Making It Through (2 page)

Present Day

I will always be there for you, Mady, always.

Only one month after he said those words to me, I was slammed with the realization that some things you just can’t promise; some things you can’t count on always being true.

It was a moment that I would never be able to forget. I had been hanging out with Meagan and Chloe at their apartment, watching girly movies and eating popcorn, when my cell phone rang. The screen told me that it was my dad.

“Hey, Dad, what’s up?” I greeted him cheerily.

His response was not as lighthearted. “Madelyne, you need to come home.” Dad sounded off, setting me on edge.

“What’s wrong?”

He was quiet for a moment. “It’s Matt.”

My heart sank to my feet. “What do you mean, it’s Matt, Dad?”

“He’s gone.” His voice trembled.

I could feel my blood race into my head, the sound roaring my ears. “What do you mean, gone?”

“He jumped off a balcony, Mady. He’s gone.” At the crack in his speech, the phone slipped from my fingers, crashing to the floor as I crumpled to join it.

“No, No! I can’t— No!”

I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to hold together the shattering pieces of me. If someone were able to be physically ripped apart with words, this is what it would have felt like. My ears buzzed, tears poured down my face, and a horrible screeching sound came from deep in my chest. My head couldn’t process anything I had just heard—my body shut down in reflex.

A hand squeezed my shoulder, and I could make out the forms of my friends through unfocused eyes.

I don’t know how much time had passed until the world around me began to refocus, but everything inside me had changed.

The girls sat on either side of me on the floor, holding me tightly. When the tears paused, they helped me stand and
led
me to Meagan’s car. Chloe sat in the back seat with me. It was the quietest car ride us three girls had ever had.

We reached the house, and I stepped from the car without a word. With a heavy hand, I opened the front door. As the door closed behind me, Dad enveloped me in the tightest hug I had ever received, and I noticed his red, bloodshot eyes. We sank onto the couch in the living room, with Mom and my sister Sam sitting across from us; they didn’t look up as we entered.

The house had never felt so cold, so quiet. My tears began to silently fall once again. In my head, I prayed that I would wake and this would be all a terrible nightmare. After what seemed like forever, I stood and went to my room. I walked by Matt’s room on the way, and a sob escaped me as I looked at the closed door. Emotion overtook me, and I ran to my waiting bed, threw myself across it, and buried my head under the pillows to mute my cries.

A few short days later, preparations had been made to say our final goodbyes to Matt. My mind was in a fog, and my emotions were running on a constant high. Surely, at some point, I would run out of tears, right?

As I sat there in the first pew that day, feeling like my heart was being ripped from my chest, I stared at the casket in front of me, and those words he'd said to me played over and over in my head. I hated those words.

The chapel in the funeral home was cold. Small attempts were made around the room to make it not seem sterile and unfeeling, but it didn’t help. And the smell of the place was stale. So many people filed through to say their last goodbyes that day, and I think he would have been surprised at how many people his life had touched. I tried to just sit there and fade into the background, but that would have been too easy. There seemed to be an unwritten challenge or something to see how many times people could find a reason to touch me. I didn’t want to hazard a guess as to what the final count on that was.

Matt had exuded confidence and such an upbeat attitude that no one saw the extent of the struggle he had going on inside of him. Looking back, I wondered if he had been contemplating what he was going to do for a while. I knew he was unhappy at times, because he wrote about it in lyrics and poetry. But everyone had bad days; those emotions made for great songs. I knew he felt alone, and I had been aware that he was doing drugs, but I thought it was just to take the edge off whatever was stressing him.

It was only after his death that I learned the extent of Matt’s drug use. One of his best friends texted me, offering his condolences and expressing his own grief over the loss. He told me that my brother had been experimenting for a while, but recently, he'd been delving into more mind-altering drugs. He’d worried for his friend, but Matt had made it seem like he had it under control.

