isn't it lovely... - chase atlantic

one -

rewritten 1/22/23

i screamed with all the might and all the air i had in my lungs. i had just found my best friend lying on the floor, tears falling from the corner of his eyes. no breathe in his body, holding his lifeless hand. i could feel tears falling terribly from my cheeks onto his cold hands. holding him in my arms, praying, crying. i had found him lying on the floor, lifeless with a bottle of whiskey and prescription meds beside him.

i stood in my brothers door way, the moment reliving in my head on repeat, like a broken record. the moment i found my best friend gone. my older brother, colby, was my best friend. before he died, i didn't think i would survive life without him - hell, i'm certainly not at the moment. it's been a couple months since colby's death and now my parents want to move up to uptown california - mainly for a 'fresh start'.

i don't want to move. mainly because this is the only place i have called home. this is only place that colby and i have grown up together - where i watched my best friend grow.

i drag myself outside, where my parents are awaiting my arrival in the car.

i squeezed myself between the luggage and the backseat passenger door,  i sighed as my father drove out of the driveway. the very low music coming from the speakers of the radio wasn't strong enough to break the very strong silence in the car.

the silence was beginning to break me. before colby died, everyone would be jolly and happy - there would be laughter every possible minute. colby was basically the glue to this family, when he died, my mother, father and i fell apart. we still are together as a family, but we aren't as close and it hurts.

the quietness of the car ride made me think too much about colby and what would have happened that night if he didn't overdose and drink too much. to be fair, he did such a selfish thing. he did. he knew that if he did that - if he killed himself, i would hurt. i would hurt myself in so many ways. he knew that, and i still lost him. i still lost him.

hours later to the day, we arrive to this house - which looks nice. it a small house, which would make sense. there's several moving trucks by the house, with moving men bringing the furniture inside.

both of my parents got out of the car after my father parked in the concrete driveway. they didn't say anything when they left, just the slamming of the doors within the piercing, ranging, gaudy silence.

i sighed as i placed my head on the window, scratching the black nail polish off my pale, scrawny fingernails.

the pounding of a fist against the glass window made me shirk and jump in fear. my mother had open the passenger back seat door and had asked me to help unpack. all though, i wanted to do anything but unpack - i forced myself to get out the car and carry a cardboard box to what seems like my room.

i take a deep breathe and shut the door as i lean my back against the wooden white painted door and cry. tears fall from my soft and fragile skin as i deeply breathe

i can already tell living the rest of my life is going to be complete hell without colby.