Part 15 (1/2)

I swallowed nervously, my throat feeling so dry and constricted that I barely got the words out. ”Drew's dead.”

I didn't realize until a few moments later that, based on my appearance, Mrs. Harris was probably thinking that I'd hurt Drew. She had backed up a few steps, her gaze fixed on my bruised and swollen hands. ”No. I mean, Drew, he...it was a gunshot. I don't know what happened.” I slumped against the doorjamb as I added, ”Will Clarke is dead too.”

She gasped, one hand clutching her chest. Then, just like that, Mrs. Harris s.h.i.+fted gears. She moved at a frenzied, frantic pace. She instructed Thomas to finish breakfast and to be ready when the bus pulled up, grabbed her keys, slipped her feet into sneakers, pulled me towards their car and stuffed me into her pa.s.senger seat. ”Oh my G.o.d,” she repeated over and over. ”Oh my G.o.d, my Carolyn.”

s.l.u.t. b.i.t.c.h. c.u.n.t. Wh.o.r.e.

I thought it couldn't get any worse, but those words? They were terms of endearment compared to what I was now being called.

Murderer.

They wanted me dead. Wanted someone to blame. Wanted someone to pay. Those two beautiful boys. Those two sons, brothers, friends, lovers.

Gone forever.

It was two weeks since my name was called over the intercom, calling me out of homeroom, summoning me to the princ.i.p.al's office. Two weeks since Jeremy, bloodied and bruised, intercepted me on my way there, my mother in tears, trailing behind him. Two weeks since I collapsed in the hallway, wailing in pain. Two weeks since I had to watch Tori's mouth go wide and hear her shrill scream as she was restrained by Mrs. Connolly upon hearing the news that her Will was also dead.

It was one week since I sat home, completely numb, on the day of both Drew's and Will's funeral. Their parents had decided that since the two of them were inseparable in life, they would be together as everyone mourned their death.

I was not welcome there. His mother told me exactly that when I went to their home to express my condolences. She looked at me with disdain, with pure hatred. I stood on the stoop as Mrs. Oliver despondently stated, ”You left him heartbroken. You killed my boy.” Those were her parting words before shutting the door in my face.

It was one week since I'd broken down and told my parents everything. They had been so confused. Didn't know why the menacing phone calls were coming in, the ones where men who sounded full-grown said revolting and abhorrent things about their only daughter. They knew everything now.

It had been a few hours since I removed myself from every social media platform. I was told I'd become obsessed. Every day, twenty times a day, I checked. The dedications to Drew and Will on their pages were warm and heartbreaking. There were other comments-the a.s.sumptions about what had unhinged Drew, what drove him to it. There were questions, blind confusion and expressions of overwhelming grief.

I became equally as obsessed with checking the posts on my page. It was self-punishment, pure and simple. I deserved it all: the hatred, the blame, the cruel, brutal, s.e.xually degrading comments. Thanks to Chase's video going viral, it wasn't just my cla.s.smates anymore-people of all ages from far and wide were now chiming in as well. The concensus? I was a c.u.m-loving s.l.u.t who begged for, and deserved, a good a.s.s pounding. I deserved, according to my cla.s.smates and other well-wishers, to be b.i.t.c.h-slapped, gang-raped, punched in the face...murdered. I deserved the same fate as Drew and Will. After all, if it hadn't been for me, they would still be here.

You should just kill yourself, one ”friend” posted on my page. That comment got one hundred and twenty-five likes within an hour.

My page came down only after Mrs. Connolly paid me a house call. School was closed for juniors and seniors the entire week following their death but I had never returned. h.e.l.l, I could barely leave my bed.

The grief was paralyzing. I could scarcely muster up one-word responses to my parents' questions and concerned invitations to talk. My parents fretted over me, beseeching me to drink sips of water and to eat a few meager bites at each meal. The food was brought to me. I only left my bed to use the bathroom and to drag my sorry a.s.s into the shower once a day.

Mrs. Connolly entered my room and sat on the edge of my bed that day. ”How are you, my darling?”

The words should have sounded overly familiar and awkward, but coming from her, there was nothing but comfort. There was something about her. Was it her words, her care, her concern, her connection to the place where I'd spent so much of my life with Drew, Will and Jeremy? Whatever it was, the floodgates had been opened. I wept, struggling to get the words out, for over an hour. She held me, comforted me and gave me a few of the answers I so desperately needed.

”There was no mention of you in the note, Carolyn. It was very brief, a scribbled apology addressed to Will's sister, Anna. I didn't see the note but the way the detective described it to me led me to believe that this was not something Drew had been planning or contemplating for long.”

”How do you know?”

