Cherries, Maws and Butterflies

Dead,

Happy.

I wonder why I was named so; it feels more like a curse.

She died. Jazz died, left me in this abyss by myself, to rot.

Jazzlyn was my everything, and now she's gone, and I'm just... here. It's like a piece of me was ripped away, and now there's nothing but emptiness.

Tears wouldn't dare to even hint upon her eyes.

The walls seemed to close in on her, suffocating her with memories of Jazzlyn. Happy's aunt, Margaret, had been staying with her since the funeral, offering what little comfort she could. Margaret knocked gently on the door before entering, carrying a tray with a steaming cup of tea.

"I brought you something to drink" Margaret said softly, placing the tray on the nightstand. "You need to- uh, feel warm, I guess."

Happy managed a weak smile. "Thanks, Auntie."

Margaret sat on the edge of the bed, wrapping an arm around Happy's shoulders. "It's hot, I Know you like it cold but your mum insisted she knew you and you needed to be warm. Eh- you just wait and drink it later, k? you know her"

Happy nodded, though her heart wasn't in it. The pain wasn't fresh, the wound wasn't too deep.

She's been through worse, she doesn't even know how to feel any more sadder. Her thoughts drifted to her parents, whose constant fighting had only intensified since Jazzlyn's death. They blamed each other for everything, even then though, they sticked together.

For Happy, all for their daughter.

Maybe if they didn't stick together, there would be more peace. The house echoed with angry shouts and accusations, as if its anything new. But Happy's mind always was loud, always too occupied to think straight. So it feels good, having a balance. Happy felt-- she didn't know anything anymore, Jazz was there, she always explained things, but who now? no, what now? what was she supposed to do? School had become unbearable. Whispers followed her everywhere, eyes filled with pity. Some of her classmates outright accused her of having something to do with Jazzlyn's death. The weight of their scrutiny pressed down on her, making it hard to breathe. She couldn't escape the feeling that she was being punished, that the universe had singled her out for this torment. Every night, she lay awake, her mind racing with thoughts of Jazzlyn. 

Her mother's voice broke through her reverie. "Happy, maybe you should talk to someone. A counselor, perhaps. It might help to have someone to talk to about all of this."

Happy shook her head. "I don't think it will help. Nothing can bring her back."

But its weird how everyone's worried about her now, when her friend died. Not when her mother scarred her heart when she said she wished she had died in her womb, it was always clear in her brain, "I wish you just died before you were even born! what use are you to me? I would've just cried for a few days and I would've forgotten everything!". 

Not when she died. 

She realised how simple it was to die, when she heard those string of words spilled out of her mother's mouth, smooth and natural, like gravity, as if Happy, like an absolute fool was the only one oblivious, no, even a fool would know.

And she died.

Her mother sighed, squeezing Happy's shoulder gently. "I know. But you don't have to go through this alone. We're all here for you."

Here for what? Who all? its just auntie.

Happy nodded again. She felt more alone than ever, trapped in a world that no longer made sense. Her mother left the room, closing the door softly behind her.

She laid down on her bed, staring at the ceiling. The ache wasn't in her chest, it was in her head, and it was a constant reminder of her loss, a pain that no amount of words could ever erase.

I don't know how to do this, Jazz. I don't know how to live without you. Everyone thinks I had something to do with your death. They don't understand. I just want you back. 

And that I was the one who died first.