❝ 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 THIRTEEN - "GIRL IN THE BLUE SWEATER"
OCTOBER 4TH, THURSDAY
"CALL ME IF anything feels wrong, or if you want to leave halfway-" Elliot started as we walked away from his parked Mercedes, one of his hands stuck in the pocket of his black, sleek bomber jacket. I pulled on the white strings of the red hoodie, wrapping them around my fingers and watched as they unravelled themselves and fell from my fingertips.
"Eli, it's just a group therapy session, I'm sure I can handle it," I interrupted, mustering up a smile just long enough for Elliot to turn away. He sighed, pausing in front of the school's entrance resting a hand on my shoulder.
He pulled me into a quick embrace before releasing from the tight grip. "I'll wait for you by the usual place after school."
I nodded, fumbling with the silver tag by my neck as we walked into school, and before he turned away and started walking in the opposite direction towards his classroom, he ruffled my hair. "Bye, love you."
"Love you too," I murmured, watching as his figure walked towards the opposite direction, his back getting smaller and smaller as he walked further away.
Walking along the direction of my class mindlessly, my fingers trailing against the wall opposite of the lockers, the particular, familiar hallway that I had previously desperately avoided came into view.
As I wondered how I even arrived at the hallway, as if on instinct, my legs brought me closer and closer towards the locker that I used to wait by, standing and shifting my weight from one leg to another as I waited patiently for him.
And he'd shake his head at me, saying that I should stop waiting for him and just get to my classes, but I never listened to him.
I don't know if he realised it, but whenever he huffed at me in disapproval and rolled his eyes, the corners of his lips would always be raised into a smile.
And that was the reason why I always refused to listen to him.
Without him, the locker that stood in front of me seemed bare and naked, an empty well that desperately needed its fill of water. Even with the scatter of stickers plastered onto the cold surface, and pieces of notes with endearing phrases onto them, the locker was incredibly bare.
And the flowers.
I couldn't look a second more.
Our lunch table was quiet.
I tugged harder on the red hood of my hoodie, pulling it down and over my head and over the brown curls. I bit down on my bottom lip, letting the white drawstring that I had previously been chewing on fall.
