for some reason, I had the Never Let Me Go by Florence + The Machine on loop while writing this, it's taken a few tries to get to the end of it but sometimes, you just have to let the chapter go and just be.


lV

Ten months later

Insomnia and I are two peas in a lonely pod. I usually spend my night tossing and turning, only to find a brief period of shut eye before the morning light starts to illuminate the sky. My last final is tomorrow evening and then a week later, I'll be starting my internship with the Seattle Times, Arts and Culture section. Last year, I interned at Kavanagh Media with Kate. I quickly realized that public relations wasn't for me but the experience was important and advantageous for my resume. After my confrontation with Michael and the aftermath that followed, I sought to occupy every single second of my time with something useful to do. I continued with my deep dive into watching movies that explored the human condition and difficult storylines, but then also read as many books as I could, both fiction and clinical on the subject of how our brains work. How emotions betray and aid us. Stories of people who forgave and how they struggled in that journey. Lot's of things made sense to me and some remained unresolved.

My PR internship at Kavanagh Media gave me a first look into how to spin things. I didn't like it but I knew I had to be exposed to that kind of circus. Whether or not I used this information was up to me but it was a skill that I needed to have in my arsenal. When Kate and I first became friends, we talked about our ideal career trajectory. I enrolled into the english language and literature program at UDub when I first applied, it wasn't done with any real thought. The real plan, before everything happened, was to get into a school in New York, study creative writing and become an author who writes the next big thing.

Unfortunately, most dreams are meant to die just like most plans we make tend to fail.

And on that note, you have to write what you know and you have to have lived life. I didn't know much and hadn't lived much life. When time came to actually live and explore this so-called life, I remained consumed by grief and revenge to quench a thirst that was unquenchable. Revenge is never a one and done kind of thing. It's just an opportunity to live with gaping wounds that never heal. If who you transgress against doesn't fight back, karma tends to pick up the gauntlet for them.

And with that, I learned the hard way that another's ruin cannot possibly help me build my own life or fill the emptiness that I feel.

Maybe I could write about that? Heh, I'd be at the top of the worst sellers list.

My focus shifted. From wanting to write my own stories to wanting to simply read and help others tell their story. But for that I needed experience. First PR and now, with the Seattle Times internship, in addition to getting coffee for strung out editors–I'll be, hopefully, learning the tricks of the trade in how to make a pitch, determine what makes a good story and what it takes to condense it so that your audience can engage, understand and retain it. These will be my stepping stones into becoming a successful editor in the publishing world. At least one hopes.

The editor who interviewed me at the Seattle Times told me that I should always have at least five to ten ideas of a story ready at all times in the event the permanent staff came up short. It was a way to not only show that I was fully immersed in this world but also an opportunity to have my name on the byline if anything came into fruition.

My heart fluttered at the prospect. Things have slowly started to excite and give me hope again after two years of a blurry haze of sadness and misplaced priorities.

But in addition to carefully gathering tools for my career I also need to take time to let the garden in my mind grow again. I needed sun, water and calm skies. I needed to immerse myself in something that was outside of myself. So the first thing I did was that I started talking to a wellness counselor at UDub. Therapy costs money so I had to be resourceful and thankfully, the counseling and wellness department had qualified professionals that were willing to be a sounding board for students who needed someone to talk to. And honestly, that's all I really wanted. Someone to talk to so that I knew I wasn't completely crazy.

My wellness counselor, Lisa pitched the idea of volunteering to me last summer and gave me some information on local organizations that were always looking for help. I started out by signing up for a volunteer position at an LGBTQ youth center in Seattle and met a variety of people from different age groups. Some as young as 1o years old. Through the mixture of harrowing and uplifting stories, I started to find inspiration and a sense of peace by giving back and simply immersing myself in a world where others wanted to help each other. From there I found a flyer for volunteering with a suicide hotline. The only problem was my age. I had to be trained and 18 to speak to callers. I wasn't sure I was good enough to speak to anyone and talk them back from the ledge when I was still learning to walk back from mine. With everything I did, I missed José immensely.

