Awful Direction

Part two of Devon’s plan: A little closure.

This part of her plan wasn’t exactly working out so well.

“What the fuck is this?” John spat bitterly, his eyes glued to the window.

She winced at the ferocity seeping through his words and fidgeted with her car keys. How could she explain this to him? It was human nature to deny the truth when it was terrible. In this situation, there were several terrible truths John had yet to face. Daisy was gone, there was nothing he could do, and it wasn’t his fault. Well, as far as Devon knew it wasn’t; if John actually killed his girlfriend, he’d be sleeping in a prison cell. Of course she felt a bit intrusive taking John here, it was sort of walking all over his business without permission, but it was evident he wasn’t about to move on anytime soon. Considering she’d been in his position before, Devon felt she was the best candidate to help John move on.

“You need this,” she whispered.

John laughed without humor. “You don’t know what I fucking need.”

“John, you can’t punish yourself over something that isn’t your fault.”

“Do you even know what happened, Devon?”

She hesitated. “…No.”

“Exactly,” he hissed, “It is my fault. I killed my own fucking girlfriend. The love of my life. I took it away. If I had just been there for another five seconds…if I had just been there with her…I could’ve prevented this.”

There was no clear sign who he was talking to anymore. Half of him was still yelling at Devon, while the other half was yelling at himself. Every second she watched John self destruct was another second Devon swallowed a wave of tears. She needed to keep her expression blank, she needed to stay silent until John was ready to talk. This problem was like a giant splinter in his side and Devon was the one who needed to pick it out. A little pain comes with removing every splinter, and this was no exception. Despite what John said, Devon knew very well what he was going through. Like him, she lost a lot of herself when her mother died. But she would’ve felt too selfish to wallow in pity as he did. She didn’t know Daisy personally, but Devon had a feeling she would slap John silly if she were watching him right now.

“We’re getting out now.” It was a command, not a suggestion.

John gritted his teeth. “No.”

“Get out of the car, please.”

“Fuck off.”

“John, get out of the god damn car,” she ordered, raising her voice.

When he finally looked up, tears burned the corners’ of Devon’s eyes. The look on John’s face was quite the opposite of the tone in his raspy voice. His eyes were bloodshot, and moist, and his face was twisted into a look similar to that of a beaten puppy’s. It was exactly what he had looked like the day she’d met him, when he had collapsed on the park bench in front of Daisy’s memorial. Devon’s eyes fell to the cast still embracing his right hand and knew it had to do with whatever guilt he was feeling.

“Please don’t make me go out there,” John pleaded, his voice cracking, “Just…please.”

She wanted to reassure him, but couldn’t. “I’m so sorry, John. But you need this…really.”

Devon stepped out of the car and walked to the passenger car door. She opened it slowly, but John didn’t budge. He kept his eyes on his hands, his bottom lip trembling as he fought back tears. With a sad sigh, she reached for his hand and tugged on in until John let one foot fall onto the grass. She tightened her grip around his fingers as he took another step out of the rusty BMW. It was like a mother guiding her child to the scary doctor’s office to get their first shot. The entire way she told John to keep his eyes on the ground and whispered as many words of comfort as she could. A wave of nausea crashed in the pit of her stomach as the two of them passed dozens of tombstones silently.

Graveyard settings, no matter how sunny it was that day, were always cloudy. Perhaps it was an automatic reaction from the human brain. Metaphorically speaking, graveyards were very cloudy places. What Devon saw now could simply be a hallucination, because it hardly ever rained in Arizona. It was very fitting towards the mood though, she thought at least.

“Please, don’t make me look at her,” John whimpered, “It’s too soon. God, Devon, please!”

“It won’t take long. Five minutes tops. You can stay for five minutes can’t you?”

“It’s too soon. I can’t do it.”

“We’re almost there…”

They approached Daisy’s tombstone, and everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Devon let go of John’s hand—a scarlet imprint on hers from his firm grip—and patiently waited as he made his way to her grave. He glared down at the words inscribed on the smooth stone and clenched his hands into fists. His shoulders shook, although he no longer had any tears to shed. John examined every piece of Daisy, or what was left of her at least, right down to the bouquet of daisies lying at the base of her tombstone. He tapped them with the toe of his Converse and shuttered.

