Colleen Hoover - Losing Hope

What the hell did I just do?

She walks into the hallway and pauses, then turns around to face me. She doesn’t make eye contact, though. She just stares at the pictures in her hands. “I just came for pictures, right?” she asks cautiously. A worried frown consumes her face and I realize she’s afraid I might think what just happened between us was more than it actually was.

I want to reassure her that I’m not going to say anything. I lift her chin so that she’s looking me in the eyes and I smile at her. “You came for pictures. That’s it, Amy. And Thomas is at home, helping his dad with the yard work.”

She laughs, if you can even call it that, then she looks at me appreciatively. There’s an awkward silence for a moment before she finally laughs again. “What the hell was that, anyway?” she says, waving her hand in the direction of my bedroom. “That’s not us, Holder. We’re not that type of people.”

We’re not that type of people. I agree with that. I lean my head against the doorframe and already feel the regret seeping in. I don’t know what came over me or why the fact that she’s not remotely mine for the taking didn’t stop me in my tracks. The only excuse I can come up with is that whatever happened between us just now is a direct product of our grief. And our grief is a direct product of Les’s selfish decision.

“Let’s blame it on Les,” I say, only half-teasing. “It wouldn’t have happened if she had been here.”

Amy smiles. “Yeah,” she says, squinting playfully. “What a bitch, making us do something despicable like that. How dare she.”

I laugh. “Right?”

She holds up the pictures in her hand. “Thanks for . . .” she looks at the pictures and pauses for a moment, then brings her eyes back to mine. “Just . . . thank you, Holder. For listening.”

I acknowledge her thanks with a single nod and watch as she turns to head down the stairs. I close the door and walk back to my bed, picking up the notebook on the way over. I open it up to the letter where I left off before Amy walked into my room an hour earlier.

Les,

What happened with Amy just now was all your fault. Just so we’re clear.

H

Les,

Happy two-week deathiversary. Harsh? Maybe so, but I’m not apologizing. I have to go back to school Monday and I’m not looking forward to it at all. Daniel has been keeping me up to date on all the rumors, despite the fact that I keep telling him I don’t give a shit. Of course everyone thinks you killed yourself because of Grayson, but I know that isn’t true. You were pretending to be alive long before you ever met Grayson.

And then there’s the whole incident that I still haven’t told you about. The one that involved me forcing Grayson to break up with you? It’s a complicated story, but because of that night, everyone is now saying that I was indirectly responsible for your suicide. Daniel says people are even sympathizing with Grayson and the asshole is eating it up.

The best part about this particular rumor is that apparently my immense guilt over the hand I played in your suicide is causing me to be suicidal. And if that’s what the masses are saying, then it must be true, right?

To be honest, I’m way too scared to kill myself. Don’t tell anyone that. (Not that you could now, even if you wanted to.) But it’s true. I’m a pussy when it comes to the fact that I have no idea what to expect after this life. What if the afterlife is worse than the life you’re running from? Willingly taking a dive headfirst into the unknown takes some serious courage. I have to hand it to you Les, you’re way braver than I am.

Okay, I’m signing off. I’m not used to writing so much. Texting would be way more convenient, but you like to do everything the hard way, don’t you?

If I see Grayson at school on Monday, I’ll rip his balls off and mail them to you. What’s your new address?

H

Daniel is waiting for me by his car when I pull into the parking lot.

“What’s the game plan?” he says as soon as I open my door.

I’m racking my brain for anything I might have missed. I don’t remember anything significant about today that would require a game plan.

“Game plan for what?” I ask.

“The game plan for today, dipshit.” He points his clicker toward his car and locks his doors, then begins walking toward the school with me. “I know how much you didn’t want to come back, so maybe we need a game plan to counteract all the attention. Do you want me to be all sad and mopey with you so people won’t want to confront us? I doubt it,” he answers himself. “That might encourage people to approach you with words of encouragement that resemble condolences and I know you’re sick of that shit. If you want, I can be super excitable and take all the attention off you. As much as you don’t want to admit it, you’re all everyone’s been talking about for two weeks. I’m so fucking sick of it,” he says.

