The Deceased

Chapter Thirteen- Filthy Liars

If i could use only one word to describe myself, it would be unmotivated.

I constantly have to stop and remind myself why i should even care, and the answer is always the same: I want a good life. I want a good future. I used to have my career all planned out, but i find the picture i had of the rest of my life is getting further and further away.

The notes in my phone are full of speeches i have written for myself. I recite them while i'm in the showers, after I've come home from visiting mum, and in times like this, when i'm stuck at home with a grieving friend that i could hear sobbing all night from down the hall.

Along with words of wisdom, i list down everything that i need to do, in hope that one day i will actually have enough motivation to do them. My life plan used to seem easy. Become a musician, work my way up and eventually end up being a violinist in a well-known Orchestra. What happened last night seemed to open my eyes to the fact that i need to try harder.

In the kitchen, while i'm in the process of making Jane one of my specials: blackberry jam with whipped cream on toast, and her favourite hazelnut cappuccino, i have to stop for a minute and remind myself of my speech. I should have known that it wouldn't help so much anymore, since Jean and i came up with it together. I give a sigh of frustration, because now i have nothing, and i know why.

It's because Jean will never be able to work on his career or have his own goals. Its something i just cant stop thinking about, and i have to face that for once in my life, someone i once liked and cared about is gone.

No, not gone. Taken. As much as i despised him and his attention seeking most of the time, i have to admit that i miss his cheeky comebacks and randoms inappropriate conversation starters. It wouldn't be fair to Jean if he was not avenged. His life was worth something, now i just have to figure out what.

"Here," i pass Jane the hot mug, the one covered in kittens making funny faces i know she likes. Next i put the plate of whipped cream-covered toast in front of her. I know how it must look, the cream melting into a white spread across the plate. I haven't been shopping, so this is the best comfort food i have except Turkish Delight, and she made it pretty clear how she felt about that. Jane looks up, still managing to look disgusted through her smudgy eyes and smeared lipstick.

"It's good once you try it," i assure her with a smile.

Reluctantly, she picks up a piece of toast. The cream seeps slowly through her fingers and, before she even has a bite, she drops it back onto her plate. Jane stayed over last night, mostly because after we left the forest she was shaking so much that i don't know how she could walk. I couldn't leave her alone after what she just saw, so i called her dad and told him she was staying over. She slept in my bed while i took the couch. I think it was something we needed, to be away from eachother for the night. Jane needed to take in everything that happened, and i needed to sleep and forget about it.

Sleep came late to me, but i awoke easily early this morning to prepare Jane breakfast. With only mascara to put on and to get dressed, i was ready to leave in ten minutes. Jane on the other hand, is dismissing her duties as gossip girl and remains in her tight clothes from yesterday, the top of her bra hanging out, her clothes and hair still damp from the rain, eyes red with grief.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, putting the plate on the table, "it just looks gross."

I give a shrug, pretending the fact Jane doesn't like my favourite thing to put on toast beside lemon spread doesn't bother me. I take a bite. "More for me."

She doesn't answer, but sips her hot drink slowly. "I used to love this," she tells me, wiping her fake nails across her eyes, sniffing. "Now it just tastes like cardboard. I don't know whats wrong with me."