“Yeah, Vamp. Take a fucking beauty nap,” Lux hisses before leaving the room with a huff. I don’t understand his icy exterior. He’s warm with me, hot at times, then he’s an absolute asshole. It’s literally whiplash, the constant shock he puts my body in bothers me on another level.
Jordan looks at me with sympathy. “I’ll go talk to him.” I want to make a jab and allow the tiny bit of jealousy I have to come forward, but I don’t, because, in the end, I’ve done the same to them.
As I’m about to leave, Bridger does too, waving me off. Then Ten peers at me, and I can tell he’s having a moment of turmoil as well. “You’re jealous,” he mentions as Bridger escapes the new questions. And maybe I am. Lux and Jordan created a bond. One I both love and hate. Love, because it means they’re closer and not trying to kill each other, and hate because I keep them all at arm’s length and am losing them.
Aren’t I?
“Why?” he asks, but it’s easy to deduce, unless he’s wanting me to admit it out loud.
“They have a bond without me,” I finally breathe out my response. He nods.
“I felt that way when you pushed me away.” My temper rises, I can feel the rage humming through me. I didn’t pick them over him, he pushed me away. He didn’t show up to Cassidy’s funeral.
He made his choices and I made mine in response.
“You didn’t come to your best friend’s funeral,” I hiss out, allowing that anger to surface. He needs to know. He needs to understand. He needs to own up to his part. This all can’t be fostered onto me. We are humans, we make mistakes. Within those mistakes we make the choices. They only become regrets when we don’t agree or like the outcome. Only then, do we decide if it’s a burden or a mistake.
He nods. “I didn’t. I couldn’t. Not after…”
“After what?”
He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter, Greenie. It’s over now.”
“It’s not!” My voice rises and I hate how it echoes in the room. It’s too loud, too aggressive, too unhinged. They took him from me. Yeah, maybe they weren’t the cause, but they didn’t take the kid gloves off and show me or teach me what the fuck the Vestige was.
They took my ability to prepare.
They took my voice.
They took my fucking brother by being selfish.
“You think he’d want this? You hurting, your pain, the way you inflict pain on yourself? Do you even remember trying to rip your chest open, Colt?”
I try to think back to that moment, and the only memory festering is the pain and waking up in the hospital. It was the first time I allowed myself to move forward from Cass’s death. The journey from that, the recovery from what I’d done… it was torture.
I woke up in the room and realized maybe he committed suicide, or maybe just drop it… it was the weirdest thing and it only went away at the start of school. I’d spent the entire summer cutting, missing him, but not because I thought people hurt him, no. It was because I wanted to be with him.
His death hurt me viscerally.
It was as physical as it was mental.
He broke me by being gone.
“You don’t, do you?” he hisses, and it’s the first time I’ve heard his anger. “This is so fucked up.”
I shake my head, not understanding anything he’s saying. Yes, the words make perfect sense, but they don’t make sense at all.
Instead of explaining himself, he literally stands and leaves. As much as I want to hunt him down for answers, confusion is ever-present and that’s what sticks.
It’s been weeks without my meds. Do I just not need them anymore? I’d been prescribed two different kinds that were supposed to help me with my depression and also my food intake. It’s weird because no one has mentioned it once.
Not that it matters now.
I still don’t have my cell phone.
No way of reaching out.
As I go to the fridge, grabbing a beer, memories come full force, taking the oxygen from my lungs.
“I miss you, Cass,” I cry. My throat has that sticky and full feeling. It happens every time I cry and when the need to just scream and sob festers and finally hurts me to break free. In my palm rests a knife I’d taken from the kitchen. It’s not like Mom cooks, we have a chef for that.
My fingers trace the handle, wondering, if I used it so harshly, would it snap?
I take a drink of vodka, wanting to waste away. It’s not like either of my parents are home. When they’re home, they avoid me. Doesn’t help I’m Cassidy’s doppelgänger. Doesn’t help he’s gone. Doesn’t help that this fucking heart won’t stop beating. Remembering him, the memories that are slowly disappearing, the laughter that no longer has a sound. Pain is all that’s present.
I run my finger across the blade, blood oozing out from the cut. I’d barely touched it, but it proves it’ll get the job done. Right?
Taking another two gulps of Goose, I feel my throat burning. It’s insane how vodka can taste like water until it’s hitting your lungs, then the fire comes like an overwhelming heat. I squeeze my eyes closed as I drink more and more. The tears don’t stop, Cassidy doesn’t magically appear.
It’s been two weeks.
He’s been gone for fourteen days. He’s no longer here. He’s really fucking gone.
Pain tickles the tip of my finger and I wipe the remnant of blood on my skirt. My eyes skate over my clothes, not liking them, not knowing why I’d wear them when I could mirror my soul. Partaking in the dark seems pretty dandy right about now. I stand, taking the Goose with me toward my bathroom.
The mirror stares back at me like it always does, reminding me I have his eyes.
His eyes.
Forever closed.
Agony rips through me, it starts at my throat and wanders to my chest. It beats at me like a person down on their knees, begging for a semblance of peace. It tears at my sanity and promises me solace if I only just dig for it. My hand squeezes the glass, reminding me that it, too, is desperate for depletion.
I bring it to my lips, enjoying the way it hits my teeth a little too hard, bringing with it pain I welcome eagerly. By the third swallow, I know my body will fight against sanity, it’ll beat at the cage of present and normal, reminding me how caged I am in this godforsaken house.
The ache in my chest comes back.
The memories of Cass manifest.
The longing of a hug from my brother hits me hard.
Beat.
Beat.