Chapter 1
We’re all seated in the living room, and not a word is being said. I can only stare blankly at my mother, whose eyes are red and swollen. Tears are still discreetly running down her pale face. My father looks like he is going to be sick. He hasn’t said a word in a whole week. Tommy has just fallen asleep, out of sheer exhaustion. He has cried for hours on end. Victoria has her face in her hands, and her body convulses every few seconds, because her sobs are so violent. And me, well, I’m just the same as them. My eyes are stinging, and my whole body feels numb.
If only you could see how much pain all of this causes us.
My mother has never liked wearing black. Yet, I haven’t seen any colour on her since you committed suicide.
I hope you don’t mind me calling her “my” mother now, since you totally abandoned her.
I can’t quite decipher the anger from the pain.
Your boyfriend was at the funeral. You loved him because he was fun, and you kept fantasising about his smile. Well let me tell you, you wouldn’t have recognised him.
It’s like he’s slowly dying as well.
Your two best friends, Sophie and Ben, they were here too. God I’ve never seen them so white.
My three grandparents (you abandoned them as well) were also sitting down in a corner. Grandma Lily has never cried that much, not even when her husband died.
That’s how sudden your death was.
Who else was there…? Oh! Some of your teachers, some of your classmates too… Cousins, uncles…
I can’t stand it anymore. The atmosphere is terrible. I stand up, take Tommy in my arms, and walk up the stairs to his bedroom, blatantly ignoring the open door of yours.
I lay him down in his bed, change him into his pyjamas. He’s always been a light sleeper, you know it better than anyone else. Well, he’s so tired he didn’t even wake up once.
When that was done, I went into my room.
I’m sorry, I had to get rid of a few things you’d given me. I took your poems and drawings, your pens and CDs, all the stuff I didn’t give you back on time; I took your phone charger and your books, your pictures and your clothes… I took everything that you’d left in my room, anything that could remind me of your existence, and I put it away in a box.
The box is now under my bed, until I find the strength to either open it or burn it.
But even with that done, I still think of you every time I lay eyes on simple objects. My cigarettes, my curtains, my desk… Memories of you and me are everywhere.
It’s torture, Emma.
And now I’m mad at you, but I can’t even get that anger out on you. I can’t even talk things out, or insult you, yell at you and maybe ignore you for a few days. I can’t ask you why you did this. I can’t ask for a simple explanation.
Because you’re dead.
Writing it on paper makes it even worse. It makes it more official you know. It’s like before I actually did, my abstract thoughts could just avoid the subject, let it flow and fly in my mind without really paying attention to it.
But now that I’ve written it down, it strikes me, hits me, beats me up.
You’re never coming back.
I forever lost my little sister.
I can’t hold the tears back. At least now I’m not in front of mom and dad anymore. It’s so hard on them… Victoria being the eldest of us f̶o̶u̶r̶ three, she tries to set the example. She tries to hold her tears back as much as possible. But I can hear her, Emma. Every single time she thinks she’s alone, her sobs are louder than anything I’ve ever heard.
She already broke two glasses and three plates since your death.
She was trying to pretend like we were a normal family. She was setting the table for dinner. But when that plate fell out of her hands, onto the white tiles of the kitchen, she realised it wouldn’t be possible.
But she continued to try anyway. She took another plate out, and placed it on the table. And for the glasses, she took six out. When she realized her mistake, it was too late. She lost it. She took the glass that was supposed to be yours and smashed it on the ground.
Mom and dad barely noticed it.
She and I were the only ones to eat that night. And when we cleaned the table, she broke another glass.
She almost stepped into the mess she’d made. She was barefoot, and I wonder if she didn’t do it on purpose. I pushed her aside just in time. She didn’t thank me or anything.
I told her to go to her room, get some rest. I took care of putting all the plates and all in the dishwasher.
The next morning, when she helped me put the dishes back into the cupboards, she made another plate fall.
The last one, she also did it on purpose. She got mad, and just threw it to the ground. Then her foot started bleeding.
Very slightly.
But it was already too much.
Right now, it’s too early to pretend we’re a normal family.
̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶
My phone starts ringing. I hurry to wipe the tears away. I cough a little, to try and warm my voice up a little bit. Then, without even thinking to look at the name on the screen, I take the call.
