Meilani Lin thinks Brennon Huxley is the hottest guy at her school. When Meilani got paired up with Brennon for a project, she knew it was fate. She read too many romance novels to know that they would fall in love. Except when Meilani learns that B...
TW: MENTIONS OF A DEATH OF A LOVED ONE, MENTIONS OF SELF HARM, DRUGS AND OVERDOSE!!!!!!! PLEASE SKIP THIS CHAPTER IF YOU ARE NOT COMFORTABLE.
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Growing up, I hated seeing red marks on my test paper when I got it back. Especially if there's a score lower than 95 written in big red numbers on the front page. I wasn't the only one who hated this, my parents did too. This would always results to disappointment and yelling in the living room with tears and snot staining my face.
But my older sister made up for it, she's the 'encourging older sister' as everybody calls her. I know a lot of people can't tolerate their siblings and always ask me how I could say such positive things about her. I mean, it's not like my sister and I had a perfect sibling relationship either. But she was always there for me when my parents weren't.
My sister was the kind of girl who had a "picture perfect life". She was smart, friendly, and pretty. She was known as the prettiest Asian in our town; long sleek black hair, brown eyes, and a skinny figure. Was I jealous? Of course. Who wouldn't? She had all A's in school, a big social circle, and perfect looks. She could've never been insecure. That's what everybody thought.
Now I stand above her grave.
I set down the bouquet of red roses on the dry and dead grass of late October. My sister loved red roses. She was given a red rose from her first boyfriend on their first date. She kept the flower on her windowsill even after they broke up.
I stare down at her grave, quickly wiping away the forming tears in my eyes.
Today is October 21. Today is the day of her death. It's been seven years since she died. She was in twelfth grade, she could've gone to college, she could've had a happy life. I was in ninth grade when she died, now I'm a junior in college. She's no longer my bigger sister anymore, she hasn't been my big sister for seven years.
I sometimes wonder who decided the epitaphs on her grave. It's stupid. Something about her being a beautiful and encouraging person. It's true, of course, but she wouldn't want such bullshit to be written on the last memory of her.
Tears stream down my face like calm rivers, one drip after the other. I kneel down and stare at her grave.
When I found her laying on her bedroom floor with illegal drugs scattered around her unbreathing body, the first feeling I felt was disappointment. It wasn't grief. It wasn't fear. Nor was it pity.
It was disappointment.
I was disappointed at her for not telling anybody. I was disappointed at my parents for the stress they gave her. But I was mostly disappointed at myself.
I'm disappointed for not noticing anything wrong. I'm disappointed for taking her for granted. And most of all, I'm disappointed that I wasn't the selfless and caring sister she wanted. I could've done better.
I get up and walk away. I walk away without looking back. She wouldn't want me to look back. She wouldn't want me to think about the red marks. The red scars on her arms I saw when I found her in her room on the ground dead. Just like the red marks on my test papers, highlighting the things that people, like me, would've never seen.
