Even from a distance and years later, Natalie could see that she didn’t want to be there. That, like church every Sunday, someone was forcing her. And being Hazel, she did what was expected of her.
To honor the students that lost their lives that day, they had left empty chairs that they would have sat in. They were covered in garments, but the chairs were empty. Since Hazel’s name came between Hanna and Henry’s names alphabetically, she sat alone between the two empty chairs. Another reminder that she was now alone, that they were gone.
By the time Sam walked through the door, she was a puddle on the couch, unable to even turn off the movie. She had still been trapped in a hospital bed when it had happened, not even thinking about the day she had dreamed of for long. And if she had, all she could think about was how her friends were moving on with their lives. Thinking she was the only one who wasn’t. Except now she knew that Hazel wasn’t either. Hazel still hadn’t.
But it didn’t matter what was on the screen, she couldn’t see it. Between the tears in her eyes and the new memories she had seen today, she was not seeing anything. Not even Sam when he sat down and gathered her into his arms. His big, strong arms couldn’t protect her from who she had been. A monster.
CHAPTER25
His heart stoppedwhen he walked in from the garage with an armful of groceries and found her sitting on the couch racked with sobs. Her entire body was shaking, and her breathing was ragged as her eyes were locked on the TV screen. He didn’t even think she knew he came into the house. Glancing at the screen, he saw a high school graduation playing on the screen, and it took only a second for him to figure out which one.
“Natalie, what are you doing? Are you okay?” He pulled her into his arms as he sat down.
“No, I’m not,” she whispered through her tears, trying to get closer to him than she was.
“Are you watching your graduation?” he questioned as he ran a hand over her black hair, but he didn’t need to ask. He knew.
“Hazel,” was all she said and sobbed again.
“You shouldn’t watch this.” Turning the TV off, he wished he had come home sooner before she had turned it on. He had been at that graduation and had barely made it through. For weeks he had tried to talk the principal out of leaving the chairs empty, to think about the remaining triplet. But there was no getting through to him, and he had watched Hazel the entire time. As had so many.
“I have to. I needed to know,” she whispered into his shirt.
“Need to know what?” he questioned, his arms tightening around her.
“How bad of a person I was,” she whispered again through her tears.
“You were not a bad person.”
“I saw me. I was. Hazel said so. Hazel knows me.” The sobs started again.
“Natalie, you were a kid then. You have grown up. You’re not that person anymore.” He rubbed her back and kissed her head in comfort.
“But what if I still am?” she asked, the sobs slowing.
“You’re not,” he argued.
“How do you know?” she questioned with only tears running down her face.
“Because I could never love a bad person, but I love you.” He hadn’t planned on telling her that until a better time, a better place. But it was out now.
“You can’t love me. You don’t know how mean I am.”
“I knew you before the accident and after. I know you pretty well.” He wiped the tears from her cheeks.
“But Hazel said, and she knows me,” she stated.
“Did Hazel say you were a bad person now? Or just back then?”
“Back then. She said I’ve changed,” she whispered.
“You have. So much so that you don’t even recognize who you were before. Not only did the outside change after the accident, so did the inside.” He lightly kissed her wet, salty lips then pulled her back tight to him.
Looking up from her, he saw a box of little disks on the coffee table. How long had she been sitting here reliving her life, seeing all her flaws? He cursed his friend for recording so much of her life. Some things don’t need to be relived years later. Most things from your teenage years deserve to just be lost to time.
Reaching down on the ground, he dug through the bag at his feet and pulled out something he had bought for her. “Ice cream?”
“You know that is a cliché. But I need a spoon.” Grabbing the container, she opened it as he went to the kitchen and grabbed one.