Page 22 of #Lovestrong

Lena

The first week of school passes in a blur and to my surprise, each day is like the first. Declan never asked if he could pick me up every day, but he was waiting in the parking lot each morning. And I never had to ask him to eat somewhere other than the cafeteria again. He'd get our food and we'd go find somewhere quiet to sit. We've fallen into this uneasy routine of being around each other all the time, and it’s strange how much calmer I've felt.

I haven't had the urge to cut, but then again, Declan hasn't really left me alone long enough for that to even be an option. His parents are home now, so he isn't at the shop as much, but he texts constantly and calls before bed every night. Lately, it's like my body doesn't even get tired until I hear his voice.

We won't see each other today though. His parents have something they’re doing with him and I'm helping my grandparents at the shop all day. One of their waitresses quit to go back to community college, so instead of them hiring someone, I'm filling in. Honestly, they've been so cool with everything, it's the least I can do.

I've been awake for an hour though, and the shop doesn't open until nine. So, I'm sitting at the table for the hour I have and working on homework.

"You're up early, Lena," Grandpa says, making me jump.

"Jeez, you scared me," I say with a laugh as I throw my pencil down in mock anger.

He chuckles as he makes a pot of coffee, softly whistling to himself. I go back to my homework until he joins me at the kitchen island.

"So," he says. "Gonna see Declan today?"

I look up at him without actually lifting my head. He has a smirk on his face, and I shake my head, smiling. "No, Grandpa. He's busy today."

"Well, that's okay. You all seem to be getting along nicely." His attempt at nonchalance is comical.

"We're just friends, Grandpa."

"Lena," he says in a serious tone.

I sit my pencil down and fold my hands together. "Grandpa, I like him. A lot. But I can't. It's not fair."

He places his fingers under my chin and makes me look at him. "Not fair to whom?"

Tears well-up in my eyes before I can stop them, the pain and guilt Declan has kept at bay comes flooding back. "To Cameron. Camilla. And everyone else who’s gone because of me."

I try to swipe the tears from my face as they fall, but as usual, they're quicker than my hands. Before I know it, tears drip from my chin onto my paper and I curse under my breath. Grandpa slides my notebook to the side and takes both my hands in his.

"Magdalena, listen to me, child. You're no more to blame for that shooting than I am to blame for the Vietnam War."

Before the sentence is fully out of his mouth, I'm shaking my head, trying to sniffle the sobs away. "That's not true, Grandpa. You know what the papers said. What his journals said. If I just would've said yes to the dance, he wouldn't have hurt everyone. The whole town blames me."

"That whole town is full of shit, Lena. They have to blame someone, anyone, but the real blame is on the boy who decided to pull the trigger, not you. If a guy rapes a girl, is she to blame for saying no?"

"Oh my God, of course not. Grandpa, how can you even make that comparison?"

"Because it's the same situation. A boy asked you to a dance. You said no. You're allowed to say no, with or without reason. Saying no doesn't make you responsible for that boy's actions."

He pulls me into a hug and I cry, wishing my Grandpa was right. I don't want to be the reason Peter did what he did, but I am. I want to give in and tell Declan that I care about him, but I can't. It's just not possible now.

"What do I do, Grandpa?" I say, wiping my eyes and nose as I sit up.

"You live, Lena. You have to forgive yourself and go back to living."

"How? How can I go back to a normal life when there's twenty-two people who had theirs taken away?"

"I know you may not want to, honey, but why don't we get you a therapist? I have a friend, she's really great. Works in the next town. No one has to know you go. It might help. What do ya say, kiddo? Give it a try for your ol' grandpa?"

He pats my cheek lightly, like he did when I was really small, and I nod. He hugs me again as the door to the bedroom down the hall creeks and Grandma's footsteps thump toward us. When he lets me go, I sit up and finish wiping my face, and he winks at me.

I don't think therapy is going to do a damn bit of good, but if it’ll make Grandpa happy, I'll try it.