I don’t know how long I was on the side of the road. Cars were passing me, and I still had your blood on my hands, and I was scared and angry and couldn’t stop seeing your mother’s face. I had killed you and everyone was going to miss you, and you wouldn’t be around to make anyone feel appreciated or important anymore, and it was my fault, and I just wanted to die.
I didn’t care about anything else.
I just wanted to die.
I walked out into the street at what I’m guessing was around eleven at night, and a car had to swerve to miss me. I tried three times, with three different cars, but none of them hit me, and all of them were angry that I was in the road at dark. I got honked at and cussed at, but no one put me out of my misery, and no one helped me. I had already walked over a mile, and I didn’t know how far away I was from my apartment, but I knew if I could just get there, I could step off my fourth-floor apartment balcony, because that was the only thing I could think to do in that moment. I wanted to be with you, but in my mind, you were no longer trapped under your car in that wreck. You were somewhere else, floating around in the dark, and I was determined to join you because what was the point? You were my whole point.
I began to shrink with every second that passed, until I felt invisible.
And that’s the last thing I remember. There’s a long stretch of nothing between me leaving you and me even realizing I left you.
Hours.
Your family was told I walked home and fell asleep, but that’s not exactly what happened. I’m almost positive I fainted from shock, because when the cops beat on my bedroom door the next morning and I opened my eyes, I was on the floor. I noticed a small puddle of blood on the floor next to my head. I must have hit my head going down, but I didn’t have time to inspect it because police were in my bedroom and one of them had his hand on my arm and he was lifting me to my feet.
That’s the last time I ever saw my bedroom.
I remember my roommate Clarissa looked horrified. It wasn’t because she was horrified for me. She was horrified for herself. It was as if she had been living with a murderer all this time and had no idea. Her boyfriend, we could never remember his name—Jason or Jackson or Justin—was comforting her like I had ruined her day.
I almost apologized to her, but I couldn’t get my thoughts to connect with my voice. I had questions, I was confused, I was weak, I was hurting. But the most powerful of all the feelings flooding me in that moment was my loneliness.
Little did I know, that feeling would become perpetual. Permanent. I knew when they put me in the back seat of the police car that my life had reached its peak with you, and nothing that came after you would ever matter.
There was before you and there was during you. For some reason, I never thought there would be an after you.
But there was, and I was in it.
I’ll be in it forever.
There’s still more to read, but my throat is dry and my nerves are shot and I’m scared of what Ledger is thinking of me right now. He’s gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles have turned white.
I reach for my bottle of water and take a long drink. Ledger directs his car all the way up his driveway, and when we reach his house, he puts his truck in park and leans his elbow against his door. He doesn’t look at me. “Keep reading.”
My hands are shaking now. I don’t know if I can continue to read without crying, but I don’t think he’d care even if I read through my tears. I take another drink and then start reading the next chapter.
Dear Scotty,
This is what it was like in the interrogation room.
Them: How much did you have to drink?
Me: Silence
Them: Who took you home after the wreck?
Me: Silence
Them: Are you on any other illegal substances?
Me: Silence
Them: Did you call for help?
Me: Silence
Them: Did you know he was still alive when you fled the scene?
Me: Silence
Them: Did you know he was still alive when we found him an hour and a half ago?
Me: Screams.
Lots of screams.
Screams until they put me back in a cell and said they’d come back for me when I calmed down.
When I calmed down.
I didn’t calm down, Scotty.
I
think
I
lost
a
little
bit
of
my
mind
that
day.
They pulled me into the interrogation room two more times over the next twenty-four hours. I hadn’t slept, I was heartbroken, I couldn’t eat or drink anything.
I just. Wanted. To die.
And then, when they told me you would still be alive if I had just called for help, I did die. It was a Monday, I think. Two days after our wreck. I sometimes want to buy myself a headstone and have that date written on it, even though I’m still pretending not to be dead. My epitaph would read: Kenna Nicole Rowan, died two days after the passing of her beloved Scotty.