Free Pieces of Olivia by Unknown Page A

sat in silence as I tried to clear my mind of Trisha’s face, smiling and happy. Alive.
    “Who is Trisha?” Rose asked.
    I dipped my head again and clenched my eyes shut, needing another moment, then reopened them and stared out into Dr. Rose’s office. The grandfather clock hit the twelve and a tiny blue bird shot out from the center of the clock face.
Cuckoo, cuckoo,
it called.
“She was my best friend,” I said.
    “And she was with you that night?”
    I nodded, wiping an orphan tear from my cheek. “We were playing Beer Pong with Alec and River. I’m really good. Anyway, Trisha knew that, so we played and of course won, and then she went off with River . . . and that was the last time I saw her.” I rocked back and forth, swallowing a sob. “I . . .” I shook my head, trailing off. What could I say? That I didn’t get to say goodbye? That I didn’t get to tell her she was the best friend in the world? That I loved her? None of that mattered. What mattered wasn’t that I didn’t get to say goodbye, but that I didn’t try. I didn’t go back. I let her die.
    I released Rose’s hand and gripped my head, unable to maintain control any longer. I cried into my hands, the weight of the memories crushing every cell in my body until I felt as though I were nothing at all, only guilt and pain.
    “Let’s stop for today,” Rose said, patting my shoulder. “I will have something for you at our next session. For now, try to think only of as much of the night as you have spoken to me out loud. Nothing more, understand? Just the wet grass on your feet. Would you like to come back this week?”
    I swallowed the lump in my throat and wiped away my tears. “Does that mean you think you can help me?”
    Rose smiled and draped her arm around my shoulders, hugging me close. “You’re a little wrinkled right now, and I understand how heavy those wrinkles can feel. How
permanent
they can feel. But I’ve never met a crease that time couldn’t iron out. You’ll be fine. That I can promise you. You just have to have a little faith. Faith is the magic of mountains.”
    ***
    I thought of Rose’s words long after I left her office. The magic of mountains. The opinions of ghosts. The more time I spent with her, the more I questioned the sanity of my therapist. Somehow that gave me more confidence in her ability to help me. You’d have to be insane to fix me.
    I draped my cross-body bag—a dark brown patchwork I bought at the Market—across my shoulder and started down the sidewalk, wishing I were the sort of girl that carried makeup on me. I knew my face showed every bit of the disaster I’d become moments before. I could tell from the way my skin still tingled and my eyes burned. And by the looks I received from people passing by, like they wanted to make sure I was okay, but were too afraid to speak out. Too afraid of what I might say or do.
    So I kept my head down and my thoughts inward, which was why I didn’t notice the truck slow down beside me and the window roll down, the smooth sounds of Bob Marley beckoning me to look over. When I did, I immediately wished I hadn’t.
    Preston leaned easily against his steering wheel, a bandana wrapped around his head, reflective blue sunglasses covering his eyes. His lips were turned up in his classic smirk. He opened his mouth, likely to say something smart, but then his mouth snapped back closed and his head tilted to the side. I couldn’t see his eyes, but I didn’t have to. They were roaming over my face, taking in each detail. Red eyes. Puffy nose and cheeks. Hair that looked as though a bird had flown in and gotten trapped. I wondered if I could keep walking without becoming a conversation topic between Kara and him later. Doubtful.
    “Uh . . . hey.”
    “Hey,” I replied. What else could I say?
    He glanced over his steering wheel, like he was no longer sure how to talk to me. “Can I give you a ride?” he asked, focusing back on me.
    “No. I’m fine.