"𝙶𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚋𝚢𝚎"
ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ
𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕟𝕖𝕩𝕥 𝕨𝕖𝕖𝕜
𝘥𝘳. 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘱𝘩𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘰𝘯'𝘴 𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘦

     "HOW'S IT BEEN?" Dr. Stepheson asks, "Since the funeral?"

"It was okay, then it was bad, then it was okay again, and then something else happened," Noah explains as she frowns.

"Do you wanna share what happened?" The doctor asks.

"It was the anniversary of losing my friend," Noah mutters as she toys with the lining of her shirt.

"How did you lose them?"

"Suicide," Noah mumbles.

"Would you like to talk about it?"

Noah thinks to herself before nodding. The air in the room feels cold and it's dead silent. Noah tries to grasp the true meaning of her feelings. To process she has to feel and to feel, she has to be honest with herself.

"I think about him a lot," Noah says as tears meet her eyes, "I'll never forget all the times we had.  Every afternoon in his backyard, messing around in art class, eating lunch together under the bleachers in the gym, having dinner with his Mom."

"Do you understand why he did what he did?" Dr. Stephenson asks.

"Yes and no," Noah shrugs, "His dad left before he was born. His mom worked two jobs to keep the house. He only saw her after school until dinner and he had to take care of himself when she'd leave for work. His Dad had depression, so his Mom thinks it was genetic."

Noah shakes her head as she thinks of what he must have been feeling. He was in pain, she knew that. But she was in pain too.

"And I was his only friend. And he was mine, but for me, that meant everything. I think he wanted so much more out of life and he just felt like he wasn't getting it and he never would. But to me, he gave me everything—everything I could've ever wanted."

"It sounds horrible, but I don't understand how I wasn't enough. I was always there for him. I looked after him, I acknowledged him and his depression. I made sure he knew every day that I was there for him."

"Did he tell you anything about harming himself?" The doctor inquires.

"No," Noah shakes her head, "I just woke up one day and went to school and he wasn't there. I walked to his house after school to check on him and there were police cars—" She pauses to let out a sob, "I ran up to the door and the police officers tried to push me away, but I got in. His Mom just—"

Noah wipes under her nose with her sleeve. She sniffles and remembers the day when her friend's life ended and hers fell apart.

"She just hugged me and told me she was sorry," The teen cries, "And then she gave me this..." She says as she pulls a folded piece of paper out of her jacket pocket.

Dr. Stephenson eyes the piece of paper. He watches as the teen unfolds it and stares at it. The only piece of Max that she has left.

"It's the note he wrote for me," Noah cries as she rubs her fingers along his handwriting.

"You don't have to show me," Dr. Stephenson tells her.

"No, it's okay," Noah says and takes a deep breath.  She holds the paper out to Dr. Stephenson, but he shakes his head.

"You should read it out loud," He declares, "The only person that should hold that note is you."

The teen peers down at the paper and feels her heart drop. She always keeps the note on her and intends to forever. She hasn't actually read it since the moment Max's mother handed it to her, though. She doesn't need to—she remembers every word, every curve of each letter.

—

𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘕𝘰𝘢𝘩,

𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘐 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳. 𝘐𝘧 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘦, 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘕𝘰𝘢𝘩. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘦𝘹𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘢𝘱. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢 𝘨𝘪𝘧𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘳 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘐 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘯. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦. 𝘏𝘦𝘳𝘦'𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘯𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦'𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘯. 𝘕𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭; 𝘐 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳,
𝘔𝘢𝘹

—

"You haven't read that in a long time, have you?"

"No," Noah shakes her head as she folds the paper back up, "I don't like to. It just reminds me that he's gone."

"Why do you think you brought this up today?"

"Because it's the anniversary of his death."

"But you brought it up," Dr. Stephenson repeats himself, "What do you want to do with these feelings?"

"I want them to go away," Noah groans, "But if they go away, then Max will too. I want to live without constantly being sad that he's gone but I don't wanna forget him. He'll always live inside of me, but not in the way I want him to."

"How so?"

"It's like every time something bad happens, he shows up," Noah says, "It's like he sits on my shoulder just to remind me that the one person I thought I could go to is gone. Like, Gia abused me—I remember Max died. My dad left us—I remember Max died. Gia was murdered—I remember Max died. Haley was killed—I remember Max died."

"It never ends with him," Noah explains, "I can move on from other things like Gia being gone because now I have Emily. And I have people in my life who make me forget about it sometimes."

"But with Max..." Noah trails off as she sniffles, "It always hurts—always."

"Did you ever get to say goodbye, Noah?" Dr. Stephenson asks.

"What do you mean?"

"Was there a funeral? A memorial service at school, maybe?"

"No. His mom was broken, she couldn't plan anything," Noah answers, "And the school thought it would reflect badly on the culture and teachers that worked there if they had a memorial service for someone who committed suicide."

"So, you never said goodbye?" Dr. Stephenson asks to clarify.

"I guess not," Noah shrugs.

