❝ I don't even know why I even think of him so much, but I do, and it hurts.❞
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A boy by the name of Lucas Middleton dies of a terminal illness, and with an assembly in school, his death changes the lives of a peculiar group of people.
A story that...
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NATHAN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - "KIDS"
OCTOBER 29TH, MONDAY
RESTING THE DAMPENED, white towel on top of the familiar bathroom countertop, I hastily wiped the mirror that had been fogged by the hot steam from the shower with the palm of my hand, feeling the cold against my skin as the figure in the mirror became more and more definite.
My eyes lingered at the partially clear surface, still layered with a faint layer of cloudiness.
The shade of green that was staring back at me was the exact shade of my eyes, the lightly dampened brown strands looked exactly like mine, and the tone of tanned skin was identical to mine. But the person himself who was standing in the mirror was unfamiliar and strange, distant and unknown.
I didn't know who the figure in the mirror was, but it wasn't me.
It was like I had awakened a new part of myself - an unusual, difficult part that was as hot to the touch as a blazing flame, and absolutely horrifying to face and moreover accept.
But at the exact same time, it felt as if I've lost a piece of myself. Without Lucas, the gap that was caused by the absence of someone who once made me who I was was already open and vulnerable, but now, it was gaping and desperately begging for some sort of reassurance that I was still sane.
I didn't know who I was anymore, and I hated it.
I could hear my heart pound in my ears, my fingers trembling by the cold surface of the countertop. Standing underneath the hot shower for an hour and just watching the droplets of water run down my body wasn't enough for me to decipher the whirlpool of emotions and calm my nerves.
I shook my head and tried to block out everything, treasuring and locking away the little bit of myself that I was still certain of.
With my hair still wet, I promptly got dressed and found myself at the kitchen counter, sitting on one of the stools as I picked at the plate of warm and homemade chicken casserole.
"It's usually your favourite," Elliot said, causing my head to turn and face him. He sat next to me, his own plate clean, all that was left was scraps and bits of the same meal that was on my plate, except that mine was still untouched. "Not hungry?"
I shook my head, pushing the plate away from me gently.
He frowned, the worry in his eyes apparent and clear as he leaned closer towards me, running his fingers through his brown hair. I fidgeted with the piece of tissue paper, crumbling it into a ball and unravelling it again as his gaze burned into me, probably afraid of re-enacting of what happened.
