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Standard disclaimer.

Penultimate chapter.

MERCEDES

"Do you really believe in happy endings?" I asked.

Artie arched a brow, as he sat behind the desk.

"Of course I do. Without them, what's the point of all of this?"

It had been two weeks since I'd seen Sam...two weeks since he'd said that he loved me and he'd wait to hear me say it, with only happiness in my eyes.

Two weeks, where I had a hard time accepting, that I deserved a happy ending.

"It's a strange question to ask," Artie commented. "May I ask why?"

The last thing I wanted to do, was talk about Sam with some oddly attractive guy.

Why, oh why, did my counselor have to be a dude?

"Sam said..."

"Oh, the dreamy Sam?" He grinned when I narrowed my eyes on him. "Continue."

"He said that he loved me."

Artie picked up the baseball. It was like he had a special relationship with the damn thing.

"Is this a bad thing? From what you've said, he's a good guy." He threw the ball up and caught it. "Or do you not feel the same?"

My heart did a little jump. Answer enough.

"I...I love him."

"Does he suck at kissing?"

I rolled my eyes.

He chuckled and then quickly sobered, as he clenched the ball.

"Do you think you don't really deserve it...the happily ever after?"

I pulled my legs up and wrapped my arms around my knees.

A moment passed and Artie waited, and from prior experience, I knew, he would literally sit there and wait until I opened my mouth.

"I don't know," I said, shrugging one shoulder. "I mean, I'm a fuck-up and I'm a shitty person. I could've killed someone...and he deserves someone better than that, you know?"

"Having depression does not make you a fuck-up, Mercedes."

I frowned.

"That's not what I mean."

Or was it?

I was still coming to terms, with what it meant, to have something that was shaping my life.

"We obviously haven't gotten through your skull yet. Not completely. I see I still have lots of work to do," Artie said, placing the ball on the desk. It rolled to a stop against a large binder. "That's good. I like job security."

"Ha! Ha!" My lips twitched, though. "Seriously. I just...I just want to be normal."

"You are normal," he replied. "Depression does not make you abnormal. Neither does anxiety, but the way you cope with it, the way you treat it, is what can make you abnormal."

I nibbled on my lower lip, mulling that over.

"Let me ask you a question. When you volunteer at the suicide call center, do you think the people you talk to are fuck-ups?"

"God..." I scrunched up my face. "No."

"Do you think they're abnormal?"

"No. I think...I think they just need..."

They just need help. God, I closed my eyes, exhaling softly. A few minutes passed, before I reopened my eyes.

"I think that's why I volunteered there. Maybe in a way, I related to them. Maybe I was coping..."

"And that would be a good coping mechanism, as long as you're not bringing that home with you."

I hadn't.

At least as far as I knew.

We'd talked about my volunteering before and Artie thought it would be a good idea, if I backed off from that, until I had a better grip on everything.

"I'm going to ask you another question." He inclined his head. "Do you think I'm a terrible person?"

'Odd question.'

I looked around the room.

"Um...no."

He sat back, resting his ankle on his knee as he studied me.

"When I was close to your age, maybe two years older, we had a lot of things in common...I didn't drink a lot." He smiled. "Or at least I didn't think I did. I just liked to drink, to relax on the weekends, or whenever I was out with friends or when the day was stressing me out."

Yeah, that sounded familiar.

"One night I was at the bar with a couple of friends and it was getting late. I had what I thought was a couple of drinks. I didn't think I was drunk, and no one stopped me. No one was like, 'hey, drunk guy, you shouldn't be driving.' So I left. I got in my car and I started to drive home, but I didn't make it. I wrecked, but right there is where our similarities ended."

I couldn't look away.

"I totaled my car, but I was basically uninjured. Sure, I was bruised a bit, but I walked away from the accident with nary a scratch."

The smile faded from his lips.

"But I didn't hit a barrier wall, Mercedes. I hit another car."

At that moment, I wanted to look away, but I couldn't.

"His name was Grant Dixon. He was thirty-six years old and he was getting off from his shift, at one of the warehouses in the city," Artie continued quietly. "He was married and had two children. One was four and the other was seven..."

Pausing, he drew in a deep breath.

"...I didn't realize I'd crossed the center line, until it was too late. I tried to swerve, but it was virtually a head-on collision. He died on the scene."

I closed my eyes then.

"Oh my God..."

"My actions took his life. One decision. One choice. I got behind the wheel of a car, and although I spent time in jail for it and I'll spend the rest of my life, making damn sure, I try to stop another person from making that one choice, I will never fully pay for what I did."

Horror filled me...horror for the deceased man's family and even for Artie, because, I couldn't imagine living with something like that.

But that horror...God...that horror...was also for how close I'd come to becoming him.

"So, let me ask you again, Mercedes," Artie said, and I opened my eyes. "Am I a terrible person?"

I never answered his question.

