Chapter 8

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There are a few moments when you wake up and everything is new- you have no recollection of the previous days and you have no worries and no thoughts. But, as you blink and sigh and rub your eyes reality sets in and you remember. I woke up and for a few seconds, everything was fine. Then I remembered.

I went to the bathroom, feeling overwhelmingly nauseous. Nova was dead. A train had hit Nova. Nova’s body had lain strewn across the tracks. I dry heaved and then went downstairs.

My sister sat at the kitchen table, wearing a neat button down and typing on her laptop.

“Sarah, why aren’t you at college?” The words came out as mangled syllables and I cleared my throat.

“Mom and Dad wanted me to look after you. They were worried. Besides, I’m on break.”

“What day is it?” I was utterly confused and a complete mess, mentally and physically.

“Thursday. You slept for 3 days.”

I rubbed my eyes and sat down.

“Mom and Dad want you to go to school tomorrow. You’ve already skipped 4 days this week.”

I sighed. “Okay.”

“Also, Logan” she said carefully, “the funeral’s this coming Tuesday.”

“Okay.” I went back up to my room and lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.

It didn’t make sense. Nova wasn’t the type of girl to kill herself- she was mysterious, yes, but she wasn’t suicidal. It couldn’t be an accident though- Nova wasn’t drunk the night of homecoming and even if she was, she would’ve heard the train and would’ve had the sense to get off the tracks. What was she even doing walking on the tracks alone at 4 am?

I couldn’t stop thinking about it and as much as I tried to, I couldn’t force the image of a small, pale girl lying on the tracks in a heap as blood coated her hair and her grey eyes stared absently up into the dark sky.

I was overtaken by sadness and cried for the first time since hearing the news- deep, heaving sobs that racked my whole body and left me feeling even emptier than before. I fell asleep again after my pillow was soaked and my mind exhausted; I couldn’t think and yet I couldn’t stop thinking.

What if I was the last person that saw her alive? The last person that got to hear her voice, the last person that crossed her mind?

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