# A Surprise Visit Chapter 1

1 - A SURPRISE VISIT
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-Three months after ENDING 1-
Graduation came and went with no enthusiasm. What would’ve been a fun celebration of everyone moving up and into the real world was completely marred by what had happened.
By what I had caused.
I hadn’t dared show my face around Volcano High on the actual day of graduation. The guilt had kept me in bed throughout the day and the weeks beforehand, long after the physical injuries had healed. Even the thought of them looking at me after what had happened created an almost agonizing turn in my stomach. I went in a couple of days after graduation proper. Principal Spears unceremoniously handed me my diploma, the ultimate culmination of my failure. What little pleasantries he had to offer was done more quietly than I had ever heard him speak.
As I left his office for the final time, a thought crossed my mind - ‘Does he know?’ I shook it away. It didn’t matter, did it?
My eyes wander around my dimly lit apartment room. I crane over at the clock on my desk. It was already past 8:30 at night. Nothing new there, as my unstable sleep schedule had become routine. My eyes wander farther, to an unopened package propped against the dressers. I shut my eyes. I couldn’t look, couldn’t bear to think of what was in that damned package, even though I had a feeling I already knew. It arrived a few weeks ago, some time after Fang’s funeral, addressed to me from her mom. It was small and light, in an otherwise featureless bubble envelope, which meant it could really be only one thing - pictures.
It sat by those dressers, almost like it was mocking me, rubbing in my face all my colossal fuck ups that had led to all of this. Every. Single. Day. And yet I couldn’t get rid of it. How could I? Why should I deserve such solace? There was still a part of me deep inside begging me to open it, to look over the captured memories within, reminisce of what was, the fleeting feelings of love I once had. Taken mere months, but so unbearably long ago. I don’t know if I could handle such a sight of when I... when we... were almost happy. Almost. And yet that 'almost' was the highlight of my life. My absolute peak. I roll back over, away from Pandora’s Box. I need to get up at some point, before I find myself in another downward spiral and spend the night starving.
One lukewarm shower later and a barely nutritious ‘breakfast’ in hand, I settle down into the chair at my desk. After a few minutes of blankly staring at my computer monitor, I navigate to an Uzbekistanian cotton weaving forum and begin shitposting anew, hoping nobody mentions Volcano High. The pointless arguments and name calling keep my mind occupied well enough as the hours pass by.
*Knock* *Knock* *Knock*
Something raps on the door. A sound so unfamiliar it barely registers the first time around. I glance at the clock - almost midnight - and back towards the door. Who in their right mind would be here of all places, at this time? Nobody, that’s who. I turn back towards the computer.
*Knock* *Knock* *Knock*
Again? Who on earth would want to talk to me at this hour? I’ve been scorned and all but forgotten by everyone I’ve known in this town. Whatever. I slowly rise to my feet and meander towards the door. I turn the lock and crack open the door, peering into the barely lit hallway. Right in front and center is a short, purple triceratops looking up at me.
“Anon-”
I slam the door in her face and press my back against the door. No. No no no no no. Not happening. No way. Nuh uh. Not in sixty-five million years. I reach over and turn the lock and deadbolt.
She speaks to me through the door. “Anon, wait. It’s important. ”
Bull fucking shit! How the fuck does she know where I live? Why the fuck is she here? Why today? Why at this time? A million worst-case scenarios flashed through my mind, most of them involving those very pointy horns entering me very violently.
“Please...I just want to talk to you. Please listen?” Her voice wavers softly. Was she pleading with me? Why?
I take a few seconds to let the panic filter out, then unlock the door and open it again. I had seen her when she was angry before - she had never been one to stray from showing it before after all - but for whatever reason she wasn’t screaming at me or staring daggers at me or anything of the sort. Why?
