John and I laid on my bed parallel to each other. Tears still seemed to creep out of our eyes, trailing down onto my white duvet. Memories of Stuart flashed before my eyes, and it looked like the same was happening to John. Sutcliffe was a funny, caring, and intelligent guy. He was easy-going and quite mischievous. He was also brilliant when it came to art, that being one of the things that allured me to him. The abstract absurdity of the paintings was enough to make people stand and stare. His art had feelings that you couldn't even describe. The type of emotion that you felt deep down in your stomach that only happens once in a lifetime. I know I sound bonkers, but it's how I responded the first time I saw one. I was drawn to it as if it was this holy grail that had taken me years to find. I still have a painting he made me as thanks for teaching him bass, which he didn't have to do. It hung in the living room above the record player.
John's hand rushed to his face, "He can't be gone."
I agreed. It just didn't feel real. It took things a while to actually hit me, especially death. I knew I was supposed to be sad and grieving, but deep down, I just couldn't believe it. How could someone so close and important to us die? It wasn't plausible.
"What're ya thinkin'?" He turned his head to look at me.
I sighed, "Dunno... I'm just confused, I reckon."
John laughed lightly to himself. About what? I had no clue. He did that a lot when his mom died, trying to keep the humor in everything. It was his way of coping, and I respected it. It was better than seeing him mope around and be depressed all the time, or worse, becoming violent. Many bar fights would prove my point. Also, I would rather not doctor him up as I used to. I've wasted too many bandaids on the bloke.
"Confused is a bloody understatement," He scoffed, "Did she tell you how it happened?"
I shook my head lightly, "She hung up on me."
John's eyes softened a bit. I think he understood. I didn't want to have been the one breaking the bad news. His hand wrapped around my clammy ones, feeding his fingers through mine. The gentle gesture made me feel comfort.
"Unfortunate, tha' is."
I hummed, "Mhm, it is, isn't it?"
My mind trailed back to Stu, trying to picture his grid, but it was faded and distorted. I knew I had a picture of him around the flat somewhere, which was going to be one of my only ways of remembering his face. It was of him with John at the beach playing the sand. This was during their last trip to Hamburg after I had just come up. Astrid let me use her camera to capture a few quick shots of them—The one I have being my favorite.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"I dunno how we are goin' to move on from this one, y'know? I'm startin' to feel like a bad luck charm," I spoke truthfully.
"Don't be daft. If anythin', I am. Yer mum died after you met me, me mum died after I got to know her, yer dad, well... I pulled ye away from him, and lastly, Stu was me best mate," He pointed a thumb at himself, "I'm the bad luck charm, Lizzie."
