The Bartender | L.H

Drink 47

I kept my head down, fingers trailing up and down the stem of the rose; held delicately in my hand. My body slowly trudged forwards as I placed the flower on top of the casket, hands shaking. I couldn't find the strength to let go of the rose, my hand just remaining on top of the cold wood. Luke's warm hand was placed on top of mine, slowly separating my fingers as the flower dropped down to where it should be. 

My eyes never left the closed casket, and Luke had to guide me away and back to my seat, my head dropping back to the ground once more. I couldn't cry, I simply couldn't. It was built up inside me, growing larger and larger. I would break down soon enough, but for now I was dried out. No emotion as held. Just my stiff body and slow movements. 

The chairs were so uncomfortable. My body ached, but perhaps that wasn't entirely the chairs fault. The smell of the flowers made me nauseous; I never liked flowers as the smell reminded me of a funeral, and this only held my point to be even stronger.

I could hear his mother crying; weeping. She held a tissue to her face as a relative patted her back. I didn't have to move my eyes from the floor to hear Lauren and Harry sobbing, now having approached the closed casket. 

It had to be closed, the damage was too much to face.

My mind couldn't help but thing, who would care for the family? With no father in the picture, and now no brother was a father figure, what would Lauren and Harry grow up to be? Without Ashton there to mold them, help them grow, what would their lives end up in? Drugs? Alcohol abuse? Dropping out of school? Suicide? The last thought made me shudder; they simply could not follow in their brothers footsteps. Please god, don't let them end up this way.

I couldn't help but feel guilty. Was it my fault? Did he take his life because of me?

If he had never met me..If I had never moved in, would he still be here? Luke denied it, saying it was far from my fault, but his eyes always looked to the side when he spoke. I knew he was lying. I knew that if I had never barged into their lives, Ashton would still be here. The band would be together, touring happily. 

Ashton would never experience a wedding. He would never grow old with someone he loved, nor would he have kids. He couldn't teach his son to play drums, or walk his daughter down the aisle. He was unable to live a a happy life and be remembered for his great accomplishments, but now instead he'd be remembered as a teen tragedy. Another rock-star lost to suicide. 

They found him in the bathroom. 

He had tried taking pills, but with his body examination, it showed the effect wasn't strong enough to kill him. He knew that too. That's why he scared his skin and blew out his head, simply leaving a note behind written in messy cursive, splattered with blood.

The police had the letter; none of us have read it, besides his mother. She read it this morning. God, that must have made this even harder. My mind was curious as to what it said.

I should have done something. I knew he was unhappy, we all knew it. But we were the reason. I was the reason. I am the reason. 

I broke them all apart, and I drove one to death. What does that make me? A murder? I surely felt the guilt of one. 

I missed him. More than anything. My mind kept repeating our early memories over and over like a movie stuck on one scene. 

"Ashton?" I questioned once I had seen who it was, shutting my door as I walked over to him.

"My girlfriend broke up with me, and the boys are all busy. I'm sorry, I came here. You're the only other person I have" He mumbled out sadly. I frowned and sat on the edge of the couch, rubbing my hand against his back. He sat up slightly and rested his head in my lap, hugging my waist slightly. I felt a bit odd about the position considering I have no pants on, but I was still covered considering my long t-shirt.