- Peter?
It’s Louise. She couldn’t make it to your funeral. But God knows how much she loved you.
- How are you feeling? she asks.
I take too long to answer.
- I’m sorry, that was a stupid question.
Her voice is so soft, so quiet.
- I, um, I was wondering if you wanted us to spend some time together, she declares.
I nod. I’m too scared that if I dare open my mouth, the tears will start again.
- Peter?
Of course, she couldn’t see I’d nodded.
- Yes. Yes, that’d be great, I manage to say.
My voice is so hoarse…
- Alright. I’ll be there in 15 minutes.
She sighs.
- I love you, she says.
Then she hangs up. And thank God she does. Because I don’t know if I would’ve been able to say it back.
What do I have the time to do in a quarter of an hour? Maybe change clothes…
I walk to my wardrobe, take a pair of jeans out. A sweater too. I change into those, and walk down the stairs. I put my shoes on, look at my parents, still in the living room.
I wonder where Victoria is.
But it’s not my problem. She’s 19, she does what the fuck she wants.
I don’t tell mom and dad I’m leaving. They don’t care anyway. I open the front door, slam it behind me and I stand on the sidewalk, waiting for Louise.
When she finally arrives, I can’t even smile at her. I just get in her car.
- How come you’re driving? You don’t have your driver’s licence yet, I say.
No hello. No kiss. No sweet words. No thank you. I can’t.
- I just thought this was an important enough occasion for me to risk a fine.
I don’t answer.
- Where do you want to go? she asks.
I shrug. She understands.
So we just drive for an hour, in complete silence. I can’t even watch her. Instead, I concentrate on the landscape behind the window.
When we finally stop, I know just where we are. I get out of the car, and start walking towards a little wood cabin, just on the edge of a cliff. After the cliff is the sea.
Louise stays a bit behind, and I let the wind whip my face and dry the tears before they even have the time to fall.
Then, slowly, she comes by my side.
- I thought this would be the right place.
That’s the place where I’d taken her to celebrate our one year of relationship. Nothing big. I had to convince Victoria to take us, as I didn’t want mom and dad to get their noses into my private life.
You know, it’s the place I talked about a few times. When I told you that the wind made you feel like you were free, and the height of the cliff made you feel so small, and the never ending sea made you feel like eternity actually was a thing. ̶I̶ ̶w̶i̶s̶h̶ ̶w̶e̶’̶d̶ ̶h̶a̶d̶ ̶a̶ ̶c̶h̶a̶n̶c̶e̶ ̶a̶t̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶w̶i̶t̶h̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶.̶
- I never came back since last time, says Louise. It’s too far away.
She sits down on the grass, pulls on my hand for me to do the same. Then she places her head on my shoulder, like she has done so many times before.
She was crying Emma. Maybe she thought the wind would cover the sound of her irregular breaths, but I felt it. She was crying, for you, for me.
I just wanted to close my arms around her, and tell her everything would turn out well in the end. I wanted to whisper those empty promises, those useless words, those meaningless phrases. But I couldn’t.
Because everything is not going to be alright. Death is not something I can fight against, death is not something you can come back from, death is not something they can cure…
Death is eternal.
Why October? Why did you wait until October to do it? The days are getting colder and shorter, the light is getting sparser and dimmer… The wind is freezing now, by the seaside.
I was so incredibly cold near the wood cabin, it was almost painful. I had just a light sweater on, and Louise had just the jacket you loved so much. It’s her favourite, too. But it’s so thin. She was looking for warmth in my embrace, but I didn’t give it to her.
You’re turning me into someone I’m not.
Your death is changing me.
Once she had enough, she kissed my cheek and went back inside the car. Had it been a few months ago, I would’ve joined her. Maybe made love to her. We were all alone.
But instead, I sat there, looking at the waves, unable to think, unable to speak.
I’m not even sure I quite realise yet that you’re gone. We’ve already been apart for a few weeks in the past - because of summer camp or some insignificant shit like that, and it’s like my mind is stuck on the fact that you’ll come back.
I wonder when the truth will finally hit me in the face.
And I wonder how painful it’ll be.