I hate that people don’t have anything better to talk about, but I like that it bothers Daniel as much as it bothers me.

“Or we could just be normal and hope people have better things to talk about than what happened with Les. Ooh! Ooh!” he says giddily, turning to face me while he walks backward. “I could act all pissed off and walk in front of you like a bodyguard, even though you’re bigger than me. And if anyone tries to approach you I’ll punch them in the face. Please? Will you play the part of pissed-off, grieving brother? For me? Please?”

I laugh. “I think we’ll be just fine without a game plan.”

He frowns at my unwillingness to participate. “You underestimate the enjoyment other people gain from gossip and speculation. Just stay quiet and if anything needs to be said today, I’ll be the one to say it. I’ve been dying to yell at these people for two weeks now.”

I appreciate his concern, but I really anticipate today being just like any other day. If anything, I think it would be too awkward for people to mention it when I’m actually in their presence. They’ll be too uncomfortable to say anything to me at all, which is exactly how I prefer it.

The bell for first period hasn’t rung yet, so everyone’s still standing outside. It’s the first time I’m walking into the school without Les by my side. Just the thought of her takes me right back to that moment when I walked into her bedroom and found her. I don’t want to relive that moment again. Not right now. I pull my phone out of my pocket and pretend to be interested in it for the sake of just taking my mind off the fact that Daniel could be right. Everyone around us is way too quiet and I hope to hell it’s back to normal soon.

Daniel and I don’t have class together until third period so when we make it inside the building he waves me off and heads in the opposite direction. I open the door to my homeroom and almost immediately, a sudden hush falls over the classroom. Every single pair of eyes is staring back at me, quietly watching me walk to my desk.

I keep my phone out and continue to pretend I’m engaged in it, but I’m acutely aware of everyone around me. It keeps me from having to make eye contact with anyone, though. If I don’t make eye contact, they’ll be less likely to approach me. I wonder if I’m just imagining a difference in the way people are acting today as opposed to before Les killed herself. Maybe it’s just me. I don’t want to think it’s just me, though. If that’s the case, then how long does this last? How long will I have to go through every second of the day thinking about her death and how it affects every aspect of my life?

I compare losing Les to losing Hope all those years ago. It seemed back then that everything that happened for months after Hope was taken somehow led to thoughts of her. I would wake up in the morning and wonder where she was waking up. I would brush my teeth and wonder if whoever took her thought to buy her a new toothbrush, since she didn’t get to take anything with her. I would eat breakfast and wonder if whoever took her knew that Hope didn’t like orange juice and whether or not they were letting her have white milk, because that was her favorite. I would go to bed at night and look out my bedroom window that used to face hers, and I would wonder if she even had a bedroom window where she was.

I try to think of when the thoughts finally stopped, but I’m not so sure they have. I still think about her more than I should. It’s been years now, but every time I look up at the sky I think about her. Every time someone calls me Dean instead of Holder, I think about her and how I used to laugh at the way she said my name when we were kids. Every time I see a bracelet on a girl I think about the bracelet Les gave her just minutes before she was taken from us.

So many things remind me of her and I hate knowing that it’s just going to be worse now that Les is gone, too. Every single thing I think or see or do or say reminds me of Les. Then every single time I’m reminded of Les, it leads to thoughts of Hope. Then every single time I think about Hope, I’m reminded of how I let them down. I failed them both. It’s as if the day I gave them their nickname, I was somehow nicknaming myself the same. Because I sure as hell feel pretty fucking hopeless right now.

I’ve somehow made it through two classes without a single person speaking to me. Not that they aren’t discussing it, though. It’s like they think I’m not even here, the way they whisper and stare and speculate about what’s going on in my head.