Ryan's POV
Holy fucking God.
Phoenix. He's dead.
I feel a lump in my throat. But I haven't cried in years.
I swallow and try to push the memories of him out of my mind.
But they crawl back to me, like a dog after he catches the ball you threw to get rid of him.
Phoenix.
The memories pour back into my head.
Swinging together on the playground in first grade.
Getting sent to the principal's office together in third grade after breaking a window.
The school field trip to the art museum in sixth grade. Where we slid down the stair railings and were yelled at by the chaperones.
Through it all, he was such a happy kid. Until middle school.
Now came the harder, more painful memories.
Calling him gay in seventh grade.
Ostracizing him, just because he acted differently.
Ignoring him in eighth grade.
Hearing about Phoenix cutting, and not doing anything to help.
Why? Why didn't I help him? I should've brought him to therapy or something.
But I didn't.
And the regret nearly kills me.
