“I need to go back to the motel and get mine and Clay's things.” I said as my dad pulled out onto the road. “I don't know if that's a good idea.” My mom sounded concerned. I leaned forward and gripped the seat. “Please, Mom. I need to do this.” My mom and dad didn't pose any more arguments. And when we pulled up to the Motel 6, my parents and friends accompanied me into the tiny room that held my last good memories of Clay and I together.

I felt like he had died, because I knew I wouldn't be allowed to see or talk to him for a very long time. At least not until Clay was able to make those decisions for himself. I wanted to be confident in the belief that he would contact me as soon as he was able. But I couldn't be sure and that made the hollow feeling that was building in my chest nearly intolerable. Clay had looked so broken when I left. I wasn't positive he would ever be a part of my life again.

“Shit.” Rachel breathed as she took in the destroyed room. No one said anything as I pulled out Clay's duffel bag and started gathering the clothes that he hadn't shredded and stuffed them inside. I went into the bathroom and almost lost it at the sight of the dried blood on the floor. I closed the door and fell to my knees and let loose my pain. I cried for Clay, for myself, for the future together that we would never have. I put a clean towel under the tap and then got on my knees and scrubbed. I wanted to wipe up every last drop of his blood; as though that would erase the horrible memories of him lying motionless in my arms as I struggled to keep him with me – to keep him alive.

I must have been in there for quite awhile, because my mom came in and found me furiously wiping the floor. “Honey, you can leave that. That's enough.” She said gently, yet I couldn't stop. I wet the towel again and got back on my knees and scrubbed some more. “Maggie. Please, just leave it.” She got down on the floor with me and put her hands over mine. I looked up into her eyes that were filled with love and concern. “You don't have to do this. Leave it here.” I knew that she meant more than the blood. I dropped the towel and let her take me out of the bathroom. Daniel picked up the duffel bag and we closed the door to the motel room. I left the key card outside on the stoop.

Rachel rode beside me on the way home, squeezing my hand every so often. I let my head drop to her shoulder and my best friend stroked my hair as we finally made our way back home.

Epilogue

“Maggie, can you bring me the bag of salt from the garage?” My mother called from the front door. I got up off the couch and made my way to the foyer. My mom was covered in fresh snow and I could see it falling from the late January sky behind her. “I think your dad put it up on the shelf. Hurry up, this snow won't shovel itself.” I pulled on my boots and thick wool coat. I stuffed my hands into a pair of gloves and went outside, then around to the side of the house toward the garage.

Two months and I was still trying to feel normal, like I still fit inside this life that I had once called mine. My parents kept me busy. My weekends were now filled with shopping trips and movies. My parents had decided to try their hand at some home improvements and enlisted my help in figuring out how to hang drywall and use my mother's ancient sewing machine to make curtains.

Christmas had been hard. I had expected to hear something from Clay, but the holiday came and went. Nothing. Just silence. I tried to hide the hurt I felt, but I wasn't fooling anyone. Rachel and Daniel had been glued to my side for the entire winter break. Even though they were a little suffocating, I appreciated their presence.

Now that I was back in school, Rachel had talked me into signing up for the school musical. I was helping out with the set designs and that was eating up a lot of my down time in the evenings. Time I would have otherwise been moping in my room.

Everyone else was trying, so why couldn't I? Most of the time I put on a good show. I had become well-practiced at pretending I wasn't broken inside. Pretending that part of me didn't still linger in that tiny room in the ICU where Clay and I had last been together.

“Do you need help with that?” My dad asked, as I struggled to get the bag of salt from the shelf. I gave up and let him get it down for me. “Wow, that's heavier than I thought. You want me to take it to your mom?” He asked. I laughed at him. “You are so out of shape Dad. We're getting you on an exercise plan as soon as it's warm.” I threatened him. My dad feigned indignation. “I'm plenty in shape.” “Sure you are, Mr. 'I eat four donuts for breakfast and a bag of Doritos for lunch'. Go on inside and let us younger, fitter people handle the heavy lifting.” I joked. My dad chuckled, but left me to my chore.

It felt good to have my relationship with my parents on the mend. Sure, they still watched me closely. But I really couldn't blame them. I had dragged them through hell and back. I deserved their vigilance, despite how much it smothered me at times.

I wasn't entirely sure what they were watching for, though. Clay was gone. I hadn't heard from him or his parents since that day in the hospital waiting room. Not that I was surprised. His mother made it very clear she wanted me to have absolutely nothing to do with her son. But I struggled with the betrayal that pierced my chest when I wondered why Clay hadn't tried harder to get a hold of me. I had honestly thought his love for me was stronger than that. If the tables were turned, I knew I would stop at nothing to talk to him again.

But I tried to focus on the margin of happiness I felt in knowing, that despite not hearing from him, he was getting help somewhere. Even if it was away from me. Yeah, I didn't wear selflessness very well.