BRUISES

| Four |

Not only was it hard for me to find out that an old friend of mine died but packing a bag and booking the next flight to New York was worst. What else irritated me was the nonsense photos people were posting from my old high school about her.

Or sharing the suicide hotline.

I had to log out of all my social media platforms before I angrily comment below all the posts that they haven't spoken a word to Rubies since graduation. They don't deserve this attention and how a dead girl can make them vulnerable in a state like this. I can guarantee this, they haven't shed a tear while choosing old or random photos off Rubies profile of her graduation photo or a photo of her in front of the Grand Canyon in Arizona. It's attention and I hate attention.

I hate it the most now.

Clarry told me that they viewed her autopsy but haven't publicly shared the cause of death. In the end, I don't even think I want to know. She's dead anyways, so why does it matter.

I contacted Francine the night before I booked the flight and noticed her about delaying my upcoming meet and greets. Although she sounded fussy about it (occasionally when money is involved) she sent my condolences and safe travels.

"When will you be back?" She asked me right when I was going to hang up.

I sighed, "I don't know. Going back to my hometown might take longer than expected."

"Any work on the new book?" It fumed me for some odd reason that Rubies is dead and she's asking me about the new book that I haven't thoughtfully tried to write. It's as though she knew because in that moment, I was sitting at my desk—the document opened and blank.

"Yes, I got a few pages in." I lied, hoping to spark some great ideas for Francine to create for the public. I clear out of the document and close my laptop. I spun in my chair while Francine babbled on about having to cancel some upcoming events.

I didn't listen because I was too focused on what to wear the day of the wake.

~*~

Clarry came home before me and offered up her home during my stay. I obliged after she guilt tripped me on not having a sleepover in such a long time.

I take an Uber to her house from the airport and she is waiting at the front door when I arrive and in seconds, we pull each other into a warm hug. I settle my bags in her room and silently browse her bookshelf.

It's been a while since we've last seen each other and it's the moment I realize that videoing chatting isn't enough. Clarry walks in and I hold her for a second longer.

We are quiet for the first hour, no one is home yet and it is past dark. As instinct, she makes me a hot cup of tea and I let it steam in my hands. There isn't much to say anyways. Why talk and catch up when we are back in Port Jeff for something so morbid. It doesn't sit right and makes me queasy at most.

After washing up, I lay on the floor in her bedroom that will be my bed for the stay. Layers of foam and blankets until it's as comfortable as it can be. I don't mind as much because it reminds me of the nights we were in high school, pulling all-nighters and talking about boys, books and the latest trends.

Her brother still lives at home and that's the other occupied bedroom.

"Clarry?" I call out in the dark after a long moment of silence. Her breathing isn't heavy, so I know she isn't sleeping. My arm is resting above my head, grazing my hair.