apprehension / hemmings

(1) feathers

It's been four months.

I went to go see Lydia again, and she told me it was my 19th visit. She's sweet, of course, but I honestly don't find the comfort I should in speaking to her. It's just the sound. Even though you had been shot, and I was bawling, all I could hear was silence. Silence as I fell over. Silence as I was hit. Silence when I woke up. I thought I was dead.

I wish that was the case. You're the reason that I want to be dead, Eva. I told Lydia.

She nodded her head, and questioned me, "How do you feel about that?"

I could tell that she wasn't listening. I ignored her. My mind was coloured by the last words that tried to leave your lips before your death.

"Save me."

And now, it's all I hear. Four months ago, it was silence. Now, it's your voice. The way it cracked. You knew that you didn't have a chance. And, hey, I guess that I knew, too.

The car ride with my mum was silent. It always is. She tries to talk to me, sometimes. But, I suppose that to everyone I know, before the incident I was Luke. Now, I'm just that boy who watched his girlfriend die.

Oh, and guess what? I still remember the trials. When they thought it was me that killed you, ha. I thought that I didn't have a chance. I asked the judge repeatedly, if he really believed that I was a killer, and why? But, he never had an answer for me.

"I want to drop Lydia," I turned my head to look out of the window.

It was blank. The sky bled rain. The air reeked of cigarettes and a fume similar to urine. London was awful.

"Why would you want to do that?" Mum glanced over at me.

"She doesn't care," softly, I sighed. "No one does."

"I think she's great."

"That's what you thought about Allen. And Mary. And Alice."

"But, our insurance only covers five. Allen, Mary, Alice, Lydia, and Edward."

"I don't care. I don't even want it."

"You need it."

"I don't!" I snapped. It was the first time in a while I had spoken to my mum like that, at least a few weeks.

"Let's just try Edward for you, okay, lovie?" Mum's lip quivered. I agreed to her words, gave an apology, and she turned on the radio.

-

When I got home, I ate, and went straight to my room. Your letter to me was still on my bedside table.

I haven't touched it. I knew that the reason we went out that night was so that you could leave me. I could tell. How loosely you held my hand. How small your smile was. The way that you were looking at other guys. It was clear that I was no longer what you desired.

I don't care anymore. I didn't want you anymore, either. I just wanted to stop your death.

"Luke," Mum's voice called out for me softly. Slowly standing up off of my bed, I rubbed my eyes and took steps down the stairs.

"Brandon is downstairs."

--

updated on 12/12/15
- n o v a