Regardless, I signed up for it and took part in helping host information sessions, putting up flyers, stocking up the snack and coffee supplies at the crisis center. Every little interaction and task of involvement felt like I was getting one step closer to becoming a better person and finding my place in the world again. Well that and babysitting Arabella helped. She was now walking and even though her speech was limited, she could interact in her own way. I often will see her at UDub since Mr. Toscano got a job teaching two classes for cinema and media studies, taking a break from his own career in the indie film circuit. He jokes that I'm not allowed to sign up for his class because he'd give me an A no matter what.

With that said, our schedules will sometimes sync and I offer to watch Arabella while I have a break on campus and he has a class to teach.

I have some friends now, nothing too crazy but given how social Kate is, it was bound to happen that I would find myself in a group called the budget brunch biddies. One thing that I appreciate about Kate is that while she's clearly rich and able to live a life of obscene luxury, she's always gone with the flow and never complains or shows off. Even when she insists on treating us to a nice meal at a restaurant or ordering in at her apartment, it never feels like she's trying to make us feel inferior. According to her, she finally feels normal having found friends like us. Which is funny because most of us in the group feel like misfits.

While my final is in the evening, Kate's final is in the afternoon. She's up writing a infinity word count paper on the dumbing down of news in the last 10 years from actual think pieces to simply ten second viral click bait mind fuckery, as she so eloquently put it.

Kate's a UDub legacy. Her great grandfather emigrated to the United States from Ireland in the late 1800's and founded the Seattle Times. That was the beginning of what would now end up being the Kavanagh Media empire which Kate and her brother are set to inherit. For years, many Kavangh's have started their college careers at UDub and moved on to the ivy's. Her brother is currently studying neuroscience at MIT after having graduated from here. They're the reason why the Cinema and Media studies department is one of the state of the art establishments on the west coast.

Kate is set to go to Harvard for business school once she's done. She jokes that she's grown up in the halls of Kavanagh Media and doesn't need to go to school but Eamon Kavanagh isn't just going to hand her the reins. She has to work for it.

I have no doubt in my mind that she'll knock it out of the park.

I've been taking psychology classes for electives since I'm not allowed a minor in psych for some reason and I don't have enough financially to just get a double major. Colleges are dumb sometimes.

I'm writing a paper for my PSYCH 203 Introduction to Personality and Individual Differences class. I'm almost done but knowing me, I might hate it in the morning and decide to start all over again. Ten page paper with references to be done in 6-7 hours? Surely, my definition of an adrenaline high needs to be revisited. One thing's for sure though, I've been trying to self-diagnose what disorder I have based on whatever I read. I think I have varying degrees of all of them. Unfortunately, I don't have enough biological information to pull from in terms of how my genetics come into play. Carla isn't exactly into the mumbo jumbo, as she put it a few weeks ago.

"Two more pages. Just two more pages and then I can go to sleep!" Kate moans from the couch.

I laugh and press save before closing my laptop, "not to show off but I'm actually done and I can't be bothered to read it. I'll take a final look in the morning."

"Fuck you, Steele."

I cackle and lie down on the couch opposite to hers, pulling down the top of my hood to cover my eyes. I've been living at Kate's place for the past two days, with some of our friends passing through so we can support each other and get through this wretched finals week together.

I'm startled awake by my phone ringing. As my eyes adjust to the light, I quickly pick up my phone, noticing that Kate is passed out with an open laptop.

"Hello?" I croak.

"Ana! Thank god… it's Margaret. From the crisis center?"

"Yes of course," now I'm alert. Why is she calling me at—I look at my phone, shit!—1:30am? "Everything okay?"

"I need you to come in." She sighs, "two of our volunteers called out at the last minute and some of the usual backups aren't picking up. Tonight has been absolutely mad with call-ins."

"But I haven't completed my training, I still have 10 hours left on my CIT before I can take calls on my own."

"I know but I'm desperate. I'll give you the script, you just have to follow that and I'll be around to check in on your calls from time to time. You can do this Ana."

"Um, okay. I can be there in 15 minutes. I'm staying in Seattle tonight, so I'm close."

"You're a godsend. See you soon." She hangs up and my heart sinks.

Fuck.

I've been sitting in on calls a few hours a week to see how the professionals and seasoned volunteers handle callers and some of the stuff is really daunting.

Can I do this? What if I fuck up again and fail another person?


Fortunately, the crisis center is located a few blocks away from Kate's apartment. Seattle is so eerie this late at night and with the rain it's even more so, as I drive towards the crisis center building. I look at my reflection in the stainless steel doors of the elevator and whatever little confidence I was holding on to disintegrates. Maybe I should've left the college sweatshirt at home.