“What are those?” Devon pointed to the cluster of envelopes resting next to the flowers.

John’s gaze fell to them next. He leaned down and picked one up, flipping it over and over in his hands. “When she first died, I used to visit her every day. I’d sit here for hours, hoping that when I came there wouldn’t be anything here, and that I just made the whole thing up. Of course she was still here. So I started bringing her letters, so she wouldn’t forget me. This one,” he held up the letter for her to see, “was the first one I ever gave her. I put it on her grave at the funeral...you can look at it if you want.”

She stared at the front, easily recognizing John’s neat, capitalized handwriting.

I put those pictures of us and sealed them in this envelope. And I will not take them out until you forgive me. Or until I forgive myself…so maybe they will be stuck inside here forever.

“I don’t want to look,” she croaked, setting the envelope back on the ground with the others.

John nodded. “I understand.”

A melancholy silence fell between them. Neither of them knew what to say for two separate reasons. Devon, because she didn’t know what exactly there was left to say. And John, because he was in such a deep state of shock words were far out of his reach. His brain was overloaded with years of memories, kisses, dates, inside jokes, tiny details about Daisy that he had refused to let go of. Every single one of them was another punch in the chest. Why did he let her go? Why wasn’t he there for her? Why had he been so selfish? Did she ever forgive him? All these questions he’d been asking himself for two years. The same ones he’d been asking himself in the emergency room that night. The same ones he’d never have answers to.

“Why did you do this?”

Devon looked at him, afraid to answer. “Because you needed help.”

“Why,” he asked, getting worked up again, “Why does everyone think I have a problem?”

“It’s not like that, I’m worried about you. Your friends are worried about you. We don’t want you to…”

“To what? Kill myself? Just say it Devon, I don’t fucking care. You guys think I’ve lost it, you think I’d leave it all just because of Daisy. Seriously? You too? Well, FUCK YOU. Every single one of you and anyone else who really believes I’m that god damn shallow.”

He could see her flinching at his every word, and didn’t even stop to take a breath. “I don’t need your therapy or whatever the fuck this is. There’s nothing wrong with me. Stop butting into my personal life. You don’t know what it feels like having to hear someone you love just died. You don’t know how it feels having to deal with the fact it’s your fault. It is my fault Devon. My own fucking fault….I could’ve stopped it…”

John fell to the grass and leaned against the tombstone, rubbing his eyes and hiding from Devon’s gaze. His heart was beating a mile a minute and his entire body felt limb. The devil on his shoulder held a victorious smile on his red lips, having won the war against his conscious. Everything hurt; to put it bluntly, John was tired. Tired of waking up every morning and despising everything that looked at him in the mirror. Tired of this raging guilt, constantly pounding in the back of his mind. Tired of telling everyone he didn’t have problems, when in the back of his mind he realized he was pretty screwed up. John was tired of pretending around everyone he wasn’t supposed to. Growing up was never supposed to be like this; not so alone.

“I do understand though,” Devon whispered.

He looked at her through the spaces between his slender fingers.

With a small smile Devon, occupied the space next to John and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

“What?” he asked.

“I do understand what you’re feeling,” she repeated, “My mom…she died too. And it was my fault.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

She shrugged, keeping her brown eyes straight ahead, “Same reason you didn’t tell me about Daisy, I guess. I just wasn’t ready yet. And I don’t think I’ll ever be ready to actually talk about it without getting kind of sad. But that’s life, and I think if we work together we’ll be okay.”

A comforting smile danced across Devon’s glossed lips. And in that moment, John felt a hint of something for her spark in the pit of his stomach. The feeling was gone as quickly as it came, but he noticed it nonetheless. It was both a scary and exciting feeling, but he hastily shrugged it off. John thought about what Devon had just confessed and felt so ashamed of the things he had said. At one point or another, she had been equally as messed up as he was now. Yet somehow she managed to pull through all on her own, into the hopeful figure she was now. She made it look so easy.

Devon sighed. “What are you thinking about John Ohh?”

“Well,” John murmured, “I’m thinking it’s safe to say we’re both a little fucked up.”