After Greg

Before Owen

After Greg was the end of the world, my world. I can't believe the two year anniversary is in three days, I still feel like it was yesterday. He is still gone, my best friend, my brother, crumbled to pieces right before my eyes and I never thought of putting him back together. As I wake up all I can think about is Greg. I need to drown these thoughts with smoke and vodka.

Its all my fault.

Why didn't I notice?

Why did Greg leave me here, alone?

"Kassie get down here now", my mother shouts from the kitchen," You are going to be late".

I need a drink.

Once I get up, I put on a pair of worn out jeans and one of his old t-shirts. I don't really give a fuck about what I look like anymore, but I know my mom will try to convince me to change when I get downstairs. I wish things were different between us, how they were before he died, but they aren't and I feel as lonely as ever. He was the glue, the person that held us all together, the one who gave me a purpose to living.

"Coming mom", I say as I rush downstairs quickly putting on my shoes and then grabbing some toast my mom made me, "I have to get going, see you later".

I run to the bus stop and quickly step on to the musty bus, filled with the most obnoxious people I have ever encountered. I quickly smile at the bus driver and pick a seat in the front so I can avoid all the prepubesent boys in the back of the bus. I plug in my headphones and fall into another deep sleep for the next 40 minutes before the bus arrives at school. I step off the bus and retreat the the bathroom and quickly run into a stall.

The faint aftertaste of vomit is stuck in the back my throat as I step out of the bathroom and head to class. I don't think I can do this today. The thought subsides in my head as it does every other day since Greg left me.

I sit by myself in class, at lunch, and in the library. No one talks to me, they have stopped trying. Being alone comforts me but at the same time gives me to much time to think. That isn't good for me, I know it, but who would understand? Not even my mother can connect with me. I am lonely but I know I would never be able to really open up to somebody. It really is a terrible feeling, the only thing that really washes this type of sorrow away is drinking and clouding those dry thoughts with the smoke of a cigarette.

Greg wouldn't approve, he would absolutley hate me if he saw me today.

My brother was the closest thing I ever had to a friend. We were twins, how could we not have been close? I used to cry when weren't together when I was younger, little did I know I would be doing a lot of that now too. But Greg and I were closer than brother and sister, my mom would say that we were the same soul in different bodies, I have never agreed more. But I bottle up my feelings and Greg didn't, thats what ultimately got the best of him in the end.

As I get off the bus after school, I don't walk home but walk to the park to read. I pull out a flask out of my bad and sit on an old bench at then end of the old trail. This is where Greg and I would go when we wanted to talk or to escape life for a bit. Now I come here to think and read in peace. It is a quiet place where the only noises are birds chirping and the quiet rustling of the tree branches. I stayed there for about an hour then head back home before mom starts to get worried. She's not home again, probably at the bar. Not surprised as it is the anniversary of his death in three days. I know my mom hurts too, she has had a fucked up life, but she tries to act like it never happened and tries not to think of it while I do the complete opposite.

I don't eat dinner, knowing it won't stay down and take a shower just wanting to feel the hot burn of the water against my body and slowly close my eyes to think of a better time before all of these problems demolished my once perfect family.

I should have been there for him.

I hear a loud crash come from down stairs, knowing it is probably my mom back from the bar. I pull some clothes on and go downstairs to get my mom to bed. As expected she is laying on the floor of the kitchen and probably passed out. My mom is draped over my shoulder so I can put her in her bed. She starts saying something that I couldn't understand. I soon make out the gibberish:

"Your dad called me".

What the fuck.