I Wish She Was Still Here

“She’s Dead”. That’s all I can remember from that day. The fateful day my childhood best friend had killed herself. I can remember the date April 23, 1994, but I can’t remember what happened after the phone call. I’m not sure who called my mother, but she had been notified. And she had flown in from our home in Alabama to Vassar. I can’t remember her picking me up or even the plane ride that took us back home that night. Yet here I am. Back in my childhood bedroom just a few weeks shy of spring break. I need to let my professor know that I’m gone but even that thought takes up too much energy. It’s fine I thought lying back down I’ll deal with it later.

“She’s dead” vibrates around my room bouncing off my walls. That sentence came from…. Me. It was the first words I had spoken. At least I think so. I haven’t been so disconnected since, no I quickly shut that thought down. I can’t remember that summer, I can’t, I don’t want to remember. “We can’t leave, Chelsea had frantically whispered that night. He’s going to be so mad”. If I concentrate, I can still remember the way her hand felt. The way the moon shined on her black hair. The way her bangs framed her fearful blue eyes. It was that memory that haunted her. Did he...? NO! He would never hurt them; he had loved them. No, he didn’t came the small voice from inside her. The same voice that had made her finally leave him and the family behind. He had raped them, he had beaten them, and had used them for his own selfish needs. Her and her friends. The friends who had become family or that’s what he had wanted them to believe. He had told them that they were a family, promising to always protect them.

The two girls had run away from home when they were 15. So sure, that they were grown and so tired of their small-town life that when David offered a way out, they took it. No questions asked. Something they would quickly learn was the status quo among Davis’s “family”. They didn’t care at least not at first. Davis had been so charming, so sweet, so down to earth. He had this uncanny way of understanding you. In him, they had found a friend, mentor, and loving leader. His music had spoken to them, it was as if he had written each word, each melody for them. His muses. Looking back, she wondered how and why she had believed that. Why did she assume that some rock star that she had never met had written love songs about her? That he cared about her? She wondered if the other people in his harem ever had similar thoughts. Why had it been so easy to convince them he had loved them? It had been so easy for them to follow his every command, his every will. Even that night, even when he tried to make them… No please no she thought the bile rising. It was his fault. The judge had passed his ruling. It was his fault, not ours. They didn’t kill anyone; she had gotten the two of them away from the “family” when She and Chelsea had been on lookout duty after the shooting.

Davis had convinced them that it was okay to take from those that hoarded their wealth. They had so much they could afford to lose a little. That had made sense and honestly, it had been exciting. Each robbery the guilt would wean away just a little more until all that was left was the thrill. It wasn’t until that night when Davis had shot the owner of the house who had returned home earlier than expected that she understood that they were in danger.

It never occurred to her to ask why they needed to steal when Davis had millions. Turned out Davis had been bankrupt and had a serious gambling problem. He had convinced them they were always moving because he needed inspiration to create. Davis would ask for many things from his muses to carry out this task. If she was being honest there had been moments that had left her uncomfortable. Davis chose what they wore, what they ate, and even what they watched on television if they could at all. He had said his muses needed to be protected from insidious outside influences. He had promised to protect them, he was simply doing that he had assured them. So, she ignored the uncomfortable feelings and let Davis protect them. She never denied him. Even when he had asked for her virginity, it was only later that she would learn that their special moment was a moment that he asked of all his muses. He preferred virgins and the younger the better.

In their “family” they had been the youngest but not by much. None of them had been 18. Davis had said that his muses tended to leave him once they had reached “maturity”. Another lie, later she had found out that Davis kicked members out when they turned 18. Accusing them of being disloyal, saying that he could see that their souls had been tainted. Hearing those testimonies of his earlier muses had somehow broken whatever string that had previously tied her to Davis. Her parents had tried, her psychiatrist had tried to break through, but she hadn’t wanted to hear it. She didn’t want to believe the horrible things they were saying. The news ran on a cycle calling Davis just the most awful things. She could remember being angry at them. How dare they judge him she had thought. Didn’t they know how brilliant he was? All genius was eccentric. So, what if Davis had killed someone it was a mistake. He never made them do anything and she would protect him as he had done them. She let out a snort, but the laughter died just as quickly as it came. Chelsea had hated her. Hated that Rachel had made them leave, hated her because it had been her idea to go to the police. Chelsea never budged in her commitment to Davis. She also never forgave Rachel. Her childhood best friend had died hating her. How was she supposed to live with that?