Pulse

2: November 23

Oliver's funeral was today.

Not much I can say about it. It happened. It went. Whatever.

I thought I'd cry like a fuckin' baby again, but nothing could come out. It's like this weird thing that's been happening lately? Like, I'm there but I'm not. Like I'm watching the funeral from a stranger's body. Watching myself stare at my brother's frozen body.

But when I gave my speech (one that Dad paid some famous Roseorn poet to write for me), I couldn't hear my own voice. My armpits felt like sweaty cactus as the paper in my hands trembled. Eyes and cameras and boom mics. Mom and Dad and Teddy and thousands of unfamiliar faces. I'm sure more people were peering into my soul through their television screen at home.

I held my fingers to my wrist.

97.

My pulse has never been that high before.

I don't even remember what the hell I said. Something that wasn't from the heart, that's for sure. Doesn't matter anyway. Olly already knows how I feel. I don't have to prove it to a crowd of camera crews and strangers.

Why were we in a church anyway? Olly never cared about sermons and Bible studies and hymns. Usually I wouldn't mind all the spiritual jargon and fancy operatic singing 'cause they'd be set aside as background noise in my own brain, but I couldn't stand to hear a peep outta anyone today. Every empty word felt like pecking at my ears. I wanted to stand up and scream at everyone, but that'd be "unpresentable."

If Dad knew anything about Olly, he wouldn't have made this funeral such a big deal in the first place. Olly would've wanted a small family gathering, but what do I know, right? I'm here to be seen, not to be heard. That's what Dad says.

The funeral felt like a commercial shoot. Dozens of producers and politicians and reporters flooded out the church, eager to "get a word from Mr. Gotō about his next steps as mayor now that his family has been shaken."

Butt the fuck out, please.

I'd say a grieving family doesn't want to be the center of attention, but we're not a grieving family. Just a grieving me.

I didn't want to talk to anyone. I just wanted to be left alone at the corner of the pew in peace, but I couldn't disappoint Dad. He'd never forgive me if I did.

Toni gets the straight A's. Toni gets the popular friends. Toni gets the fastest records in the 200 meter dash.

I'm my father's vessel.

My father's perfect son.

There's no room for social slip-ups.

That's what happened to Oliver, that's what happened to Teddy. If I want any chance of protecting them, I can't let that happen to me.

So I smiled for the cameras today.

Smiled until I felt like crying.

Smiled until I convinced myself that everything was okay.

I've never felt this empty before. I wonder if this is how Olly felt when he...

I can't write that. Feels too wrong.