The moment I get out of the elevator, Margaret rushes to me in a chorus of thank yous.

"You're going to be great." She says encouragingly as I sit down at one of the stations and swallow the ball of nerves that's trapped my voice in a box of fear.

I'm handed the usual script and Margaret logs me into the system.

"You've sat on these calls for the past few weeks, don't worry. Just stick to the script and ask the questions to determine how serious the case is. And then give them the necessary information to seek help from professionals in their area. You remember how to look it up in the database?"

"Y-yes, I do." I nod. My heart is beating so fast I feel like it will burst out of my body and take flight.

There's a surge of calls coming in today. I suppose it's like this every day but when you're short staffed it's incredibly overwhelming. And then there are the types of callers you get; some are actual genuine cases in need of help and some are the usuals. They are the frequent callers who just want someone to talk to or some callers are just random perverts who prank call, moaning and jacking off to your voice. I hope I don't have to deal with the latter tonight.

Dad's concerned about my involvement in the crisis centers. He doesn't want me to get too emotionally attached or disturbed by what I experience here but this is something that I need to do. It's imperative that balance out the stupid shit I did.

I watch the system connect the call and I brace myself. As we talk, we're meant to type out our interactions as well which may prove to be difficult but they're also recorded so I'll rely on that to fill in the gaps for my report. Margaret is sitting next to me which adds to my nerves.

"Hello?" I say. The line is silent but I know someone is there. I tell them it's okay to say whatever they'd like while simultaneously wishing that it's a real caller who needs help. Keeping my voice friendly and warm, I assure them that this is a safe space.

"I'm here." His voice is reserved yet filled with sadness. It grips my heart and I look at Margaret who's watching me intently.

"Are you alone?" I look at the time, it's 2:23am… of course he is.

"Yes." He answers after a brief pause with an audible strain in his voice.

I launch into my questionnaire to properly assess how serious of a crisis he's in. Thankfully, I'm able to tell by the third question that he's simply lonely and in need of a friendly ear and voice to talk to.

He reads my mind when he confesses to the awkwardness of talking to someone without being able to know anything about them, especially their name. So I ask him to associate himself with color to make it easier. Our job is to always make the caller feel at ease and we can meet them halfway at least.

"Gray," he replies. When I ask him why that specific color he compares it to the weather to which I agree. This prompts him to ask if I'm in Seattle? My eyes dart to Margaret who gives me a sharp look. I need to shut this down so I tell him I'm in Washington state and that calls are always connected to the closest crisis center within a 10-25 mile radius.

"Well, then I'm steel. Just another shade of gray like you," I smile as I hear him chuckle but I feel Margaret's questioning eyes on me. Steel or Steele is my name but opening the notes app on the computer I quickly type up that steel gray is a shade of gray so I'm technically within the confines of my anonymity. She begrudgingly accepts my reasoning and signals me to continue.

"Tell me what's on your mind, Gray."

"How much time do you have?" He laughs and it's the warmest sound. Like sunlight dancing through cherry blossom trees that are in bloom. It calms my nerves and gives me a boost of confidence that I needed.

"For you Gray, I've got nothing but time." I reply and he laughs a little more. Margaret takes the post-it pad and scribbles on it–don't flirt with him.

I narrow my eyes at her and type off to the side that I'm simply being friendly.

I hear him sigh after his chuckling subsides. "I guess, lately… I've been wondering and questioning everything that I know and have."

An existential crisis.

This, I can help with… I hope.


I've been on this call for way more than twenty minutes. I'm coming up on the hour mark. Margaret keeps looking in my direction. She's indicated several times with several looks and hand gestures from across the room to wrap up the call but I can't just leave Gray in a lurch. She listens in on the call from time to time and has repeatedly pushed for me to provide him with information for skilled professionals.

We're not supposed to spend more than twenty minutes on calls unless the situation is absolutely dire but I'd argue that what Gray is going through is absolutely dire. He was abused from childhood and then again when he was a teenager. This bitch he was exposed to raped him but he can't see it. I'm not well versed in BDSM but I did have to research it for one of my psych classes and it is the subject of some mainstream conversation. Either way, by whatever this man is telling me, even I know in my very limited knowledge that what he was subjected to was not BDSM in any way shape or form. It was straight up, abuse. This woman he looks up to and reveres, yet has begun to see the subtle cracks in is nothing but a cancer that needs to be hit with an explosive amount of radiation to reduce her to a fucking set of cells on a petri dish.

