I shake a pill from the orange prescription bottle and pop it in my mouth, washing it down with the whiskey I swiped from the bar. After my third attempt to get the cap back on the bottle with twitchy fingers, I give up and leave it on the floor of the vehicle.
Something moves in the shadow against the seat next to me and I jump, press my back against the door. My heart is hammering against my chest as I stare at the seat. No one's there. No one's ever there.
The cool morning breeze dries the sweat on my neck and sends a chill up my spine as I fix the sleeve of the all-black button up and start up the hill to the service. Everyone's already here. Everyone from high school, from the town, people I've never seen before forming small circles around the dark brown casket.
Brittany's family is toward the front of the arranged fold-out chairs, but I can't look at them. Not while I know half the town still blames me for their daughter's death. I keep my head down, eyes on the grass under my black converse, focus on putting one foot after another until someone claps me on the back.
Boss. Of course, Boss made the eight-hour drive to be here. Jackson is standing behind him, an uncomfortable smile glued to his face as he half-waves.
I nod at him.
"Hey, kiddo," Boss puts an arm around my shoulder, pulls me into a side hug.
I thank him for being here, say something generic, even though all I can think is not kiddo. Please don't call me kiddo now.
I bite the inside of my cheek, try to fight back against the tears pushing on my eyelids but even if I can stop myself from crying, I still look awful and I know what everyone's thinking. I know they think I'm at fault for this.
My nose is still swollen and bruised where Zachary landed that punch. He hit me so hard, I developed a small bruise under my left eye a few days later. The doctor told me it was normal to get a black eye after a nose injury. And my arm has to remain in a sling for at least another week.
My heart flutters a little at Grace and Donna in the front row. I knew they'd show up but something about being able to sit next to the women who dragged my half-dead body from the lake where I should have died provides a strange sense of comfort.
I fall into the empty seat next to them. Donna passes a thermos to Grace who hands it to me.
I take a long swig without asking what's in it but from the taste, I'd place it as a mixture of liquor and soda.
"You okay?" Grace gives my arm a light squeeze.
Donna scoffs. "God. Don't ask her that."
I provide a quick smile. "Fine, thanks."
They're not together anymore. Something about the trauma being too much on their relationship. Part of me blames Grace for Zachary's arrival at the winter resort. I wouldn't be surprised if Donna does too. The other part, however, knows Zachary would have found me no matter where I was or how long it took. He was determined like that. But maybe, without Grace's help, we could have avoided so many casualties.
Everyone shuffles to their seats as the pastor takes his spot in front of the casket and clears his throat.
The silence is suffocating. I pull at the collar of my shirt, assuming I buttoned too high on accident, but it doesn't help. It feels like everyone is staring at me as the man that nobody knows goes on about life and death.
I shake one more pill into my palm, ignore the worried glance from Grace and throw it to the back of my throat before I lean over her to snatch the thermos from Donna and drown the pill.
"Jordan," she whispers but I wave her off.
She stares at me a moment but eventually lets it go and I breathe a sigh of relief.
I'm still planted in my chair when everyone else has cleared out and someone taps me on the shoulder gently. "Miss?" An elderly man says. "We have to get this area ready for another service."
I nod and push to my feet without a word. Not much time has passed. Most of the funeral-goers are still in the parking lot saying their goodbyes and exchanging phone numbers with people they haven't seen since college.
My head is heavy with the desire to sleep and I wish I could go home and curl up in a ball and never wake up again but I know I have to face this eventually so instead, I walk to the hospital only a few blocks down and give the receptionist my last name.
She eyes me curiously. "You're family?"
I nod.
"We suggest you do not touch the patient until a full psychological evaluation can be completed. She's on the third floor. The elevators are behind me and to the left."
I nod again, hold my breath until I've passed to keep the smell of alcohol from raising any suspicions.
My biggest mistake is letting my eyes wander to the reflective paneling near the floor number that dings slowly as the elevator climbs higher. Letting myself fixate on the boy standing behind me with the broken nose and two black eyes. The injuries I gave him.
I turn, find only empty space, shake my head. I'm digging in my pocket for the prescription bottle when the doors slide open.
My shoes squeak against the tile as I make my way down the dimly lit hallway and stop in the doorway, staring at my mother in the hospital bed.
Her features distort. Her lips are cracked black, her eyes pits of darkness. I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand.
She's the same as I remember from when I was a kid. Frizzy brown hair greased against her head from the lack of showers and dark shadows under her eyes despite a full schedule of sleeping.
She chuckles. The sound is foreign. Deep and raspy. "You waited a full week before you came to see your own mother?"
I let out a long sigh. "Why'd you go along with it? Why didn't you stop him?"
She looks at me. Her eyes are empty, emotion replaced with antipsychotics. "Your brother only wanted the best for you. It's not my fault you were too—"
I walk away before she can finish her sentence, climb into the elevator without looking back. I'm on autopilot running from my mom, running from Zachary, but also running to the room I've called home for the last five days.
I walk in without knocking and climb into the hospital bed next to Brittany, draping my body around hers like a pretzel.
She strokes the loose strands of hair from my face, kisses my forehead. "You've been drinking."
I nod.
She sighs but she's not angry.
Unlike Grace and Donna, going through life-threatening events together seems to bring Brittany and me closer together. She gets me better than I get myself. She can read emotion from my face before I know I'm experiencing it.
"Doctor's finishing some paperwork to release me. I just have to grab some things from my parents'. We can probably make it back to your apartment before dinner. Grab some takeout on the way." She pauses, rests her head against mine. "Unless you'd rather get a hotel for the night."
I shake my head. "Let's go home." And for the first time, I mean it.
Home
A dysfunctional home where I'll change her bandages leftover from the surgery they had to do to retrieve the bullet and fix whatever damage was done to her organs. A home where she'll find me on the bathroom floor in the middle of the night, screaming because I saw Zachary's face in the water in the sink again.
But home, nonetheless.
***
Oof, okay.
Just wanted to give a final thank you to those of you who have made it through this whole story. Thanks so much for sticking around and for all of your lovely comments.
Just a reminder: I will start uploading to "Soulless" on Monday so I hope to see you guys over there as well.
Oh! And thank you all so much for 400 followers. I never expected so many people to enjoy my work. So, thank you so much for the encouragement and support. I adore you all (:
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