AVERY
After the truth and dare game wraps up and everyone starts scattering, I don't feel like going back inside right away. The night is cold and I quiet like it here.
I wander away from the firepit, trailing my fingers along the tall grass by the edge of the yard. I hear a couple of people giggling in the distance—probably sneaking off to make out somewhere—but I don't pay them any mind. I circle the dorm once, then find myself back by the fire, now barely a flicker.
It's peaceful, in a way.
But then I see him—Shawn—walking off alone again, swaying slightly. I really don't get this guy!
One moment he is like the easy go type guy and the next moment he becomes the grumpy type!
He's walking slowly, not quite straight. Red cup in hand. Alone.
I follow.
He ends up near the back of the yard, half collapsed into the grass like he couldn't make it any farther. His cup spills, forgotten. He leans back and looks up at the sky like he's trying to disappear into it.
"Shawn?" I call out, stepping closer.
He turns his head slowly and gives me this lazy grin. "Avery," he slurs, like he's surprised a little drunk-happy all at once. "You smell good... like vanilla."
I roll my eyes. "Get up," I say, sliding his arm over my shoulders. "You're not sleeping out here."
He leans into me with more weight than he should. "You're really soft," he mumbles.
"You're really heavy," I grunt, dragging him back toward the dorm. "And annoying. And you're gonna owe me for this."
We make it to the room somehow. He drops onto the bed, limbs sprawled like he's been unplugged. I tug his shoes off and glance around for a blanket. It's cold tonight, and the one on his bed is thin and half-hanging off the side.
I open his cupboard to check for another one.
Instead, I find something else.
Tucked into the drawer beneath a folded hoodie is a half-empty pack of cigars.
My breath catches.
Cigars. Seriously?
I sit beside him for a long time, watching the soft rise and fall of his chest.
Idiot
My voice holds no real anger—just concern.
The sun cuts through the blinds like a blade, and I wake up stiff against the wall.
He groans, sitting up like a zombie reanimating after years underground.
"What the hell happened?" he croaks, squinting like the light offends him personally.
"You got drunk and nearly passed out in the yard," I say, sharp. "I dragged you back here. You're welcome, by the way."
He blinks slowly, rubbing his face. "My head is killing me."
I cross my arms. "Good."
He looks up, confused. "What—?"
"I found cigars in your drawer."
His face doesn't move.
"You've been smoking?"
"Yeah. So?" He exhales slowly through his nose, like he's already exhausted by the conversation.
Ugh! Back to his rude self.
"Are you trying to destroy yourself or is this just for fun?"
He looks down at his hands.
"I didn't expect you to care," he says quietly.
"Too bad," I reply. "I do. Does your parents know? Do you even care about them?"
"Hey, hey hold up... what are you talking about anyway? Please just stay away from my personal life. I know what's better for me and what's not."
Wow! He feels like a different person now from yesterday.
After a pause he says, "My mom died. Three years ago."
I freeze. The air in the room changes.
"She was picking up food. I stayed late at practice. She got into a car accident. She didn't make it."
I don't move.
He doesn't look at me.
"What about your dad?" I ask.
"My dad married again. He is living with his wife and her son, Clark. Sometimes Clark comes around at my grandma's place to hangout with me. Clark has been my friend from before.. like before this marriage thing. So we didn't really let it affect our friendship".
My throat tightens.
"I drink when I don't want to feel, and numbness is easier than breaking all over again." he says. "I smoke when I can't sleep. I don't light them to feel better—I light them hoping each drag steals a little more of me, quietly, so no one notices I'm disappearing."
Silence.
And then, he says quietly, "I don't know how to fix it, Avery. I don't even know if I want to."
One second he's quiet, eyes on the floor like he's somewhere far away, and the next—his voice cracks open like a dam finally giving in.
"She died 'cause of me," he says, so quietly I almost don't hear it.
My heart stills. "Shawn?"
He doesn't look at me. Doesn't even flinch. He just keeps talking, as if he's been waiting for someone to listen. "If I hadn't called… she wouldn't have been on that road. She'd still be alive."
I feel the air shift. The weight in his voice, the way it drags—it pulls something in me down with it.
"It should've been me." His voice rises, and my chest tightens. "God, it should've been me."
He sinks to his knees, right there on the floor like the pain's physically too heavy to stand. My breath catches.
"I killed her," he says, and it breaks. His voice. His whole being. "No matter what anyone says, I know—I killed her."
Tears slip down his face, and I don't even think before I drop to my knees beside him. I wrap my arms around his shoulders, and he doesn't push me away. He leans into me like he's forgotten how to hold himself up. His body shakes, every breath ragged, every sob silent and full of years he never let out.
He's not just grieving.
He's drowning in it.
And for the first time, he lets go—completely.
And I stay.
Because that's what he needs. Not someone to fix him.
Just someone to stay.
The room is so quiet, yet so loud with everything that's never been said.
I press my hand against the back of his head, fingers sinking into his hair. "You didn't kill her, Shawn," I murmur, even though I know he won't believe me. Not tonight. Maybe not ever. "It wasn't your fault."
He doesn't say anything after that. He just stays there—pressed against me, shaking, sobbing without sound, lost in the collapse of everything he's held inside.
With a heavy heart.