~ Chapter 6: The Night My World Ended ~

Derek and I were together 3 months and 21 days before it happened. The accident that changed everything. I told you about my accident a long time ago. You remember, and I bet you remember what happened next. What you don't know and what you couldn't know is that you are the first person I willingly talked to about my accident. Derek and Lucy found out from my parents; my parents obviously found out from the doctors that treated me in the hospital. I guess technically the people at my AA meetings heard it from me but that's so different. When you're talking at a meeting like that, it feels like you're talking to yourself and not to other people. That's not quite right. I guess it's more like you're talking to people that can't possibly judge you. When you put a teenage alcoholic, someone who's been in prison for involuntary manslaughter because they killed someone driving drunk, and someone that had lost their career and their family and pretty much everything because of their drinking in the same room? Well, nothing's off the table to talk about.

You are the first person that I made the decision to trust with my accident. You took it well. I always thought that it was because I gave you a really watered-down version of the night. I hope I'm wrong, but if I'm not, it's fine. Promise.

After I met Derek's parents, I spiraled. I couldn't figure out what I wanted or how I felt about anything. I didn't want to feel anything; I wanted to turn it off and forget, but I couldn't. It was like half of my brain wanted nothing to do with anything and the other half wanted me to figure my shit out.

I was so scared Derek was going to break up with me after that dinner and that was the exact moment it clicked for me that I couldn't escape who I was. Maybe I didn't want to be gay, but I was. I hated that so much; I hated even more that I might lose the first guy I genuinely wanted to be with.

Derek asked me about meeting my parents after dinner that night. He made it seem like it was no big deal (after all, why wouldn't I want him to meet my parents?), but it seemed huge to me. Meeting my parents meant they needed to know who he was which meant they would need to know who I was and that simply wasn't a step I was willing to take. I also wasn't ready for Derek to start being someone who defined me, you know. I felt like who I really was would fade away once people knew about him, and I would become how they saw me; I would become Derek's boyfriend. I wasn't ready for that especially when I didn't even know who I really was yet.

I couldn't tell Derek that because he was so out and proud and more than willing to be defined by who he like. It made sense that he wanted us to move forward in our relationship, and part of me wanted it too. I just didn't want the rest of me to go away.

I loved being with Derek, and he mattered to me. He filled a place inside me that had always been empty, and it made me really happy that he wanted me to be in his life. I wanted to be in his life even if it meant accepting that the future I'd been chasing my whole life wasn't a future I'd ever live. I needed to stop hoping that I'd find a girl who could make me feel the things Derek made me feel. Maybe my truth wasn't the perfect, fairy tale future everyone else wanted for me, but it was how I needed to live my life if I had any chance of being happy. That realization on top of the imminent possibility that he was going to break up with me because I was scared? It was more than I could take.

It was like this road map was laid out before me, and I knew exactly what I needed to do in order to stay with him. I'd already proven to myself that the happiest I could be was with Derek; that part wasn't hard to wrap my head around. It was everything else. The whole committing to that future piece. It would mean I'd have to come out and say the words "I'm gay" out loud and eventually be comfortable with people seeing me with Derek.

I wasn't sure I could do that. Everything crashed down on me when I got home. Fear that Derek and I would stay together, fear that we would break up, fear that I would have to figure out how to be myself in a world that wanted me to be different.

The little you and I talked about Derek… it was easy to turn him into the bad guy. He made a ton of mistakes and always held my mistakes over my head, but I truly believe he just wanted me to be okay and had no idea how to help me get there. He's not a bad guy; in a lot of ways, I owe Derek so much. Derek did the best he could with the weird position he was in with me from the very beginning.

I was drinking that whole time, and he didn't know. There were a few times we drank together that summer, but he wasn't much of a drinker, so I pretended that I wasn't either. I didn't think he was worth giving up the drinking. I didn't think anything or anyone would be worth giving up the drinking. I was right, you know. Even once I was sober, I wasn't doing it for anyone else. I needed to want to do it for me and until I did, trying to do it for someone else was futile.