I poke my head out past the door frame and look up and down the hallway. Empty except for her, accompanied only by the soft buzz of fluorescent lighting. At least I was right about nobody in their right mind showing up here at this time, she must be completely batshit to come here completely alone. I look back to Trish. Her eyes plead with me like a puppy, almost like when-
NO.
“Alright, fine,” I barely mutter through the confusion while attempting to scrub the previous thought from my mind.
Trish steps into my squalor apartment, and I close and lock the door behind her.
I flip a switch and the main room lights flicker on. The last few months have not been kind to it, the sickly pale light illuminating left over dirty dishes, trash bags, dust and cobwebs. A small part of me is thankful that I had cleaned at least somewhat recently. The last thing I need is the landlord accosting me over bug problems.
I wander back to my chair as Trish approaches my unkempt bed. She goes to sit, but hesitates.
“You don’t mind if I…” She asks, trailing off while motioning towards the bed.
“Go ahead,” I reply. As she lowers herself down, a thousand questions circle around in my mind, but one stands out. What on earth could be so important to track me down and visit my apartment in Skin Row, at midnight? She looks at the floor, and opens her mouth to speak. Only the slightest hint of a syllable escapes her mouth before it closes. She grimaces, as if even finding the words she wants to say is causing her pain. Oh shit, is this about-
“I’m...I’m sorry…”
I forcibly close my mouth, just barely saving myself from shouting “What? Why?” Is this about the presentation? Why would she even bother with this, here and now?
“I...I fucked up…” She trembles, hands gripping the edge of the bed, tears threatening to break the dam. “I fucked everything up...for all of us…”
“Trish, I…”
If Trish heard me, she didn’t show it. “I fucked it all up and blamed you. Not once did I think I was doing something wrong until...until it was too late.” She barely chokes back a sob and a single tear rolls down her cheek, her breathing heavy and labored, as if she had just taken a bullet. Her head raises and she locks her freshly wet eyes with me. Silence follows, the very world around us quiet with anticipation.
“Trish, I don’t understand.” She looks back down, taking a few moments to collect herself.
“I was desperate, Anon. I was convinced our big break was just around the corner. That we were going to go from rejects to superstars, as long as everything went as planned. But…” Her voice calms, but it still aches with sorrow.
“Have you ever planned something, meticulously running through the details over and over again, completely convinced that it was flawless? That no matter what happened, it was going to work out exactly how you envision? Only to have it completely fall apart at a moments notice, and that, when you look back on it, you can’t imagine how you could have possibly thought it was a good idea - that it would have never worked in a million years - and if you had told someone else about that plan they would’ve said exactly that?”
What happened at Rock Bottom immediately comes to mind. I visibly cringe at the thought, sink further into my chair and weakly reply, “Yeah…”
“And the more desperate you are, the worse the plans become, and the harder it becomes to think properly, until…” She trembles again, unable to finish her sentence, but I have a feeling I know what she’s getting at. This must be the first time I’ve ever related to Trish before.
Her voice lowers to a whisper. “I’m sorry for blaming you. For trying to hurt you. I just...couldn’t stand the thought of my plans going wrong. Of my band failing. Of Fang leaving me. It wasn’t your fault. Everyone thinks it was, but...” A single sob creaks out of her. Her voice lowers even further, her final sentence barely audible. “None of it was.”
The dam bursts. She buries her head into her arms and lets out a shriek of pure agony. The pain, the anguish, the acknowledgement of her failures coalesce into a complete meltdown. Mere minutes ago I thought she hated me with all her life. How long had she been grappling with this? Is this even my business? Do I even-
Fuck it.
I seat myself next to Trish on the bed. She doesn’t move her head, but our eyes lock for a split second.
“How long has this been on your mind?” I ask her.
She can barely manage to speak through her sobs. “Ever since the funeral.” She shudders and attempts to steady her breathing. “Fang’s dad said something...I don’t think I was meant to hear it but I did. It hurt, Anon. More than anything had ever hurt before.” She lets out another round of sobs. “It broke me. It was too much. I…wasn’t in a good place...” She trails off, raising her head ever so slightly and glancing around the apartment, and changes the subject. “You probably haven’t been in the best of places either.”