What I didn’t know, was that all of his struggles and all of his pain would lead him to the end. Why he jumped off his friend’s balcony that night, I will never understand; not understanding haunted me.

Two weeks after the funeral, I stood by his headstone, confused, lost. Grief threatened to suffocate me with tears. How could I not have noticed what was really happening? Why didn’t he reach out to me? I would have been there for him, I mean he was my brother for God’s sake—I would have killed for him. Guilt was chipping away at me. I should have known, should have seen some kind of sign.

It wasn’t just his death, but the aftermath, that destroyed me, sinking its claws in, changing me. I missed him like I'd lost half of myself. He had been the only person who had truly understood me, and the ache inside was forever growing, taking over. Just the sight of my guitar made me feel sick; I couldn’t imagine ever being able to play again. I couldn’t even think about picking up a pen to write.

Daily, for two weeks, I sat at his grave. Questions hounded me every waking second.
What if...maybe if... if
only…
how could he... why didn’t he.... why didn’t I... why, why, why?
If I asked them enough times, maybe the questions bouncing around my head would be answered,

I slumped to the ground in front of his generic stone, my fingers tracing the rough edges. Matt deserved so much more than a stupid stone; it just didn’t represent who he had been.

Each day, I wept, the tears falling from my cheeks onto the blades of grass below. Without my brother, I felt like a shell of my former self. Our family had quickly vaulted past struggling. In the short time since Matt had left us, we'd begun to break apart. Mom and Sam clung to each other like there was no one else who could possibly feel how they did. Not once over those two weeks was I hugged or asked how I was doing. They decided, between the two of them, that they would attend therapy together, not thinking that it might be a good thing to do as a whole family. They had always been close, so I understood, I guess, but it was hard.

Grief does that—it has the power to make you withdrawn, forgetful, and even irrational.

My dad and I had always been close, but he became absorbed in what Matt had been doing in the months leading up to his death. While I wished I could have known what was going through Matt's head, it would never change the fact that he was gone, and I was left to mourn him, alone. Being alone hurt almost as much as losing him in the first place.

In the midst of all of this, school began, and I simply was not mentally there. Maybe I should have taken some time for myself, but my parents insisted I carry on.

I'd
been contacted by my university advisor, who had given me two weeks to get myself straight, but my return date loomed over me, and I still wasn’t sure how on earth I would get my head on track. How could I simply be back to normal in a specific, given time? I just didn’t work like that.

How can you put a time limit on grief? My brain only thought of Matt. I woke everyday and had to walk by his room’s closed door. Walking around the house, pictures of Matt. The club, the football field, my guitar—all Matt.

Monday morning. In two short days, I would need to pretend that my life was the perfect thing it had once been.

Yeah right.

Saturday was supposed to be dedicated to family time in our home, at least it used to be. Since Matt, our house had turned into a war zone. Mom and Dad were screaming at each other, and Sam was locked in her room, blaring music. My head hurt. I was suffocating, and I needed space—NOW.

I grabbed Matt’s old backpack that
I'd
adopted as my own, threw a notebook, a scarf, and my wallet inside, then bolted down the stairs and out the door as quickly as I could. Anywhere was going to be better than uncomfortably sitting in that house while my parents battled.

As I hurried down the front path, I considered whether to take my car or not, but the idea of getting some air appealed more, so I set out on foot. I noticed that my neighbor was out watering her lawn. A quick glance at her told me she could hear what was going on. The pity that poured from her eyes was too much—I didn't want it. I just wanted to wallow.

I needed to clear my head, to find some peace. I knew there was only one place I would find that.

I walked for ages, my mind bouncing from thoughts of Matt, to my parents and the horrible arguments they had been having, to school, and back to Matt. The pressure of it all was crushing me. Eventually, I found myself standing at the railing of a bridge passing over the highway below. The white noise the cars provided was the only thing that could numb the pain in my head and my heart.