It took me a long time to admit I had a problem. You'd think my accident would have done it, but I was so dependent on the stuff, and I kept telling myself that as long as I didn't drive again, it wasn't a problem. I needed it to get through my days, but it wasn't a problem. I justified it because I figured it wasn't really about the drinking, but it was about knowing that no matter how hard things got, I would be able to forget all about it at the end of the day. That's the lie I told myself.

Derek wouldn't know about the drinking until my accident, and after that, I let him believe that AA was working and that I was getting sober. I don't think he actually believed me, but he wanted to believe me.

Imagine that that was what you found out on my birthday. Not that I'm in AA and didn't tell you but that I was drinking every day because the life I was living with you created so much anxiety in me that I couldn't handle it on my own.

That's not really what was happening there, but I couldn't expect Derek to understand addiction when I barely understood it myself. I didn't know how to explain that it wasn't about Derek being enough or anyone being enough. I drank because I wasn't enough.

If that's what you found out on my birthday, I think we would have had trouble coming back from it. Derek and I never really did. We just kept pretending that we were fine.

The almost four months we were together before my accident were some of the happiest of my life up to that point, and they were definitely better than the four years that came before them, but I wouldn't call them truly happy. They were my own version of the kind of happiness I was capable of feeling back then. After my accident, though, things got bad. That fleeting semblance of happiness was gone, and all I wanted was to feel that again.

I wanted to go back to right before my accident and continue living my life that way, and I resented that other people disagreed. I thought it was a better life. It wasn't, obviously, but it's so hard to see that in the beginning.

Yes, I'm avoiding this. Shut up.

I don't want to tell you about this. Is it obvious? I don't want to tell you, but I want you to know; I need you to know this.

I need you to know that I got home after meeting Derek's parents, and I couldn't turn off my brain. I think it was tired of my bullshit or something, and I knew I needed to figure out what I wanted. I couldn't keep existing in that in between. Did I want to come out and be with Derek? Or did I want to go back to how things used to be? Neither option appealed to me.

The thing about that night is I actually didn't drink that much. Well, I did but that in itself wasn't weird. It took a lot to get me properly drunk at that point, but I mostly knew my limits. I usually knew when to cut myself off so I wouldn't get sick, but I mixed the stuff I drank that night. I had a little bit of a few different things and then a lot of tequila once I discovered an unopened bottle and everything I knew about my limits went right out the window.

I told you before that different alcohol affects me in different ways; well, it turns out that mixing it all kind of served like truth serum and amplified all of my problems. They all beat around my brain until, finally, the tequila numbed me. That part, I remember.

I remember almost everything about the early parts of that night. I think. I don't know how much I've created so that I have a narrative of the night. Like, maybe if I remember it as vividly as I think I do, then it's not as big of a deal and I can suppress some of the guilt I always feel.

The big things definitely happened; I know because I could fact-check those. But everything else? Some of it I'm sure of, but some of it could just be me trying to justify how I got to the point where I was that drunk and thought it was a good idea to drive.

The first thing I had was the rest of my last handle of vodka with some orange juice. It really wasn't much; it was only enough for one drink and not even a strong one.

I remember that it wasn't enough to escape the confusion of having a steady boyfriend. My brain still didn't want me to be gay, but my body was fully on board with it. I felt like I was at war with myself, and I really didn't know which side of me was going to win. Everything with Derek felt so right and natural and good, but it left me feeling scared and depressed once I wasn't with him. I couldn't be with him 24/7 and our best dates were followed by my worst nights. They were followed by nights where I drank until I got sick, nights I couldn't remember, nights that ended with me curled up and trying not to let my parents hear me sobbing into my pillow, nights where I just wanted everything to end.

I finished the vodka and was still feeling, so I moved on to the almost empty bottle of rum. Like with the vodka, I threw it all into one drink with some orange juice. It still wasn't enough.

