𝙳𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝙵𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚝...

Chapter 5

"Hi," he whispered, crouching in front of the headstone. "How are you?" 

He pressed his lips together, closing his eyes as he felt tears build up behind his eyelids. "I couldn't bring you a flower today. I'm sorry. I've just been super busy, and..." 

He swallowed. "I can't believe it's been five years since you...you know. Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever forget what you looked like, or what you sounded like. But then I just play that voicemail you sent me before you died, and...it just begins all over again." 

"It hurt me," he continued. "Your death. It tore me apart. It killed me. It destroyed me. Sometimes I just feel so angry. Like, why the hell did you have to go?! Why couldn't you have stayed?!" 

"It all changed that one night," he whispered. "And I told you not to leave..." 

He sat quietly, his eyes closed, before the sobs hit him again. He placed his palms against his forehead as he cried, his shoulders shaking. He tried so hard to hold it together, and it made him so, so bitter. 

He hated it. Hated her for leaving. 

He glanced up at the setting sun, scrambling to his feet. "I have to go," he whispered. "I love you. Good night. I'll come back soon."

---

Rosemary rested her head against her hand, her head throbbing with a headache. Her fingers shook as she tried to think of what to write in her diary. 

"Argh!" she scowled, reaching over for ibuprofen. She tried not to take it as often, especially not every day, but it almost felt like her brain was on fire. 

She twisted the bottle cap open, shaking out a pill before taking it. She hated this so much. She hated the aftermaths that she got after waking up from her coma. Sometimes she felt dizzy or she couldn't see, or like now, she would get fiery headaches. The doctors had told her it was because of the traumatic head injury she had received when she had fallen into her coma. 

It would take time to heal, they said. 

Hasn't it been healing for two years? 

She wanted to ask that. But she didn't. 

She twisted around her chair, blindly throwing the ibuprofen bottle; somehow, she wasn't sure how, it ended up flying right out her bedroom, hitting an unsuspecting Will's shoulder. 

"Ow," he said, turning to see the bottle on the floor. 

Rosemary's eyes widened and she got up, hurrying to Will. "I'm so sorry," she apologized. "Are you okay? Did it hurt you?" 

He rubbed his shoulder and smiled brightly at her. "It's okay," he said. "It's just a bottle. You have good aim, though." 

"I wasn't..." Rosemary shook her head. "Anyway. What were you doing?" 

"Basketball match," Will said, holding up his bowl of popcorn that Rosemary hadn't realized he was holding. "In two minutes. Wanna watch?" 

Rosemary smiled, "Yeah." 

---

Will walked into the cafeteria, grabbing a tray and walking to join the line. His stomach grumbled. He had just had his science test, and he wasn't entirely sure it had gone well. But right now, he didn't really care. He was hungry. 

He stood behind a tall guy with broad shoulders and dark hair. The guy wore a football jacket with the last name CROWLE written on the back. Will sighed, standing on his tiptoes to look over the guy's shoulder to see how long the line was. 

He stumbled; he flailed a bit and his arm gently hit the other guy's. 

The older boy, Crowle, turned—and to Will, it seemed like time had slowed. His eyes widened in fear.

It wasn't some random kid with a football jacket and with the last name Crowle. 

It was Jackson Crowle, a ninth grader that had quickly held the reputation for being the worst person at school. Will didn't like him. So he had always steered clear of anyone who acted like Jackson. 

"Watch it," Jackson snapped, his eyes honing into his new target. Will looked scrawny, and those were the people Jackson usually went over. Scrawny, scared little boys. Occasionally girls, too. "Who're you?" 

Will bit his tongue. If he told Jackson his name, then Jackson would remember him. But if Jackson didn't, he'd probably forget Will. And if he did remember him, he wouldn't know which dark-haired and dark-eyed boy was actually him. 

"I'm sorry," he said genuinely. "I didn't mean to hit you. It was an accident." 

Jackson's eyes narrowed. "That wasn't my question. I didn't ask you to apologize." 

Will kept silent. 

So Jackson swung at him, which Will had anticipated. He ducked, bringing his tray over his head like a shield as Jackson stumbled, obviously not thinking that Will would duck. None of his victims had ever ducked. 

Will stood, his shield held out defensively in front of him. He eyed Jackson warily, his brows furrowing. 

"I'm sorry," he said. "For anything anyone's ever done to you. But just because you might have had an unfair past doesn't mean you have the right to hit and bully others. I don't know about your past, obviously, but—" 

And Jackson swung again, actually hitting Will this time. 

He fell against the shelf in shock, his hand raising toward his eye where he could feel his skin swell. He had never in his life been hit before. 

"When," Jackson started, his nostrils flaring in anger, "did I ask for your opinion?" 

Will straightened, tilting his head. "You asked the moment you didn't accept my apology," he replied. "You could've just accepted it."

He turned around, ignoring his hunger as he put the tray back and walked out of the cafeteria, leaving Jackson to stare dumbly after him. 

~ Lyn 

Words: 953

Whew, finished this chapter! 

Again, I ask; who do you think the italics person is? I'm actually super curious to see what you think! 

Also, Will. I love this little guy who is just a figment of my imagination. What I could've done to make him real :( 

ALSO: petition to kill Jackson for hurting Will? Say 'aye'!