Beautifully Shattered (The Beautifully Series Book 1) (25 page)

“I knew that I was
was never going to be able to ask for my dad’s advice. I wouldn’t
be able to lean on my mom as my rock anymore. My little sister died
before she was ever able to fall hopelessly in love and live her
life. And it was all because of me. I’m the one responsible for all
the pain Logan is suffering through.”

As the memories and old
feelings come back, I’m pulled from the couch to five years ago.
I’m transported back to the pool the night I almost ruined
everything.

The
distinct scent of chlorine fills the cold air as I near the black
gates. As I open them, I fill my lungs with my second favorite smell
in the world. I gaze around to the water that brought me nothing but
peace, up towards the white and red flags that made me feel like a
champion, and all I feel now is despair towards the one thing that I
cherished most in my life. It makes me laugh. It’s a sound that I’m
not accustomed to hearing, nor is it the sound my laugh used to be.
Instead, it has a darkened tone to it. It matches my soul, how
fitting.

It’s
chilly as I sit down at the edge of my high school pool. Putting my
feet in the cold water, I instantly feel at ease. I’m finally doing
the right thing for once in my life. I grab the bag of pills from my
pocket, emptying the Norcos and muscle relaxers into my hand. The
pills take up the entire space of my dainty hand. I try to remember
why I’ve fought this for so long. I come up blank.

I
watch the moonlight reflect off the water, the way it ripples as I
move my feet through the Arctic water. Lifting my hands to my lips, I
empty the pills into my mouth, and take a long swig of the water
bottle beside me. Swallowing them all at once is a lot harder than I
thought it would be. I’m glad that I went back to my car for water
since dry-swallowing these would have been tougher than taking my
tiny birth control pills.

I
lay back on the concrete and look up at the stars . . . waiting for
the medicine to take effect. The stars shine brighter than usual
tonight. The North Star, the one that points you home, mocks me by
burning the brightest. I have no home.

After
a few more minutes of stargazing, I slowly sit up. My head feels
fuzzy. As I stand, I wobble a little while I strip out of my jacket.
I stumble my way to the diving board. I’m in my favorite suit. The
one my mom bought me when I made varsity freshman year. Taking
another deep breath, I step onto the diving board, get into the
position that was drilled into me at a young age, and dive into the
water for the last time.

I
swim one, one hundred, stretching out all my muscles with each
stroke. Committing to memory how it feels to have the water glide off
of me, how my back tightens before each stoke. Even with my head
hazy, I execute the freestyle perfectly. Closing my eyes, I savor
every breath because soon I won’t be breathing . . .

I
take one final lap and then swim to the middle of the pool. I roll
over onto my back and open my eyes to view the night sky. The white
and red flags of Harvard-Westlake flap in the cold breeze. They used
to bring me happiness, but now they only trigger agony. Every time
I’m in the water I think of the last day, their last day, the day I
lost everything. The white and red flags are the last thing I see
before I allow myself to sink into the depths of the water. I hit the
tile floor and blow out the rest of my remaining oxygen from my nose.
I remind myself what I did and why I’m here. I’m responsible for
my family’s death.

I
remember the first time our father, Andy, bought Logan a soccer ball,
the first time our mother, Quinn, took me to a swim class, and the
first time Hadley had a recital. All of these blissful memories are
quickly replaced by the last haunted flashes I have of them, of
everything that I lost.

As
I watch the last bubble of my air supply hit the surface, I hear
Hadley’s screams. I begin to feel lighter as my body floats toward
the surface. I don’t fight the darkness this time.

Forgive
me, I think before everything goes black.

I’m gasping for
breath as if I was thrashing in the water instead of sitting on the
couch. I don’t even need to look at Liv to know that she’s about
to tell me it isn’t my fault. I’ve heard it thousands of times
before. It doesn’t change the truth, no matter how many times I’m
told. She tries to rationalize, saying something about survivor’s
guilt. I know she’s right, but it’s hard to believe her. I
breathe deeply, filling my lungs with much needed air, before I tell
her the rest.

“I woke up in the
hospital after they pumped my stomach. If Jax didn’t already call
911 before he even made it to the school, it would have been too
late.”

Just thinking about how
close I was to succeeding makes bile rise to the back of my throat.
What would Logan’s life be like if I succeeded? Would his life be
easier without me weighing him down?

“I don’t know how
he knew I would be there or that I was attempting to kill myself,
since I didn’t leave a note or anything. I was admitted into the
psych ward once the doctors released me. The rest is pretty blurry.”
I welcome the way my chest expands as I gulp a breath of fresh air,
centering me.

“I never allowed
anyone to tell me what exactly happened when Jax saved me that
night.” I admit this as if it’s a dirty little secret.

Somewhere in the back
of my mind, I vaguely remember Jax visiting me, but the memory
retreats as soon as it appears. I’ve blocked the majority of that
time; remembering it now seems impossible. It feels like I don’t
have all the pieces of the puzzle. I need to talk to Jax. He’s the
one that holds all the answers. I just don’t know if I want to hear
them. Maybe it’s better not knowing.

I’m thankful that Liv
gauges my mood well enough to ask the easiest questions right now. I
don’t think I can handle the real ones. Those will be for another
day.

