Free The End of All Things Beautiful by Nikki Young

idea my involvement in any of it. My mother, never
being one to pry and my father just following her lead, never asked why I left
school or what happened to my relationship with Benji and Tommy. I think my
family just assumed Benji and I broke up, and since I shut down after the
accident, no one bothered to ask. The same with my friendship with Tommy. After
leaving Ann Arbor, it wouldn’t be all that strange to lose touch with someone
considering we were several hours away from each other. I just let them believe
all of this. The truth was far too vile to share. Just the thought of telling
Jack now makes me sick to my stomach.
    “Holy
shit, Campbell,” he eventually says, his eyes wide, as he steps toward me. In a
moment of panic, I step back. I don’t want him to touch me, not that he’s tried
to hug me in at least ten years. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
    “I
just did,” I respond, coldly. “Please don’t ask me any questions and for the
love of fuck, don’t try to hug me.”
    I
watch him swallow hard and nod his head.
    “So
can I go?” I ask, my arms now folded across my chest, my eyes focused on his.
    “Yeah,
of course. Take as much time as you need,” he tells me, his voice taking on
that quiet quality you find when people talk about death. Yet in my case, a
person dying seems to be a regular occurrence.
    “Thanks,”
I say, forcing myself to be appreciative. Not that I’m not, it’s just I’ve been
emotionally detached for so long, it’s hard to make it realistic.
    As
I’m walking out of his office, Jack calls my name and I turn around to face
him. “Campbell, I know I told you before, but you can talk to me.”
    “And
I told you before, I can’t.” The way it comes out is harsh and I immediately
regret it. He’s trying to help, yet I know there’s nothing he can do or say to
make this any easier. “Sorry, Jack,” I apologize. “Maybe one day I’ll be able
to, but right now, I just can’t.”

 
    An
hour later, I’m parked a few houses away from Tommy’s house wondering just what
the fuck I think I’m doing. I know exactly how this is going to play out, but
letting this whole thing go without a possible reason isn’t something I’m
comfortable with.
    I
exit my car; the walk to the front door of the house is long and my heart
begins to race before I have even pressed the doorbell. I wipe my hands down
the front of my pants and prepare myself for what’s to come. Shit’s about to
get real.
    As
soon as Samantha opens the door her demeanor shifts and she looks like she’s
about ready to punch me in the face or call the police.
    “You’re
not welcome here,” she growls as she attempts to close the door. Against my
better judgment, I shove my hand against the door and force it open.
    “No!”
Samantha shouts and while it should affect me, it doesn’t. I’m used to people
yelling at me in my line of work. It’s rare for me to startle anymore. “You can’t
come here! You don’t get to come to my home and upset me and my family.” She’s
crying now and I feel so horrible for what I’m doing. She doesn’t understand
why I’m here or have any idea who I am. She knows what she’s created in her
mind, and it’s not even close to the truth.
    “Whatever
you know, it’s not the truth,” I tell her, my voice almost pleading.
    “I
know nothing,” she spits out as she wipes at the tears on her cheeks. “He told
me nothing. You were a secret I found out about by accident and the more I
asked the more distraught he became.”
    It’s
becoming difficult for me to hold back the tears as I watch Samantha sob in the
doorway to her house, confused and grieving, and all the while believing that
it’s somehow my fault. And maybe it is.
    I’m
starting to believe it myself. Three people dead, all with a connection to me.
    “He
wasn’t in love with me. He told you that, I’m certain he would have,” I
respond.
    “He
did. Many times, but why else would he dream about you, call