"We don't ever have to let people go," Dr. Stephenson mentions, "It's something we choose. We can say goodbye and block it out of our mind or we can say goodbye, but keep pieces of them. To think about keeping the person as a whole will continue the idea of never actually saying goodbye."

"Okay," Noah nods.

"What were your favorite parts about...Max?" Dr. Stephenson says, watching Noah nod, "Max. What were your favorite parts about him?"

"Whenever I think about him, I see his eyes," Noah mentions, "They were the greenest. He said everything with his eyes—it was always his tell—so I always looked into them. And they were the greenest eyes."

Noah inhales sharply as she thinks about Max. She could trace the lines of his face if someone asked her to, but to answer this question was deeper than that. In the deepest fragments of her heart, she knew Max inside and out, but after he died, she was unsure of it. She knew his struggles, but one thing she would have never bet on was him leaving her.

But she exhales and as the air effortlessly leaves her body, her words do the same, "He was kind. He loved me no matter who I was or who I would become. And even when we people watched at school, he would laugh sometimes, but at his core, he never judged anyone. I always loved how he would let me win everything. If we ever disagreed, which wasn't often, he always let me win because he didn't care. I loved that he didn't care. And he never let me believe that I was anything less than his best friend. He was loyal and stood by my side through literally everything. He never left me behind..." She trails off as she realizes what she had said, "Well, he did once and here we are."

"Are you mad that he left you?" Dr. Stephenson asks.

Noah gives him a sarcastic look, "I'm mad at everything, don't you know this by now?"

Dr. Stephenson shows a small smile that mirrors the teen's. He takes a deep breath and looks at the top of his notes about their session.

"You said you opened up to Emily," The doctor mentions, "Was this what you opened up about?"

"Yes," Noah sighs, "Among other things."

"Really?"

"Well, she read my journal," Noah blurts out.

"I'm assuming you got angry about that, seeing as we know you by now," The doctor says, teasing her about her previous comment.

"Of course," Noah lightly giggles, the tears drying from her eyes.

"How do you feel about that, though?" Dr. Stephenson asks.

"I tell you things from my journal, right?" The teen asks, making the doctor nod, "You're practically a stranger because I know nothing about you and you're my therapist so I pay you to tell you about things like stuff I write in my journal. But Emily's not a stranger, she's my mother. But mothers like to get in your business. They try to help you, but sometimes they don't help, they make it worse."

"It doesn't make sense," Dr. Stephenson says, "When something doesn't make sense, we can't let it go. We try to figure it out, we overthink about it, we stress ourselves out trying to fix it—trying to make it make sense. But sometimes, what we find is that what we think is the problem, isn't actually the problem. We're the problem. I'm the problem."

"It wasn't really about Emily reading my thoughts or knowing what was going on that I wasn't telling her," Noah says as she stares at her red Converse, "It was that someone saw how much I hate myself."

"You hate yourself?" Dr. Stephenson asks, making sure he understands her. The teen nods before looking up.

"I hate that I get so angry. I hate that I take it out on other people. I hate that I depend on Emily's team as family. I hate that I'm in love with a girl. I hate that Max left me. I hate that Gia's dead and I wish she wasn't. I hate that I miss my brother. I hate that my father left me, but if he came back, I'd run straight into his arms. I hate that I'm curious about my biological father, even though I have Emily. I hate that Emily gave me away and I just have to deal with it—" Noah stops as she realizes that she is rambling, "I hate all of it."

"But, Noah, those things don't make you who you are. These people and what they've done to you don't define you. Your anger toward all those things doesn't define you," Dr. Stephenson reminds her.

"I don't know what defines me," Noah says with a shrug.

"I can give you a hint," The doctor says, "You're a reader, you enjoy going to places that are on the pages of a book. You're incredibly intelligent, you like going to school and that's rare for kids your age. There's lots of things about you that have nothing to do with the people in your life."

"But the people in my life take everything from me," Noah says, "Even when they don't mean to, they take from me—they exhaust me. And I don't even give, it's just taken from me."

"What is?"

"My life," Noah sighs, "I feel like it's constantly taken up with other people and what they do to me."

"We can change that," Dr. Stephenson tells her. The teen nods and tries to distract herself by tugging at the fabric of her shirts, "Talk about it more next week?"

"Uh, yeah," Noah nods again. They both stand and walk to the door, "Uhm, Emily should be—" Noah stops as she walks out of the room, met with an unexpected face.

"Hi, munchkin," Penelope beams and hands Dr. Stephenson her card, "I'll be covering for this little cutie today."

"Alright," The doctor says, "How do you know Noah? Aunt? Godmother?

"Fairy godmother," Penelope corrects him.

"Right," The man chuckles, "My bad."

"This is Penelope, she works with Emily," The teen tells him how they actually know each other.

"E is on a case, so I was sent to look after the munchkin," Penelope says, watching as Noah's face falls.

"Right," Noah mumbles to herself, slightly shaking her head, "On a case."