“Why didn’t you ask
what happened and how Jax knew those things?”

I release my bottom lip
when I realize I’m chewing on it. It makes a loud popping sound,
breaking the silence.

“I don’t know. I
guess I never really wanted to know. I felt so ashamed for how weak I
was when Logan was struggling with their absence, too.”

“Logan was dealing
with the loss of his family. Not survivor's guilt, at least not to
the extent you were, Adalynn. You and your brother were, are, going
through two very different things. You both lost your family that
night, but he wasn’t there. You are going through the loss of your
family and survivor's guilt. You blame yourself, and keep everything
that happened that night bottled up. Talking about it will help. ”

I ignore her and focus
back on the suicide. It’s too soon to talk about the accident.

“I didn’t want to
ask Jax how he knew what was happening, how he found me, and all of
that crap.” I wave my hand through the air. “I just wanted to
pretend like it never happened.” If only.

Liv waits a second
before she gives me the hard blow. “So you wanted to pretend
everything was fine instead of dealing with the problem . . . What’s
stopping you now? I thought you were done pretending.”

Check mate.

I hate that she’s
right, that she’s always right. Sometimes it seems like she knows
me better than I know myself. I pat the teddy bear, surprised to find
myself clutching him close.

“I’m trying not to
pretend anymore. I just don’t see the point in getting those
answers. I still tried to kill myself but Jax saved me.” I shrug.
“New information won’t change anything.”

“You’re right.”

She has my attention
again. “I am?”

“Yes, but you’d be
surprised what can change when you put all the pieces together,
Addie. It won’t change the events that happened, but how you feel
might.”

This session is getting
too emotional for me, too real. I’m done, I can’t take anymore of
this. Not today. I set the soft bear beside me even though I secretly
want to smuggle him into my purse and take him home.

“Okay, I’ll keep
that in mind.”

“We’re done for
today, I take it?” Liv asks.

I nod before rising.
“Thanks, I feel better talking about the whole Jax thing.”

“That’s what I’m
here for.”

Leaving her office, I’m
surprised how true those words are. I am happy with how much we
talked through today. It’s helped my feelings toward the whole
Kohen situation. I can finally stop playing ping-pong in my head with
my emotions. The Jax thing will need to change and soon. He either
needs to be in my life, even just as a friend, or not in my life at
all. I refuse to continue tiptoeing around him, now knowing what’s
okay and what isn’t.

When I reach the
waiting room, I smile warmly at my brother, letting him know that I’m
still in a good mood.

He opens the door for
me. “I hope you’re hungry because I have it on good authority
your favorite food will be at Connor’s.”

“Starved.”

Later in the car, he
comments about how upbeat I am and how much it means to him to see
that I’m happy again. Basically he spends the entire car ride being
a big cheese-ball. I think it’s more to make up for his behavior
earlier about my new job. As quickly as that thought rolls in, I
force it away. Logan isn’t pretending because he feels guilty. He
really sees a change in me. It makes a small blossom of hope build
inside me. Maybe therapy is helping and I’m getting better. Maybe
it’s possible to move on from my past after all.

Soon we step out of the
elevator and into Connor’s penthouse. I hear the telltale signs of
cooking. Crap, Connor cooking, so not good. Logan shares my horrid
expression when he hears something banging around.

“We can still get out
of here to eat something then come back before he notices,” Logan
whispers, reading my mind.

I’m nodding in
agreement when Connor comes around the corner sporting a “kiss the
cook” apron with a revealing swimsuit model, complete with red
sauce all over the front. He glowers at us. Whoops, I guess he heard.
I can’t seem to find the urge to care at the moment. I’ve tried
one too many of Connor’s
attempts
at cooking, if you can even call it that.

“Not a chance, now
get in here and tell me about the interview you had with the enemy.”

Awesome, I’m starving
and won’t be eating anything edible for at least three hours until
I get home. I know Logan is counting the minutes until we can both
escape, too. Mutely, we follow Connor into the kitchen.

I’m startled when I
see Kohen chopping away at the kitchen island. A wonderful aroma
assaults my senses. I turn back to my brother. He’s just as
surprised as I am. Connor wears a shit-eating grin. I throw him down
a few notches.

“Oh, relax Connor, we
know you had help since the building wasn’t on fire when we showed
up.”

Kohen holds up his
hands, one hand still brandishing the menacing knife. “Actually
Connor is doing most of the cooking.”

I can’t help it, I
laugh with my brother. Connor cooking is too funny to picture.

“I’m serious.”

We laugh again, earning
a glare from Connor.

“I’m just
instructing him on what to do,” Kohen says with his charming smile.

Logan beats me to the
insult. “Oh please, even with directions, the only thing he can
make is either a sandwich or something that can be cooked in the
microwave.”

Everyone laughs, except
for Connor. He hits Logan across the back of the head before resuming
his post near Kohen. Logan sits in one of the barstools alongside the
island to watch Connor attempt to make dinner. I pour myself a glass
of red wine. I have to admit, I’m pretty impressed with Connor. He
hasn’t cut off any fingers yet and he’s chopping the onions
pretty fast, well fast for him at least. After taking a delicious sip
of the fruity wine, I lay my head against Kohen’s back.