I argue with him that what this woman did was flat out abuse and that she's been warping his mind.

"What anyone does in the privacy of their life is their business. What we did worked for us," he mutters, angrily. "In this specific instance, there is a difference between privacy and secrecy." I reply, not backing down one bit. "All this was kept a secret because it was wrong and I think on some level deep down, you knew it was wrong too. There's something inside you that questions it. You probably can't give it words but the feeling is there isn't it?" He's silent for a few beats and when I hear his voice again, it's heavy with pain, "how can you know all this?" In my periphery, I see Margarets's jaw tighten in annoyance. I'm getting personal and passing judgment but I'd argue that I'm qualified to pass judgment on things that I know and are widely accepted to be true. This situation is a fine line. I get the notion from Gray that he just needs a friendly voice to bounce ideas off with and the anonymity of this arrangement can help him. He's lost and needs that reassurance. I'm trying but I also cannot give him a pass because what has happened to him is so wrong. No one deserves that treatment or the life long mental-health ramifications that can arise from it. "Gray, I'm not saying this to make you feel worse but to remind you that you're not alone and that everything you're feeling is completely valid. You're not beyond comprehension. You're not beyond being seen for all the true potential you have." I try to pull him back from the darkness that he's lost in. "You are not beyond living a full life with all that the world has to offer you."

"I don't know if I'm capable of that Steel." He replies in a quiet whisper.

"Is that what she told you?" His silence is my answer and so I explain to him how abusers will do anything to discourage any evolution of progressive thought.

"You are capable, Gray. Just give yourself the chance."


"Do you believe in love?" He asks me. The way he says the words makes me feel a little lightheaded but then again it could be the lack of sleep. Thankfully, Margaret is on a bathroom break.

"I do." I reply and continue with reciting my favorite quote, "And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for."

"Dead Poets Society." He replies with a chuckle, "I'll take that as yes."

"I want to believe in all the good things and that love can exist in many forms."

"Have you ever struggled with that belief?"

I've struggled with many things, mostly internally, especially in these last two years but even in my complete suppression of my grief, a part of me still continued to believe.

"Isn't it inherently human to struggle?"

"Then what's the point in living if everything is supposed to be so... " he sighs, "I don't know…"

"How can we appreciate peace without the struggle? How can we grow and learn if we don't struggle or lose our way for a bit. I'm sure even angels are envious of us."

"Angels?" His tone is curious.

"Yeah, you think being good and following orders all the time is fun? Sometimes you gotta wig out, wear black and be a bad bitch."

He bursts into ceremonious laughter and I fall into a giggle fit.

Unfortunately, Margaret is back on the floor and notices me laughing. She walks in my direction with determination and I know I'm about to go another passive aggressive round of telling her to fuck off and let me stay on this call.

She mouths for me to end the call and as a result unable to enjoy the last embers of his laugh because I'm exhaling very slowly to maintain my composure.

"Gray, I need to put you on a hold for just a quick minute. My supervisor needs to tell me something."

His voice is suddenly wary but he agrees and I put the call on mute.

"Ana, you've been talking to him for over two hours. You need to end it or I will," she huffs.

"Margaret, he's only just started to feel better." I tell her, "you heard parts of his story, he's been completely isolated from–"

'You said it yourself, he's feeling better. End the call. This isn't–"

"I'm not ending the call, not until I'm sure he's absolutely fine." My voice catches in my throat and images of José on that afternoon come to mind.

She tries to reach over to my keyboard to cancel the call, I grab her hand and shove it back.

"No. I will talk to him for as long as he needs me to be here. You disconnect the call and I swear to God, Margaret, I will rain hell on this entire operation and have a news outlet looking into how shit is run here. I know people."

That leaves her speechless. She knows what I'm talking about. There are a few seasoned volunteers that are careless, who hang up when they get bored without any proper cooling off period or attempt to de-escalate what could be a genuine case of a crisis. Some are straight up dismissive towards people.

"You have two minutes, Ana or I will disconnect the call myself." I clench my jaw and swallow. She can totally do that from her end and I don't want that.

