Where Will I find you?

Chapter 1

When you decided to leave, I was torn apart, forgotten, never to be seen ever again. The worst part was, you wanted me to go with you. But it's not for you to decide. I'm supposed to forge my own path, even after you have left me. And I intend to. Because you made me want to.

The rain pounds the cold, hard ground. I'm shielded from it, but it doesn't help the pain. Why, I repeat. Why, why would anyone ever do this to themselves. It's not fair, that they felt a certain way, and I had to watch them slowly break into sharp, unforgiving fragments of glass. "Rylie, I'm so sorry for what you've been through." "I wish for the best in your future." The endless flow of kind words make my head spin and ears ache. I don't need your pity. What's the point of words that don't really have any feeling?

The grave is too dark, too grim. It makes me uncomfortable. The rain changes it to an even darker shade of grey. It shouldn't be this way. I can't stand it. The words on it don't even mention who I was. "Tom Marksom, Beloved Son, November 3, 1996 - March 17, 2014" I mutter under my breath, and as 2014 leaves my mouth, the tears began. "He was mine," I whisper. "He had so little to share, so he gave it to me," start to take big, gulping breaths, and I cover my eyes, and think, "This is rain. It is rain, and I am not crying, and this isn't happening. He's not really gone. There's no way. He was cheerful, and he was mine. I.." I couldn't finish the last sentence, I was so lost in my tears.

Chapter 1

Tom Marksom suffered from chronic depression. He fought so hard, but it overtook him. His body, his mind, it was everywhere. I like to think that he didn't really want to end his own life. But he did, right in front of me. The last thing I heard him say was, "I'm so sorry." He went into the bathroom, and never came out. I was so afraid to see what was going on, I ran to the telephone and then heard a terrifying gunshot ring in my ears. "No," I had said under my breath, and I, like a blind fool, ran up to the door, and after five minutes of banging on the door, I managed to kick it open. The image flashes in my mind from time to time. the blood, hair, him. Tom, dead on the floor, his hand still clutching the probably stolen gun.

The police were on the verge of throwing up. I could tell, even though I was on a stretcher, suffering from shock. The neighbors heard the gunshot and called the police. The world was a total blur, the sobbing, the yelling, the commotion around me, medical personnel attempting to calm down my heartbeat, but I was in shock, and they couldn't get me out of it. The one thought on my mind was "Tom. What's happening to Tom?! Where is he?! The blood. Is he dead?" I was plunging deeper into shock, and had to be transported to the hospital.

I woke up alone. No nurses, no family members, none. Just me, my mind holding on to whatever it could, and I was trying to put myself together again. What is going on? Where is everyone? These few stray thoughts made me begin to hyperventilate. "The beeper, the beeper," I thought. My shaking hands barely managed to push the desolate red button, and a nurse ran into me having what looked like a seizure, and my shaky breaths. "Miss Briggins!!" She changes the fluid of the tube dripping into my arm. I sank into my pillows, peaceful again. "I'm going to call your parents, all right?" I recall her saying, and I thought, "My parents don't know about this?"

Mom and Papa ran into my hospital room about a half hour later, and they started asking me many questions. The questions I never wanted to answer. But I told them. That Tom is dead and gone. I saw everything. My parents were incredulous, they said, "No, he can't be dead. He was so happy." That made the tears flow down my cheeks. I said through the sobs, " Why else would I be here?"

I knew that school would be worse. And it was. Once the news spread, here and there I would come across another apologizer. What do they have to apologize for? I should've expected it, but I expected to be ignored. Left alone. To wallow in pity, to be in sweet solitude. Alone. My parents started to dote on me. Buy me clothes and bags, pointless things they thought would get me through it. But the only thing that would bounce me back is if he was back, and he's never coming back. "So," I had thought. "Will the day come that I move on?"