The Lonely Hearts Club

Chapter 22: Graveyard Endeavours (Hades)

Graveyards are peaceful at night.

The air shifts after dusk and things become surreal.

It's cold tonight, but the moon shines bright on all the unvisited graves.

It's fucking depressing seeing tombstones overgrown with weeds and vacant of flowers, it means no one visits them anymore.

That's gonna be me.

That's gonna be you.

That's gonna be everyone.

One day we're all gonna die and then we're all gonna be forgotten, it's inevitable.

It's the circle of life.

If I was to die right now, would I be happy with everything I've done in my life?

Nah.

"I know I was a complete asshole," I tell my mom. "I shouldn't have left her."

Obviously, my mom doesn't answer me.

But I find comfort in talking with her.

Sometimes at night, I can kid myself that the shadows are of her silhouette and she's listening to me.

"But things got too much," I continue. "Her parents killed Dr. Mitch, man."

Dr. Mitch saved my life.

It felt like I was being shot when she said that her parents killed a therapist in a car crash.

To make matters worse, Lana won't get off my ass about her either, it's getting annoying.

I was planning on getting her and Coco to visit Bree, but I decided against it.

To be honest, I don't know why.

"I don't know what to do," I yell, running my hands through my hair. "FUCK!"

If there was a wall nearby, I'd punch my hand through it.

"What do I do Mom?" I stare at her grave, at the spidery letters and the bright pink carnations I've put there.

Somewhere an owl hoots.

I wonder if my mom would have liked Bree, she—NO.

I wish my mom was here more than anything else in this world.

I wish I'd done more.

See, sometimes death is natural, sometimes it's an accident.

Sometimes it's murder.

My mom was murdered and that's what haunts me.

I could have prevented it, I could have helped her, I could have done something.

Literally anything and she'd still be here.

"I'm so sorry, Mom."

I stand up and leave, it's always my departing message to her.

Leaving the cemetery is always harder than entering it.

When you leave, you feel guilty because you're alive and everyone around you is dead.

You get to go home, and none of them get to.

I sniff and wipe my eyes roughly.

No crying—I don't do that shit.

I squint when I get near my car, there's a silhouette leaning against it.

I'm not in the mood tonight to be dealing with any shit from anyone.