First Chance Book 2

I’ve just wrapped up an eight-hour shift at Boston’s trendiest local bar. I’m beat and all I can think about is crashing into my bed. Thankfully, I was on the day shift, so it wasn’t as hectic as the night shift usually is.

Nat is constantly on my mind. Over the past week, I’ve only heard from her once.

She promised to keep in touch when I dropped her off. This is the longest we’ve been apart since we were born.

I couldn’t help but nudge her into this. After five years of watching her hide behind a shell, I couldn’t stand by as her best friend and enable her.

She deserves so much more than what life has thrown at her. I know my parents, especially my father, feel a deep sense of guilt.

I also know that Nat has never blamed my dad for the tragedy. I never needed her to say it; we’ve always been a family.

The accident broke my dad. He killed his best friend, his brother, and his wife.

After that day, he couldn’t look me in the eye. That’s a big part of why I supported Nat’s decision to leave New York.

I was tired of my family not being able to spend more than ten minutes with me. They thought money could make up for their absence.

I appreciate not having to rely on student grants or loans to pay for college. I also like not having to worry about where my next paycheck will come from or how I’ll pay each bill.

I enjoy being able to help others who aren’t as fortunate as I am.

I walk into the apartment, tossing my car keys onto the kitchen counter. Too tired to cook, I pop some ramen in the microwave.

While my food cooks, I decide to go into Natalie’s room. This week has been tough without her.

The apartment isn’t the same without her. It’s quiet without her music blaring at all hours. It’s just lonely without her.

I’ve probably slept in her room four nights this week, finding comfort in her blankets.

Our lives were destined to be intertwined long before we were born. Natalie will always be my other half. A part of me.

She’s always said that I’m her sanity, her reason to keep going every day.

What she doesn’t know is that I feel a crushing guilt for what my father did. Accident or not.

If my dad had just suggested they take a taxi, her parents would still be here. She wouldn’t be as closed off as she is now. She wouldn’t be heartbroken, just going through the motions of life.

Sometimes I think she can see through me. See why I do what I do. She puts up a tough exterior, only letting me in.

I do the opposite. I let people in all the time. But only for a few nights of fun. Those few nights make me feel alive again. But I don’t deserve to feel alive.

So when the guilt creeps in, that’s when I kick them out of my bed. Honestly, they don’t deserve it either.

If I let someone in and told them how much I miss Natalie, how much I despise my parents, or how much these thoughts consume me, they would only look at me indifferently.

No one could or would ever understand.

I open her bedroom door and immediately notice she’s lying in her bed.

She should be on a tour bus right now. How did she get here?

I walk over to her bed and start shaking her awake. She doesn’t respond. I shake her again, harder this time.

“Nat!” I yell.

“Natalie!”

Her lack of response makes my stomach churn. To calm myself, I lay my head on her chest, just to hear her heartbeat. It’s slow.

I start screaming her name. Hoping, praying that she’ll respond or move. Her face is unnaturally pale.

I jump off the bed and pull my cell phone out of my pocket, frantically dialing 911.

The dispatcher answers. I rush out the words, telling her my friend is unresponsive and her heart is barely beating.

She tells me she’s sending an ambulance. That everything will be alright.

Right now, I’m struggling to believe that everything will be okay. I’ve never seen Natalie like this.

As the dispatcher stays on the line, she instructs me to check Nat’s pulse. To keep checking to make sure she’s still breathing.

Sitting beside Natalie’s lifeless body with my thumb on her wrist, I glance at her nightstand and notice a piece of paper.

A letter. Addressed to me. Oh, Natalie. She did this on purpose.