Chapter 5

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So many people in my life have died, I've sort of become immune to it. There isn't pain anymore. It's just a thing that happens. That's why I was shocked when I started crying at Dylan's grandmas funeral.

*7 years ago*

This dress is horrid. I look Amish. It's a knee length, loose, high cut, black dress.

"I couldn't have asked for a better person to talk to. To play cards with. To watch movies. To just be with. My Nana was an amazing woman and it's going to be hard without her, but she'll be watching me from above." Dylan finishes.

I roll my eyes at the complete BS he's feeding the crowd. He knows it, too. He gives me a small smile and returns to standing next to me. I give Dyl's hand a squeeze and he leans into me. I feel hot liquid on my face and realize they are tears. I bury my face in his shoulder and he strokes my hand.

It wasn't until a few years later that I realized; that day, I wasn't crying because I was touched or sad for Nana, I mean I was, but I was crying because it hurt me to see Dylan hurt. He's like my brother, and I love him, and when he's hurting, I'm hurting.

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