“Yeah, it’s been pretty shit.” Seriously? Is that really the best response you have?
Trish seems to calm down after a few minutes, her deep sobbing replaced with sniffles and sighs. She looks up at me, her eyes wet and reddened, her face stained, and asks the one question I was absolutely not prepared to answer.
“Did they love you?”
Do I know the answer to that question? Can I know the answer to that question? Would an answer make her feel worse? Would not having an answer make her feel worse? Do I care about making her feel worse? Yes? Fuck.
“I…”
Don’t know? Don’t think I should answer? Don’t think it’s your business? Don’t think it matters?
“I think they did,” I finally reply.
“Did you love them too?”
“Yeah, I did.”
Trish buries her face back into her hands and bursts into tears. Through all the slurring and sobbing I can barely make out her repeating ‘I ruined everything’ over and over. With only the slightest hint of hesitation I wrap my arm around her shoulder and pull her close.
I spend the next several minutes attempting to console Trish. Slowly but surely her breathing slows, as do the flow of her tears as she tentatively rests against my arm. She was easily in one of the most unstable and vulnerable moments of her life - my next words would probably be some of the most important ones I would say for a long time.
“Trish...you did fuck up.” Good start.
“But I did love them. And they loved me. I saw a side of them that I don’t think anyone saw for a long time. I was with them when they were at their lowest. I made mistakes. Said and did things I shouldn’t have. Didn’t support them when they needed it. I just wanted to keep my head down and avoid getting any attention, even though everything was telling me that it wasn’t going to fly, that I was going to need to step up to the occasion. But I couldn’t - I wouldn’t. I wasn’t ready.”
Trish is completely silent, staring at me with those beautiful purple eyes, fully focused on every word coming out of my mouth.
“Don’t bear all the blame by yourself. I fucked up too.”
She presses into my arm and starts crying again, but this time is different. Just as she no longer bears the blame by herself, sorrow alone no longer fills her tears. She knew she couldn’t do this alone, but now she doesn’t have to.
“Thank you,” she whispers. Nothing more needs to be said.
Our embrace continues for some time, with some occasional small talk sprinkled in, although there wasn’t much the two of us had done in the past few months that wasn’t painful or depressing. I had almost forgotten how nice it is to simply feel another person and talk to them.
​
Trish stretches and lets out a powerful yawn.
“I guess I should get going. Thank you so much for everything, Anon.” She stands up and starts to walk over to the door. I glance over at the clock - 3 AM.
“Trish, I...how did you even get here?” She turns around.
“I walked. Why?”
“Right, ignoring the fact that that’s insane and you probably shouldn’t have done that, walking around Skin Row at three AM is even more insane and you definitely shouldn’t do that. You’re free to nap for a bit, I woke up late so I won’t be needing it for now.”
She appears to mull over the possibility for a moment. “Anon, are you sure...”
“Friends don’t let friends wander Skin Row at three in the morning.” Her smile noticeably widens at this comment, and she agrees. I sit back in my chair as Trish gets comfortable, and consider turning back to the computer. Is shitposting really what I need right now? I am suddenly very aware of just how filthy this apartment is.
The next few hours are a constant battle to balance not waking Trish and actually getting things in order. At the very least, the dishes are cleaned, trash was collected and is ready to be thrown out, and a number of surfaces have been sweeped and scrubbed down to an acceptable level. It feels good to have actually gotten something done that wasn’t shitposting or sustaining myself.
I settle back into my chair, admiring the fruits of my labor, and take some time to reflect. I glance over at Trish, still peacefully sleeping as the early morning light filters into the apartment. We had been through a lot, both today and over the last few months. Hell, that entire semester was a mess from start to finish. But even after all of that, maybe…
Maybe it’ll end up okay.