Still My Idiots // One Direction [Book 2: Idiot Series]

Chapter Twelve - Gone [Final Chapter]

Harry.

I spent the entire day sitting on Mica's bed, looking through the old photos from 2013. Out of, at least, three-hundred photos, I had counted that she wasn't smiling in seventeen of them; being asleep in eight. We were all happy in most of them.

"You ready?" I heard Louis say as he walked down the stairs. I turned to him and nodded before putting the pictures back in the box and holding the box under my arm, carrying it with me.

"Let's go," I sighed as I stood up. Louis left the house quietly and I followed behind just as silent. Of course, the place was covered in paps. Like always.

"Harry! Louis!" I heard people shouting. We ignored them, keeping our heads down as we walked towards my car. Once in and on the road, we were alright.

"Is this a good idea?" I asked. "Like, do you really think we should do this?"

"It was your idea," he told me, "and we already paid the guy." I sighed.

"It's beginning to sound like a bad idea. What if I cry? Like, I'll be seeing her body again. Her dead body. Louis, Louis, oh my God, I'm not prepared for this," I rambled. 

"Harry, shut up! We're doing this, okay?" I sighed and nodded, climbing in to the car with Louis.


We arrived there not much longer and, thankfully, the man who's name I did not know yet was waiting there with a shovel. I sighed before climbing out, Louis coming up and walking towards the man with me. He smiled. "Styles, Tomlinson?"

"That's us," Louis answered. The man nodded, waving for us to follow him, which we did.

What we were doing was illegal, and if we were caught we could be arrested--scratch that, would be arrested. But we were taking that chance. We needed to know everything was right.

We followed him into the graveyard and up to Mica's coffin that was not yet buried. He nodded towards it, "I'll keep watch." And he did. We opened the coffin with a bit of struggle, but did get it open. She was wearing her favorite shorts, band T-shirt and black Vans. Niall had stated that he didn't want her getting too warm, so shorts it was.

Louis leaned in slowly, grabbing her frail, dead arm and turning it to look at her wrist--cut. Then, he pulled up her shorts to look at her thighs--cut. That was all we needed to know.

We headed home after that. We were both quiet the entire ride home. I didn't think we really needed to talk. The silence said enough.

And we were quiet when we walked in and walked up the stairs and into Mica's room and shut the door. No noise but our breathing and footsteps.

Louis pulled the box from under her bed, sitting on her bed and placing it on his lap. "So," he started, "blades because she cut, rope and gun because she wanted to die, sleeping tablets because she was an insomniac and a drug dealer, beer because she got drunk, now what?"

"What else can we do?" I asked. "She's dead. We know the truth. This is it."

Louis sat there. He closed the box and set it down beside him. He sighed. "One more week," he said, "then we're going back to London."

"I know." Louis looked at me with sad eyes. I sighed as I walked over and sat next to him, wrapping my arm around him. He put his head on my shoulder. "I can't let this go..."

"I know," I said. This sucked.

"Do you think she got drunk on purpose?"

"I know she did," I answered. "She got drunk and high on purpose because she knew she'd crash... I just wish she wasn't such a good actor."

"I know," Louis sighed. We sat there in silence for a while. "Did you love her?" he asked after a while.

"Yes," I answered him, "more than I loved myself."

"Like, were you in love with her?"

"Yeah," I said. Because I was. Louis nodded against my shoulder. 

A while later the fans had found out what happened. They were all so calm and kind, tweeting us nice things about how they hope we're okay and that they'll miss her and, of course, they got #RIPMica and #ForeverAtHomeMica trending on Twitter. When we got back to London, they decided to be amazing and not mob us. Which was amazing. We didn't get mobbed for another two weeks, until we had a concert. Then we were mobbed.

In the middle of Moments, Niall broke down. He stopped in the middle of his solo, put his hands to his eyes, shook his head and said, "I just miss her." The crowd quieted down a bit, waiting to see what happened. Louis went over to Niall, but I stared. I didn't know what I was staring at, but I was staring.

The boys walked off stage and I hadn't realized. I was stood there, staring. Suddnely, everything was going blury. I was crying.

I sat down and cried. The fans screamed and cried as well as I screamed and cried. Louis came running out onto the stage to hug me. He knelt down next to me and wrapped his arms around me as I cried.

It took about five minutes to get me to stand and walk backstage. Once back there we got yelled at for ten minutes and then sent back out to finish. And then the crowd started chanting "We love you". And then we all cried and hugged and broke down. And the fans screamed some more.

We were obviously not ready to start preforming again.

Three weeks later when I was walking through the streets while being followed by paps and fans, I heard a pap shout, "That whore kid died because she hated you!" and I turned to him. I glared. Everything and everyone went silent to see what I would say, but I didn't say anything. I looked down and sighed, shaking my head and said, "She was great." And then I walked away.

And it felt like Mica was everywhere after she had died and we went home. And maybe she was. But I just couldn't see her. And I wanted her to be everywhere so I could see her, but she wasn't.

She was gone.