”Besides the note, there was just one quick text to Will. A goodbye of sorts. No true premeditation. I think he was intoxicated and sad in a way that would have been temporary, except that he didn't have to just think about killing himself, he also had the means to do it. Did you know there was a full a.r.s.enal of weapons in their home?”

”Yes. His father's line of work,” I explained tearfully. ”Drew trained with his father at the shooting range.”

”A permanent solution to a temporary problem. That's what most suicides are. I don't believe Drew would have even followed through with it, if not for the fact that the gun went off in the struggle and Will was killed.”

”Will,” I said absently.

”Such a wonderful boy,” she said, smiling. ”Drew as well.” She moved closer to me, making sure she had my full attention. ”This is an enormous tragedy, Carolyn, nothing less and nothing more. You are not at fault. I pray that you understand and believe that.”

”It is my fault. I set it in motion. He knew that I wasn't truly in love with him. I was a phony from the first day he'd asked me out. I led him to believe I wanted the same future. I strung him along. And I...I never told him everything. I was never honest with him.”

”Seventeen, Carolyn. You. Are. Seventeen. It's not supposed to be all planned out already. You're supposed to experience joy, angst, happiness and uncertainty in your relations.h.i.+ps. It's supposed to be great...and messy. You're supposed to fall in love, fall out of love and find your way. I know this may sound odd to you, but you're ent.i.tled to be the angry one here. In many ways, you've been wronged.”

”I'm not dead. I'm not in the ground,” I sobbed.

She pulled me close. ”I know, but you've been robbed of something that I fear you'll never get back, dear. This can go one of two ways. You can believe the truth, that you are not to blame, or you can beat yourself up, day after day. You can let the hateful comments define you. You can punish yourself for something you had no hand in. I fear that's what you're doing.”

”It feels good to make myself hurt, you know?”

I saw alarm flash briefly in her eyes before she regained her composure. ”Grief is pain. In this situation, it's devastating. But I want you to let me help you. We need a plan of sorts.”

”I'm not coming back to school,” I said flatly, bracing myself, ready for her to argue with me.

”I think that's wise.”

”What?” I choked out, surprised.

”There are seven weeks of school left. You've already secured acceptance into a number of universities. I think home schooling would be best at this point.”

I dragged in a breath. ”Do they hate me that much?”

”No,” she a.s.sured me, shaking her head. ”It's not that. I just imagine that sitting in cla.s.s, concentrating, and yes, dealing with the select few who do not wish you well, will be difficult.” She added, ”It's also wholly unnecessary. What we need to focus on right now...is you. I've been stalking social media and I want the two of us, right now, to take down your page. I have suggested to your parents that you don't expose yourself to the internet at all. It's not a discussion at this point, Carolyn, it's critical to your well-being.”

I nodded and dragged my laptop from underneath my bed. I looked once, quickly, my eyes sweeping over the most recent, nasty posts, and then went to my settings and removed my page. Mrs. Connolly then held out her hand, gesturing for me to hand over the computer. I did. In truth, I was relieved, I was weary from it. But although I liked the sound of what she was peddling with her affirmations and positive statements, I believed deep in my soul that I deserved every rotten thing that was being done to me. I believed that I was, in fact, to blame.

”Your home tutor is going to be coming here every morning from ten to one, paid for by the school district. I've spoken to her and instructed her that you should be doing college preparatory work. I've provided her with appropriate materials. This is pa.s.s-fail, Carolyn. No pressure. Do what you can. You are graduating and going on to great things. May not seem like that now but I promise you, it will one day soon. I'm coming back to see you in two weeks. I reminded your mom that college responses are due by May first. No rush, but next time I come, let's talk about that.”

She squeezed my hand and got up. Before leaving, she turned back and asked, ”Have you spoken with Jeremy Rivers?”

I squeezed my eyes closed tight. ”No,” I whispered.

I hadn't seen Jeremy since the day it all turned to nothing. The day that he cradled me in the school hallway, rocking me as he cried with me and whispered that he loved me.

I was no longer worthy of that love.

I no longer wanted it.

I no longer wanted him.

And after Mrs. Connolly left? I made it a few hours cold turkey before smuggling my brother's old, outdated laptop into my room. I didn't reactivate my page. I didn't need to. My name was everywhere. I lapped it up-a glutton for my own demise.

Nothing.

Carolyn wouldn't respond to my calls or texts. She wouldn't see me when I came to her house. Her mother and father looked pale and shaken every time I stopped by. Someone would look through the peek hole in the door before cautiously opening it. ”Please,” I begged Mrs. Harris one night. ”I need to talk to her.”

”Jeremy, I think talking to you would do her a world of good but she doesn't want to see you. She won't see anyone.”

”Do you tell her? Do you tell her every time I come by?”