I leaned against the cool metal railing, staring off as people sped home to be with their families after a long day at work. I scowled in their general direction; I hated them all. Not because I knew any of them, nor did they do anything to me. Nope, I wasn’t crazy. I knew there were plenty of unhappy people out there, but I just didn’t care. Anger and tears freely flowed from me. I had become one of those sappy girls who couldn’t control themselves, and that pissed me off, too.

My focus drifted, the street lights blurring through my lashes. Ah, that noise. I tipped my head down towards the sounds, feeling my head clearing just enough to avoid insanity.

“Uh, excuse me. Are you
all right
?”

I hadn’t heard his approach, but in an instant a warm, rich, relaxing voice hit my ears. I didn’t bother to look up. It didn’t matter who he was, he needed to go away.

“Yup, thanks, I’m good.”

“Are you sure? You're leaning kinda far over that railing.”

My temper flared, and my gaze shot up for a snarky reply. It died in my throat as I looked into the eyes of one breathtaking man. He must have been about six feet tall, with black hair cropped closely to his head, chocolate brown eyes, and skin the color of toffee. Wow. This man could easily have been a model.

I quickly regained my composure, remembering that I looked and felt like hell. Besides, even after dismissing him, he had interrupted me while I was trying to tune everything out. I turned back to the cars below.

“My name is Maxwell.” I gave him a withered look. “And you are...?”

I released a large sigh. “Does it matter? We won’t see each other after today, so I see no reason to get personal.”

“And why is that?” he inquired politely.

Who was this guy? “Um, well let me see. We live in a city populated by roughly five and a half million people. What do you think the chances are that we two strangers would bump into each other again?”

He chuckled. “Fair enough.”

I thought we were done with our conversation, but apparently, this guy couldn’t take a bloody hint.

“Why are you still here?” I asked wearily.

“Well, here’s the thing. I look at you and wonder if you're maybe thinking about trying to do something stupid. I can't simply walk away; I have a deep sense of duty here.”

If he only knew why I was so miserable in the first place. My flat, humorless laugh couldn't adequately convey the truth.

“Oh, my
God
, I’m not going to kill myself. If you must know, this is the one place I come to clear my head. My life sucks right now, okay? The white noise allows me to be numb for a while, makes everything else disappear, allows me to find a way to release all of the shit. At least until you showed up. Can you go away now?”

“Uh, no, I can’t do that. So, are you in school?”

This guy really was something; stubborn or just dense, I wasn’t really sure which. I wouldn’t even give him my name, what would make him think I was going to give him any other personal details?

“Ridiculous,” I muttered to myself, bending to pick up my bag.

He was quick to reply. “I’m sorry, what?”

“All right, well, this has been fun and all, but I’m not interested in making friends or shooting the shit. I really did come here to listen to the noise. I guess
that's
not going to happen, so I’m going to leave. Bye.”

I started to walk away when he called out, “Wait. Don’t go, okay? I’m sorry. We can just sit here if you like. I won’t say anything else.”

I turned, eying him suspiciously. He crouched down and sat on the sidewalk, leaning against the stone wall that held the metal railing above it. He looked up, unleashed a surprisingly sexy smile at me, and patted the ground beside him. After a brief moment to collect my straying thoughts, I sat, closed my eyes, and rested my head back, all my tension slowly easing. This was exactly what I needed. I wouldn’t admit it to this stranger, but I would reluctantly admit to myself, that it was actually nice to have someone to just sit with.

When my head was once again sane, I turned to the guy. “Hey, what was your name again?”

He looked at me and smiled. “My friends call me Max.”

“We hardly qualify as friends.”

“Oh, no? Only friends could spend an hour sitting together in comfortable silence.”

I laughed lightly as I stood. “Okay, Max, well I wanted to say thanks for sitting with me. It was... never mind. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. What are the chances you'll let me know your name?”

“Nonexistent. Think of us as two strangers passing in the night.”