I tried to give him an answer, but I never found the right words, and it wasn't until later, that I realized, there was no right or wrong answer to that.

At first, I did look at him differently. And I hated to admit that about myself, but I couldn't help it.

He'd killed someone...accidentally, a dozen or so years ago, but he'd made a choice, that had ended with someone losing their life.

And his story, what he confided, hit close to home.

That could've been me, but it wasn't. Not because, I did anything different or better than him. I had luck on my side that night. Just damn luck.

Did I think Artie was a terrible person?

That was a stone I wasn't ready to cast, and there was a good chance, I would never be able to.

But something about his story not only hit home for me, but shook things up hardcore.

I wasn't Artie.

Whether it was due to luck or what, I wasn't him.

I, for the most part, could walk away from all of this and move forward without major baggage. I could get to that happily ever after, but I was going to have to work hard.

So I stayed in treatment longer than was required.

Not because I was hiding, but because I knew, deep down, I knew that I still needed help.

I needed to learn to recognize when I was feeling depressed and what those quiet moments signified.

I needed to develop better coping mechanisms, and that's what Artie and the staff helped with.

They taught me, that when I started to become restless, it was time to pick up a book, go watch a movie or take a walk, call a friend or visit family.

I learned that I needed to open myself up. I had an amazing support system right at my fingertips. I just needed to allow myself to use them.

After all that, I was leaving.

My suitcase was packed up and my parents would be arriving soon to pick me up.

I'd briefly considered moving back in with them, but right now, I was sure I could handle being on my own.

I would be attending therapy sessions once a week and Artie was hooking me up with local AA meetings.

Even though my addiction to alcohol, was not that severe, it was still an addiction.

The outpatient therapist would determine,, if I needed medication to help keep balance or if I could continue without meds.

When I left my little room for the last time, I went and saw Artie. He was in his office, with that damn baseball in his hand.

I didn't say anything, as I placed my suitcase down and walked to where he stood by his desk.

I stretched out, wrapped my arms around him, and gave him a quick, tight hug.

Settling back, I exhaled softly.

"Thank you. For everything."

A quirky grin appeared.

"You're going to be okay."

"I know," I said, without hesitation. "And even if I'm not okay...I'm still going to be okay."

"Right."

I nodded and then turned, heading back to my suitcase.

"Goodbye, Artie."

"Make yourself proud," he called as I walked out. "Don't forget, Mercedes, make yourself proud."

That was something I wouldn't forget, as I walked down the wide hall, towards the doors, leading to the reception area.

Make yourself proud.

That's what mattered, because, I could still be a daughter, a sister, a friend, and maybe even a girlfriend one day. I could be a teacher or I could be whatever I wanted. I could be all these things.

This was the new normal...my new normal, and I was going to be brave. I was going to use that courage, some had seen in me, long before I ever had.

SAM

My legs burned and my heart thundered, as my sneakers pounded on the treadmill.

The whole damn thing was shaking, but I didn't slow down. It was early, way too damn early to be up and running, but once I woke up, I couldn't go back to sleep.

Forty-two days.

It had been forty-two days, since I'd last seen Mercedes in the treatment facility. And those forty-two days felt like a lifetime ago.

I knew she was out. She'd been out for the last week and a half, according to Shaylee, and I hadn't heard from her.

There was an ache in my chest, but I'd meant what I'd said to her that day. I would wait as long as she needed me to and I wanted her to come to me, when she was ready.

I was not and could not be her first priority right now. I understood that and believed in that a hundred percent.

She needed to take care of herself first, and if that required another forty-two days, then so be it.

But I missed her. God, I missed her.

I missed her snappy comebacks and the way she gave as good as she got.

I missed the sound of her husky, throaty laugh and the way her brown eyes reminded me of aged whiskey.

I missed those tiny, feminine sounds she made, and I missed the way she said my name.

I just simply missed her.

And truthfully, I didn't think of her any differently.

Yeah, I'd wanted to yell at her, when I found out she'd been drinking and driving...she could've killed someone...or herself.

I was pissed, and in a rage, but the fact that she'd immediately gotten treatment and held herself responsible for her actions, lessened that anger pretty quickly.

I was just happy, that she finally had an answer, for why she turned to alcohol...that we all had an answer, as to why.

Knowledge was everything, and it was the only way she could get better.

Having depression didn't make me think less of her. Honestly, if anyone thought less of someone, because of that, they could go fuck themselves.

A huge part of me wanted to be there for her, I wanted to help her in any way possible...to take care of her. But I knew she didn't need that. Mercedes didn't need me to swoop in and save her.

I knew damn well she could save herself.

She would save herself.

A beep intruded on the music blasting from my phone.

Slowing down, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and hit the screen, revealing the text message.

I straightened and almost fell off the damn machine.

Smacking the stop button, I stared at the message, no longer feeling the burn in my calves or my lungs, as my lips spread into a wide smile.

Stay safe!