I remember trying to figure out if I loved Derek enough to tell my parents about him. I wasn't sure how much time I'd have until he stopped dropping hints and insisted on meeting them. I wasn't sure I loved him enough to come out to my parents. I thought I loved him. Was I in love with him? No. But I loved him in the only way I could. I spent that whole summer slowly starting to love him. Kind of like our summer together, Victor. Except, I was falling in love with you last summer, but I was only falling in love with the idea of Derek.

Do you remember the day that Felix told us mermaids had gills while we were working? He said Lake would be the perfect mermaid if only she had gills and just kind of dropped that before he walked away like it wasn't a bizarre claim to make. You shrugged and said he was probably right. I couldn't help myself when I told you that there was no way mermaids had gills. Their top half was human, and humans have lungs. We spent the whole rest of our shift arguing about it, and you came over afterward; we lost the entire night as we researched and debated whether they had lungs and if they had lungs, how they breathed underwater. It was so silly and ridiculous, and it was perfect; it was one of a thousand moments we shared like that. We didn't realize what time it was until my mom kicked you out, and your mom was pissed because you didn't call her to tell her you were going to be late because you were spending time with "a friend". When you told me about it, you said it was worth it. It totally was, and I remember just feeling… peace. Kind of like I fit into the space I took up.

I constantly felt that way with you but almost never felt it with Derek, and when I was drinking the night of my accident, I knew something was off. I thought it was just because I was refusing to fully commit to making him a permanent part of my life.

After the rum, I had maybe a shot's worth of bourbon that I added to a half-full bottle of flat coke I'd gotten the day before. I don't know why I had so many almost empty bottles. Probably because I usually didn't mix them and there was no point in drinking that little. I started to feel buzzed sometime when I was drinking the rum, but it wasn't enough. That night had been its own special kind of horrible, so I threw my rules out the window.

The bourbon wasn't out long enough for me to work through anything that was racing through my head. I drank it quickly partially because it tasted disgusting and partially because I hoped that meant it would hit me quickly as well. I thought the bourbon was the last of what I had hidden away in my room. Getting alcohol had gotten really tricky since I'd started dating Derek. There was one liquor store that I could get away with buying it myself but only if this one woman was working because she never carded; she actually kind of looked amused every time I got to the counter. Mostly, I had to figure out if someone looked shady enough to be cool with buying liquor for a minor. I'd had a few close calls; one time, this guy threatened to call the police on me. I ran. I think that's the fastest I'd ever run in my life right until the first and only time you convinced me that a couple's run was a good idea (it wasn't, Vic, it really wasn't), and I never went back to that particular store.

While I was frantically searching my room, I found a completely unopened bottle of tequila that I'd stashed under my bed. I didn't remember how it got there, but it felt like it was meant to be in that moment. I didn't even bother mixing it at first; I was too desperate to turn everything off, and I knew from experience that a couple of sips of tequila would do the trick. The problem is I don't tequila ever stops burning. I tried not to think about it, but there was only so much of it I could take before I poured some into my cup of orange juice. I don't remember refilling it after that, but I must have.

While I drank, everything came back to me. Every memory that I'd held onto specifically for this moment. With each memory, I drank more. I needed it to go away, but it was relentless.

I remembered the string of tutors my parents hired to try to make me smarter and all the fights we got in because I wasn't "applying" myself. My parents eventually gave up because the tutors weren't helping me. I could hear my dad telling me that he "washed his hands" of me because I could do it if I was just willing to try. I tried; I really did, and I did okay in school but never okay enough to be the honors student he wanted me to be. I remembered, and I drank.

I remembered the moment I realized that nothing would ever be good enough for my parents. I'd been moved up a class in the music studio I took guitar lessons at. It was huge because my teacher only moved up his most advanced clients, and I think I was only ten or eleven. I was put in a class with high schoolers. When I told my parents, there was no pride or excitement. They didn't get it and immediately changed the focus to everything that was wrong with me. My dad said something about how he wished I cared as much about school as I cared about guitar. I remembered, and I drank.

