Scream

Reyna Copulas

It's been two weeks since the SH lockdown. After the deaths of Adelina and my mother, there has been radio silence from the killer. Maybe it's all over. Maybe they got what they want, whatever that was. But could it really be over? What did Destiny, Ms. Saylor, Allister, and Adelina have in common? 

Today, I dress in black. I think I'm the first person ever to endure a "funeral crawl."
From Frederick's ceremony to Adelina's ceremony, to my mom's funeral. The ceremonies are gatherings of students. The funeral...well, we all know what that is. 

 I stare in the mirror with my own grey eyes. What have I left to lose anymore?
 Delicately, I push my bangs back, my middle finger totally healed. I have to leave in 10minutes, but my dad won't bother telling me. He doesn't care about what I do anymore. He blames himself for Mom's death. He called her a cheater before she left to see her son in the hospital. She never even made it to him. Nowadays, Dad is a statue, refusing to acknowledge me or death. Sometimes, he blows up on the tiniest things. I broke a dish on accident two nights after the hospital lockdown. He jabbed a finger into my arm so hard I bruised. 

There's a soft knock on my door. I've invited Aero, Maren, and Enzo to come with me. Makai shouldn't be anywhere near my dad in his volatile state, and Hanzo...Hanzo hasn't talked to me since the night he was with my mother. Ozzy was the one to tell me about her. 

"Come in," I permit. 

 Slowly, the door opens. "We have to leave in ten minutes to be on time. But any time you're ready is on time, in my eyes...in anyone's eyes, really."

 I turn to see Enzo. He stands in the doorway, sporting a new haircut – thick on the top and slicked back. He looks more like his brother that way, except he's much more attractive than Aero. Also, I'm not in love with Aero, so... 

 "I need to be there on time," I respond. "Funerals are for the living. The people there are there for me."

Enzo walks in, knowing he's welcomed in my room. He doesn't pay to live here, anymore. He just stays in the house. After the hospital incident, he'd sleep on the floor next to my side of the bed, being respectful of my space but wanting to be near. Eventually, I admitted I felt better with him next to me. 

None of us – the hospital survivors – have been at school. Our work gets emailed to us or sent via a hand-selected tutor. I've been keeping up in my classes through a girl named Kellin Kodiak. She's really cool overall, but I appreciate her repressing her questions about my life. Anyone can find out everything about us on that creep blog, anyways. They included scary details about the hospital incident and even uploaded a picture of Della'sbloodied body. Police traced it back to a nonexistent server. My guess: the killer made that blog. They're a hacker, after all. They see everything and chart it down to screw with us.

Enzo sits behind me, pressing his chest to my back and leaning his head on mine. His arms circle around me and I lightly graze his arms with my fingertips. "If it were up to me," he whispers, breath minty as always. "I wouldn't go." 

 "Well, it's up to me. I'm going." I watch his expression in the mirror. His amber eyes look at me with an emotion I can't quite describe. "What're you thinking?" 

 "You're always so strong. It's okay to be weak, sometimes, Rey," he softly says, playing with the ends of my hair.

"I'm weak every night I bawl my eyes out." The proof is in the makeup. If you look close enough, you can see the extra foundation I put on the bags under my eyes. The last thing I said to my mom was "whatever." Fighting was our last interaction. It isn't an easy pill to swallow at all. 

"That's strength. You wait until no one sees you. You hold it in until the coast is clear," he clarifies.

"What do you want me to do?" I hopelessly ask, vaguely frustrated. "Give a full-on confessional to the world?"

"Of course not," he sighs. "I just want you to be happy."

"That's kind of hard to do," I admit... 

"I know," he whispers, thumb rubbing the spot on my arm where it rests. I turn and wrap my legs around him, holding him close and resting my head on his chest. Enzo's legs close around me, too, and he rests his chin in the spot where my neck begins to slope. "I know," he repeats, stroking my back.

Often, we stay like this; wrapped up in each other, thinking about the past, wondering how to move on in the future, staying idle in our present. It's soothing and it reminds me that there are still people in my life that I have to lose – people who care for me as much as I care for them.

"It's been ten minutes," I whisper, loosening my hold on him and standing up. "Time to go. Ceremonies first. Mom later." 

 "Do you still see Freddie?" Enzo questions, fixing his tie in the mirror and running a hand over his carefully places hair. 

"Not as often," I reply, smoothing my outfit of sorrow. "Hardly, actually. Why do you ask?" 

"It just feels like nothing gets better." He glances down at me with shining pride. "But you're living proof that there is a light at the end of the tunnel."

We walk into the living room together. Dad sits on the couch, gazing at the spot where mom used to sit and do my hair in delicate braids. "Dad," I call to attention. Wearily, he looks up at me in response. "It's time to go." 

He nods and saunters to the kitchen, where he doesn't even walk in a straight line. He makes it to the key-holder, where Mom's keys will forever sit idle. Suddenly, he falls to the ground, cursing his own two feet. Enzo rushes over, but I stop him. "I got it," I promise.
"Go to the ceremony. I'll meet you there."

"Are you sure?" he double-checks, stroking my shoulder with his hand.

"Yeah," I shrug.

Unsurely, he glances over at Dad, his jawline sharp. The more time we spend together, the more I notice him physically; his sharp and chiselled features, the feel of his solid physique, the way his muscles work beneath the shirts he wears, the unnoticed, tiny details of a freckle here or a small scar there. He's beyond beautiful. As for Enzo himself, his personality is just as charming. He understands what it's like to lose people and to do things you wish you could take back. I never find myself having to catch him up on my train of thought because, in that aspect, we're similar, and that's something I greatly appreciate in our relationship.

We don't exactly call ourselves "boyfriend and girlfriend." We were boyfriend and girlfriend before he rescued me from the storage closet. After that...after we've been putting ourselves back together, it's clear that we're a lot more than a cheap title as such. 

 Enzo leaves for Frederick's ceremony and I tend to my father. I bend over and help him up. As we stand, I inhale the strong scent of alcohol. It's easily recognizable, as that scent followed me around about a week after the SH lockdown. "Dad, really?" I inquire, disgusted. "We're going to Mom's funeral later. Can you at least act sober and show some respect?"

"'S wh'ever," he grumbles, speech slurred. 

I take the keys from my intoxicated father. "I'll drive," I grumble, broken apart on the inside that Mom didn't mean enough for him to not drink for one, single day. I guide my dad back to the car and glance at my own, which sits in the driveway. That very car had a crowbar in the trunk that killed the boy whose ceremony I'm going to this instant. "You didn't know Freddie and you didn't really know Della. You can stay in the car for the ceremonies," I gripe. "Dad?" I ask when he doesn't respond, too preoccupied to look over as I back out. I put the car in drive and begin cruising. "Dad did you hear -?"
 Of course, he didn't hear me – he's passed out drunk.

Most days go like this, now. But tomorrow, things are going to be different. I'm going to be back in school and surrounded by people. It'll be a kick start to my normal life. Not being around Enzo for the majority of the day will feel offsetting, but I've been through worse things than acute separation anxiety.
 "Far worse," I assure myself, pushing away the dangerous memories that threaten to haunt me.