The Boy Who Died

Overreaction

Marcie

Two weeks into the semester, I lay on my stomach on the couch, typing up a lab report on my most recent phlebotomy practice. The blood didn’t make me sick nearly as much as it usually does, so I’m crossing my fingers that exposure really is dulling the intensity of the association. The week after Ryan’s death, I got my period and tested the limits of how long a body really can go without getting toxic shock syndrome because even my own blood sent me spiraling. Totally ridiculous.

Just like my reaction to Ben. He really is a guest lecturer, and I’m a huge baby. I showed up to the second class shaking like a f*****g Chihuahua only for there to be no sign of him. Just like every other class for the following two weeks. I’ve only barely seen him around campus. Ardent isn’t exactly a small school, but it’s not huge either, and I haven’t been going out of my way to avoid the Arkly offices. Without the constant threat of him hanging over my head, my classes are a lot more manageable.

My phone vibrates insistently, reminding me I really have to leave for therapy now. I finish one last sentence and hop up. Phone, wallet, keys. I head out into the late afternoon sunshine and lock the door–then check it. I’ve decided that’s fine. It’s keeping my Ben stress in check or something. I just won’t tell Dana.

Slipping in a single earbud, I head down the stairs. Bright pop music hammers into my skull, and I smile. I can still hear my surroundings, but it’s enough to dampen my thoughts. I walk past the mailbox, and out onto the pale stone path that connects our not-quite-off-campus apartment to the rest of Ardent just in time to see Heather walking up it toward me.

“Hey!” She waves like I might not have noticed her. “Doctor’s appointment?”

I nod. She doesn’t need to know what kind of doctor. “Back in an hour or so.”

She closes the distance and grabs my arm as I start to leave. “Really quick.”

I freeze. This is normal. Normal friends touch each other. Maybe the whole Ben thing made us closer? Heather’s basically my best friend, and a small part of me has always wanted her to think of me as a close friend too.

“Homecoming’s not far off.” She grins. “And obviously the Ardent Alligators are going to crush the Bears, so Everett’s already planning a victory party at his place. You should really come!”

I swallow. I mostly know Everett as a hunk of muscle who serves some important role on the football team and whom Heather spends more time with than a girl as smart as her really should. He’s not a bad guy or anything, just really…jock-y. And that’s even before we get into how much I hate parties. I haven’t really been to one since—

She squeezes my arm and stares at me pleadingly. “Please? We can celebrate your first month of success too.”

“I’ll think about it.” I say because otherwise I’m going to be late for therapy.

She jumps up and down like I said I’ll throw a parade for it. Way too excitable sometimes. At least she lets me go.

I race off campus to Dana’s office building a few blocks away, thanking God for the millionth time that the only therapist who actually listened to me when I was institutionalized does private practice as well. I don’t even have to face the panic of a car to get to her. I knock on her door, panting, and she opens it with a small smile.

“Lost track of time?” she asks.

“Heather did.” I walk inside and take my usual position next to the arm of her long, dark leather couch that has the best pillow. “Sorry.”

“It’s all right. You’re only a minute late.” Dana picks up her notebook and sits down across from me as always. “I don’t even have anyone after you, so we can get the minute back at the end.”

I exhale with relief. Dana’s small kind of dark office is one of the only places in the world I actually feel comfortable. It’s the only place that’s been the same since I was released five years ago.

“Last time,” she says, “we were talking about that guest lecturer. Do you want to pick up there or talk about whatever happened with Heather?”

“Heather’s fine.” I wave the thought away.

“So then tell me about Ben.” She leans forward. “Have you seen him?”

I pick at the fringe on the edge of the pillow. “Not really.”

“Not really?” She purses her lips. “Was he in class?”

I shake my head. “Still no on that front.”

“Are you still experiencing the anxiety spikes when you have to go?” She scribbles a few notes.

“Yeah,” I admit. “I know it’s a total overreaction but… it was so intense, you know? He’s so much like Ryan. I don’t know how to face him.”

“But he’s not Ryan,” Dana says gently. “He’s Ben.”

“He’s Ben,” I repeat automatically.

She sighs. “Tell me what you mean by ‘not really.’”

I grimace. Dana always sees right through me. “So I was getting coffee between classes.”

She nods.

“And one of the coffeeshops on campus is better than the others. By a lot.” My mouth waters just imagining the croissants at the Bean and Gone, much less the coffee. “I headed over there, and… Ben was sitting inside. With the new lead editor.” I recognized him instantly from Heather’s descriptions, which have been growing more and more vivid. He really did look like he would take a picture next to a lion pretending like he shot it but it would be someone else’s kill.

“What did you do?” Dana pushes a lock of her red bob behind her ear.

“I watched.” I wince. “Just for a little! They were right next to the window, and he was gesturing a lot and… and it reminded me of Ryan.”

It was completely stupid. I knew it at the time. I didn’t even go in to get coffee either, just stumbled to my next class half-asleep. But Ryan had a particular way of moving when he wanted to make a point, and—

Dana sighs and closes her notebook around her pen. “I don’t have to say it, do I?”

I shake my head, hot with shame. “He’s not Ryan.”

“No, he’s not.” Dana shakes her head, and the red hair comes loose again. “Marcie, you’re on track to graduate in the spring. You’re on the cusp of a new life, an even bigger fresh start than changing your name. Do you really want to jeopardize that with these silly delusions?”

I shake my head furiously. There’s nothing in the world I want less.

“Okay.” Dana squeezes her closed notebook, and the diamond in her wedding ring catches the light. She doesn’t have any personal pictures in her office, but I’ve often wondered about her spouse. She deserves someone wonderful. “Then tell me three things that make the two of them different.”

Dana works me through exercises until the end of the appointment approaches. I’m feeling a lot more stable and even sillier about the coffeeshop thing than I did before walking in. It’s beyond stupid. Ben’s just some guy, and I’m not risking my health to seek him out anymore.

“Good,” she says. “We’re almost done for the day. Why don’t we cool down by talking about what Heather had going on that made you late?”

I shrug. “Heather invited me to some homecoming party, but I’m not going.”

“Why not?” Dana asks.

“I don’t do well at parties.” I fold myself around the pillow. “They remind me too much of….”

“Of prom?” she supplies.

I nod. The last time I saw Ryan alive. “And the drinking phase before I was institutionalized.”

“Then I think you should go. Push yourself. Find out what you’re really capable of.”

Maybe it’s just the warm, close walls of her office, but for the first time, the party actually kind of sounds like a good idea.