I remembered Raelyn Szu, the girl with two moms, in my kindergarten class. I got an invitation to her birthday party from Mrs. and Mrs. Szu. My mom asked why they needed to flaunt "that lifestyle". She said it didn't matter to her that they were together, but why did they need to make a big deal about it? She didn't get that Raelyn's moms had a right to put "Mrs. and Mrs. Szu" on the birthday invite the same way she'd had the right to put "Mr. and Mrs. Campbell" when they'd sent mine out months earlier. Why was one normal and the other was flaunting "that lifestyle"? It never sat right with me, and I thought about it a lot over the years. I don't remember going to that birthday party. Maybe I did, and it was a totally normal day that eventually faded with all of my five-year-old memories or maybe my mom came up with some kind of excuse so I wouldn't have to go. That night, I was so sure it was the latter because the idea of a same sex couple was so unfathomable to her. I remembered, and I drank.

I remembered that Lucy could be my girlfriend, but Jeremiah couldn't be my boyfriend. I could still hear my mom's laughter as if the idea was so ludicrous it didn't even merit actual thought or consideration. I remembered, and I drank.

I remembered that I was the only one to carry on the Campbell name and that my mom risked her life when she was pregnant with me. How could I not live my life the way she wanted me to? I owed her everything. I owed her for choosing me over her own health, and I thought about how, when my parents finally told me that she'd had cancer, it added so much more pressure to me because I was it. I was their whole… they called me their legacy. I remembered, and I drank.

I remembered that I was a "heartbreaker" and all the "girls would want" me. I saw every girl I'd dated, and slept with, and strung along even though I knew I could never feel the things they wanted me to feel. I relived their tears and anger and confusion when I ended things with them. I remembered, and I drank.

I remembered how wrong the girls felt and how right Derek felt. I thought about how much I depended on Derek, how he was my only sense of stability, and how that was too much pressure to put on someone without them even knowing about it. I remembered, and I drank.

I remembered how much I hated everything and how desperately I wanted things to be different. I didn't want my life to be complicated. I wanted to fall in love with a girl, get married, have kids. I'd been told my whole life that that was how things worked, so why didn't they work like that for me? I remembered, and I drank.

I remembered my break-up with Carlos. I heard him telling me that he just needed to get me out of his system. I remembered that moment so vividly, down to the small hole in his sweatpants when he shut the door behind him. I remembered, and I drank.

I remembered Zeke telling me that he wanted to have sex with me on my sixteenth birthday… well, technically he didn't tell me. I got up to his apartment and condoms and lube were literally sitting out on his coffee table right next to a bottle of wine. He never said he'd stop buying me liquor, but I knew. I needed him, so I went along with it. I kept him happy, and he got me the alcohol I needed to feel happy. I felt nauseated as I thought about the things I'd been willing to do. I never really cared about him; I'd just needed him. Despite how messed up that whole situation was, I felt guilty for stringing him along. I felt guilty as if he wasn't using me every bit as much as I was using him. I remembered, and I drank.

I remembered all of the guys that seemed way more interested in how I made them feel than in me. I felt all of the empty nights I spent with them and how I convinced myself that it didn't mean anything that I really, really liked what we did together. I remembered, and I drank.

I, once again, remembered the girls that I'd lied to, cheated on, and lead on. I heard Alison asking me if I was gay when I told her that I didn't want to be with her anymore because she didn't understand how I could want to end things with her. I felt the shame and guilt that preceded my denial. I remembered, and I drank.

I remembered every bad moment of my childhood and couldn't recall any of the good ones. I knew they existed, Victor. I knew that I was very privileged to have two parents that filled my childhood with experiences that should have shaped who I was and instead of being sculpted by those moments, I was sculpted by all the times I didn't feel like I was enough. Maybe it means something that I saw the thorns and not the roses. It only made me more messed up because it was another thing I'd failed out. I couldn't even be good at being happy. I remembered, and I drank.

