave.”

             
“You’re welcome to stay longer if you don’t feel ready.”

             
I look up at the ceiling. “I can’t stay longer. This place has got to cost an arm and a leg and I still don’t know who’s paying for it.”

             
“Does it really matter?”

             
“Of course it does.” I drop my gaze back to Dr. Robert’s dark wood desk. “It’s just another person to owe.”

             
He shuffles a few papers around, writes down something on the one on top. “Do you think that maybe whoever’s helping you is doing so because they care? Not because they want you indebted to them.”

             
Without meeting his eyes, I shrug my shoulders. “There’s no one out there who wants to help me.”
Not true.

             
“Is that really true?”

             
No.
“I don’t know, Doc. Can we talk about something else?”

             
He chuckles.
What kind of doctor chuckles?
“Sure we can. Let’s talk about your plans for the future. Any ideas?”

             
“Would it be possible to, I don’t know, talk about the weather? Or what’s for dinner?” I ask hopefully.

             
“Nice try, Logan. Future. Interests. Ideas. Go.”

             
“Ugh. Okay, maybe I’ll go to school?”

             
“Is that a question or a statement? Tell me what you
want
to do.”

             
Exasperated, I throw my hands up in the air. “Fine. I want to get my GED. I want to go to school and take art classes. I
want
to get an honest job and prove to people that I can be better.”

             
Dr. Roberts smiles like he just won the lottery. “That’s a good start.”

~~

January 21, 2010- Day 80 in rehab

             
“You’ve got a visitor, Logan.”

             
A
visitor?
Is this some kind of joke? I look up at the nurse standing in the doorway with a smile on her face.
This has to be a joke
. “Who is it?” I ask carefully.

             
“I don’t know. Why don’t you come find out?” the nurse calls over her shoulder as she turns and walks away.

I’m left staring at the empty doorway, racking my brain for any idea of who would come and visit me. It can’t be Sam or Jenson, not after they left me to die and not after I ratted Sam out to the police. I haven’t spoken to Danny since
that
party and I don’t dare let myself hope that it’s Nathan or Emily. I’m curious as hell, though, so I slip on my flip flops and nearly run to the visitor center. Except that when I get there and scan the faces, my heart vibrating in my chest, I don’t recognize a single one besides the patients and the nurses.

For some reason I want to cry. I hadn’t realized just how badly I wanted a visitor until I thought I had one. But no one’s here for me. It was just a mistake. And now I’m standing here alone and forgotten and-

“Logan?”

A woman with a soft face and white hair approaches me. Her skin is dark like mine and her eyes look so much like Mom’s that it’s scary. She smiles tentatively, and reaches out her delicate fingers to trace my face.

“You look just like her when she was your age,” she says, tears gathering in her brown eyes.

Who is she talking about? She can’t be who I think she is, who she looks like she is. It’s impossible. I have no family.

“She took you away. You were only two, do you know that? We had no idea where you were and there wasn’t a thing we could do about it.”

It can’t be true. They knew where we were. They just decided not to help, to ignore us. It was Mom and I against the world. No one else
.

“When your friend found us,” she wipes a tear from her cheek and grabs my hand, “we wanted to come right away. After we talked to Dr. Roberts, we decided that it would be best to wait.”

What friend? She talked to Dr. Roberts? Why am I just now finding out about this? What is she talking about?

“I know you’re confused, Logan, but we’ll figure it out together. We’ll have plenty of time.”

             
Time. I’m running out of time. It’s day eighty and I’ll have to leave soon. Where am I going to go? I have nowhere to go. No money. No house or car or friends or family…

             
“Nurse?”