Don't Fear The Reaper

{viii. at the end of the day}

❝How many nights does it take to count the stars? That's the time it would take to fix my heart.❞

-'Infinity' by One Direction

✕✕✕✕✕

It is not great, not at all, but it's not as if I'm going to protest. I already felt weird with just Macy and I; now, with Trevor and Meatball, I almost feel sick, but I don't want to be the lone dissenter.

Ashdown's a small town, and sometimes the only thing to do is walk around and reminisce. If that's what we tumble into tonight, I can only imagine what other neighbors will join us along the way - and what thoughts will spiral out of control if I'm forced to stroll down memory lane.

I say a little prayer, thanking God or the pretentious Angels or whoever's up there, that Veronica lives near me, in the outskirts. Unless she's out and about, which I admit could be likely, there's no chance of us running into her.

And by extension, there's no chance of us passing Will's house - almost kitty-corner from Veronica's. Like my lack of interactions with the Nyquists, since the funeral I haven't even driven up Fiddler's Elbow Road, the street both my dead boyfriend and ex-best friend live on.

In fact, since the funeral, I've divided almost everything I used to do into two parts: never, ever, participate again; and do almost everyday with the result of heartbreak. Dr. Pavone, my old grief counselor, used to make me put my feelings into diagrams and lists to help explain them, so here's one now:

Things I have stayed far away from in fear of a genuine PTSD flashback:

1. Passenger seats of cars 

2. Will's house and family 

3. All of Will and I's old friends

4. An actual attempt at happiness 

Things I do regularly in a form of self-destruction:

1. Watch football-related stuff

2. Spend my time fruitlessly attempting to sleep

3. Isolate myself

4. Keep my feelings to myself

Yay, (qualitative) statistics! My math teacher would be proud.

Erika, on the other hand, would not. I try to keep her wise words in mind, thinking to myself, Don't keep to yourself, Lila. Try to reach out, at least.

It takes a few painful moments for the guys to meet us halfway at the curb, and then we're walking down the pale sidewalk of Cherry Street. Unfortunately, there are no actual cherries here, just a few colonial-era houses and the General Store at the end of the block.

Somehow, along the way, Macy wanders to Meatball's side and they start joking about the possibilities for our senior prank; this enables Trevor to come up beside me. He has his hands stuffed in his sweatpants pockets and the expression on his dark face is solemn.

"Hey," he says simply, "It's been a while."

"Yeah," I say simply, "It has."

"How are you? I haven't really seen you around."

"I'm fine." Thumbing a loose strand of hair behind my ear, I gaze at the ground, unable to meet the boy's eyes. "I've been around. Kind of. I've tended to stay in the shadows, though."

"That's a shame. You and Macy and Veronica always used to be the life of the party."

I don't know what he's trying to say to me. Is this code for something else, or is he just making small talk? After a second passes and I don't reply, Trevor's expression turns even further crestfallen.