Lost in Hollywood

Footprints of the Reaper

They had taken away Luke's body.

His body.

Sky's stomach turned into a tight, cold knot at those words. What was in that black body bag, wasn't Luke anymore, like Kat hadn't been Kat anymore when she'd been lying on the cold, tiled floor in a pool of blood. It was just a lump of meat, an empty shell, where nothing, nothing of Luke remained.

Luke's wide, wild smile was gone. His smart, witty remarks, the way he had flipped his hair behind his shoulder or his ear, his dark sense of humor, his dirty jokes, the warmth of his hand in hers, gone, gone, all gone.

Sky sat on the back porch, her arms wrapped around her body, hugging herself as if she was scared that her insides would fall out if she let go. She kept breathing in the cold air that had dried the tears on her cheeks, counting to four with inhales, six with outhales, but it didn't help, her breathing was shaky, her lungs were filled with salty water and she was drowning.

The night was silent. Everyone had left by now.

Some people had fled the scene already when they had been waiting for the paramedics, but most had stayed, helplessly watching as Cody tried to do CPR on Luke with Tom and Miguel's help. Silently sobbing they had witnessed every attempt fail. It was too late, Luke had taken too much, there was nothing to be done—

Luke was dead. And nothing could change that.

Sky was shivering in her T-shirt and sweats. The night was cold and she had been here in the backyard forever. Years had passed during these hours, whole lifetimes had flashed in her eyes in these midnight minutes. The effect of the Oxy was beginning to wear off and the low that hit Sky was worse than anything in a very long time. It was a hollow, aching hopelessness that threatened to kill her, and there was nothing that would help, nothing but another pill, but no, no, no, no, no, she was never going to do drugs again!

Had she not pressured Luke into giving her drugs, then maybe he hadn't taken a pill then either, and then maybe he wouldn't have overdosed—

The guilt was crushing.

She had been totally fucking oblivious, having sex with Cody while Luke had been dying downstairs.

How could I leave him alone? I knew he was high, he was sad, he was suffering and I fucking left him. I left him. I left him!

She had only been thinking about herself, as always, her stupid anxiety and her stupid relationship drama and her stupid, stupid fucking issues instead of thinking about Luke and what he needed, instead of helping him, and then, just like that Luke was gone and it was her fault, her fault, her fault, just like Kat's death was her fault, like everything was her fault and she should just kill herself because this world would be a better place if she didn't exist at all.

People were dead because of her. How was she supposed to live with that?

It should have been me. It should have been me instead of Kat, instead of Luke, me, not them—

The back door opened, and someone stepped on the porch. Sky took a shaky inhale and turned to look, wiping her cheeks.

It was Cody.

"Hi—" His voice was soft and silent. "Your Dad asked me to get you."

He leaned on the doorway, looking absolutely miserable. His dark hair was a complete mess, his eyes red-rimmed, his cheeks bright burning spots on his otherwise pale face. He was still barefoot but had found a T-shirt somewhere. It wasn't his, Sky realized. It was one of Dad's, a worn gray shirt with the text In Vino Veritas, and it was way too big for Cody, it hung loose on his delicate frame.