Loser II || WlW

Forty-Two

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.