There was half a bottle of tequila left when I got home from the hospital, but I must've spilled a good amount of that. I had to have. I'd never drunk that much tequila in one sitting before; I hadn't come close, and I don't think I could have survived that. Maybe that's just what I needed to believe. However much I drank, my brain finally shut the hell up. The world kind of turned fuzzy. I still don't know how I was conscious enough to even get to the car much less turn it on, but there you have it.

At some point, I turned on the TV. I don't think I wanted to watch anything, but it was something to do when I was incapable of figuring out what else I could do. Normally, that was the part of my night where I'd fall into a blacked-out, dreamless sleep, and it wasn't happening. I didn't feel tired at all, just confused.

This is the part of the night where things get a little hard to figure out. I know my accident happened at 12:53 am because that's when the 911 call came in. I know I got back from Derek's at 10 and maybe an hour and a half had passed between when I got back and when I stopped drinking, so I'm really not sure what happened over the next hour. Maybe I spent the time staring at the TV without processing what I was watching. I'm really not sure. I only have flashes of memory from that time, and I have what other people told me.

I texted Derek at some point. My text was totally indecipherable, and he never answered it. Maybe he was already asleep. I don't remember texting him, but he showed it to me a few days later. I couldn't tell you what I was trying to say. It was mostly a bunch of random letters and the Swedish flag emoji for some reason, so who knows?

I think I tried to play guitar or I at least though about practicing because it was on the floor to the side of my bed when I got home from the hospital. Maybe my fingers couldn't cooperate, or I was too drunk to figure out how to play because my parents said that they never heard me play; they never heard anything. I was just as quiet as always.

An ad for Wendy's came on my TV. I was transfixed. It's the only thing I can say for sure that I totally remember because it was about some deal they were running on Frosties. "Summer doesn't have to end; 50 cent Frosties are back" or something like that. Then there were just a bunch of Frosties on the screen: vanilla and chocolate and people dipping fries in a Frosty, and their advertising department obviously knew what they were doing because, suddenly, my whole world revolved around getting one.

God, I felt like if I could just get a Frosty, then I'd be fine. I'd be able to handle life. I'd be strong enough to stop being me and be who I knew everyone else wanted me to be, OR I'd be strong enough to be who Derek wanted me to be. I wasn't thinking about who I wanted to be because I had no idea where to start with that. Thinking about what other people wanted was so much easier. I wasn't sure whose version of me would win that tug-o-war match, but with a Frosty, it wouldn't matter.

I know it doesn't make sense, but it felt like it all hinged on that Frosty.

I went to my parents' bedroom just to make sure it was safe to leave. I could hear my dad snoring from outside of their door. That's probably one of the more messed up parts of what happened that night. I was able to think clearly enough to make sure the coast was clear but not clearly enough to stay home.

My dad always kept his keys in his drawer – it was a drawer that my mom attempted to organize once a year but was a black hole that sucked in random screws, coins, pieces of paper, lids to bottles that had long since been recycled, and other useless stuff. I grabbed his keys and went out to the garage.

I almost felt like I was tingling. That Frosty was going to be perfect. It was going to be the best thing I'd ever had. Once I had that Frosty, everything would be okay. Those were the thoughts that I had in that moment; it never entered my mind that I might be too drunk to drive.

I got in the car. I have no idea if I buckled my seat belt. No one ever told me. I think I must've, or I probably would've been thrown from the car. If I did, I did it without thinking while I was still fantasizing about that Frosty. I started to think about what flavor I wanted and that seemed like a huge decision. Did I really need to choose? Why not get two?

I turned the car on. Both was definitely better than making a choice. I was thinking that maybe when I got home, I could see how they'd taste together and swirl them together in a bowl.

I pulled out of the garage and decided I needed to get French fries to dip in my Frosties. Lucy was obsessed with that combo. I usually didn't care either way, but as the garage door went up, I knew I needed those fries.

I turned out of my driveway, and then it was like I went to sleep; I don't remember anything else.