My mom picked me up from school, drove to the bank, then told me what happened.
I didn't question her at all because I didn't need to. I already knew both sides of the story after only hearing one. History repeats itself, and it gets worse each time.
That bank parking lot was the only moment in my life when I didn't feel anything, and was met with numbness. It was likely that nothing could get any worse, so I didn't bother getting upset or angry. I had to continue my day as normal. I had to look forward to laughing with my friends, and studying my music.
But I was haunted, in a way.
One of the eerie things about the situation is that I couldn't talk to him. Communication was suddenly and unexpectedly gone. He always answers calls and texts, but I had to look our message chain knowing that he couldn't this time. That single fact could have made me spiral, but I built a wall.
I built it so I could eat the gumbo we made together the night before, while my sister threw the most low and disgusting words at me. That's the worst anyone has ever spoken to me in my life. My mom just stood and watched.
My wall eventually crumbled, and I cried for the first time a couple days later. But it wasn't even for the right reason.
I should have been sad that he was gone, but instead, it's because I was scared of my sister.