"Five minutes." I bargain. She walks away without saying a word and I quickly unmute the call.

"Hey Gray, I'm back." I try to sound upbeat like before but my voice is tightening and I'm starting to panic.

"Thank you… I mean, you know.." he replies in what sounds like relief, "for coming back."

I begin to wind down the call, telling him that his mental health is important. That needs to take the day off and just be and indulge his favorite activities and then call his therapist.

He agrees and I smile with tears threatening to fall, "you got this, Gray." I promise him that I'll stay on the line till he hangs up and I pray to whatever higher power is listening that he does it quickly because I don't want to have this to end this on a lie.

I hear him breathe and I watch the digital clock on my screen. I have one more minute with him.

Please be okay.

Please don't give up

Please be happy.

Please hang up.

"Goodbye, Steel."

I close my eyes and try to imagine him laughing every single day for the rest of his life as a silent wish and prayer to send him off with, "Goodbye, Gray."

The line goes dead and I finally exhale and take my headset off. I don't know if the exhaustion of this week or the emotions of the two years that surface but I shoot up and walk with one purpose in mind; to take the stairs up to the roof.

"Ana! We need to talk. My office. Now." Margaret calls out to me but I ignore her. She starts to follow me down the main hallway as I head to the fire stairs.

"NOT NOW MARGARET." I shout back at her and my voice echoes like a thousand gunshots through the emptiness. She's startled but I don't have time to deal with her and so I continue on, blasting through the doors and taking the steps two at a time till I get to the roof. I'm panting and out of breath the moment I step outside.

Thankfully, it's only a little after 5am and the sky is breaking into what looks like a joyously sunny day. There are puddles on the roof where the water is still and clearly reflecting the changing sky colors.

I walk over towards an elevator bulkhead, sag against the wall and slide down till I hit the floor. Sobs wrack my body and I struggle to breathe and find my mental tools that will help me calm down. The worst thing about a job like this is that you'll never know how the callers end up and for those who need medical intervention, you don't know if they survived.

It's a hard thing to let go of but I suppose the world finds its turns to the tune of hope.

I think back to ten months ago when I found myself in a similar situation of uncertainty where I actually had power. They say power corrupts but no one ever talks about how fucking overwhelming it can be when it collides with your conscious and has you reevaluating every second you've spent alive so far.

It's been three days since my confrontation with Michael. I've done nothing with the video. I've not heard from him. Not that he had my number but I was certain he would've tried to obtain it by asking around but nothing. Do I post this online and shame him? Do I send this to his father and wipe that smug, entitled, racist smile off of his face? Do I revel in the destruction of his ideals and world that he so carefully clings to and perpetuates?

My phone rings and I look over to see that it's Kate.

"Hey Kate,"

"Hey girl, whatcha up to?"

"Nothing much, I've got a dinner date with a cute kid in about an hour." The thought of Arabella makes me smile.

We talk for a few more minutes when she asks me a question that makes my hackles rise.

"Hey, you mentioned you're from Montesano, do you know that Michael Doyle kid? He got in on a football scholarship…" she continues to list off more of his accomplishments since his arrival at UDub.

"He was a senior at my school but I didn't know him personally," I lie, "cool kids and all that stuff, way above my social grade."

"Okay… I ask because I just heard from a few friends that he was found unconscious by a roommate at his apartment off-campus this morning."

"What do you mean?" my heart starts to hammer in my chest.

"He overdosed. Sleeping pills," she sighs, "he was supposed to go on a trip with his fraternity buddies but when they went to pick him up, that's when they found him with a note that read; please forgive me."

I take a deep breath and get up from the floor, shaking off any dirt from my jeans. The sun is above the horizon line and rising, getting brighter with each second that passes. It does nothing to disinfect the current wave of darkness swirling within me but I have to try and be more than all this, just like I told Gray to be.

I remember his laugh and hold on to that as a tiny measure of success in my life. Hoping that it will tip the karmic scales in my favor.

"You're hilarious, Steel. Thank you for making me laugh."

"We aim to please, Gray."


A/N: So this was a little look into Ana's side of the phone call. Next chapter will the last in this installment.

Quick note to clarify, that Ana started college when she turned 17 and by the time she talked to Christian, she was about 18 and half.