the shadows the phantoms left behind

chapter three

"Andy, you have to eat something."

"What's the point?"

"What's the point?? You need to take care of yourself, no matter how sad you are."

I lean my head against my hand, picking at the plate of food in front of me. Florian looks at me with a sympathetic expression on his face.

I'm so tired of people looking at me like that.

I look up at him, a scoff escaping my lips. "Sad? Flor, I thought you of all people would understand that I'm not just sad."

He sighs, running a hand through his curly, black hair. He leans forward on the counter, looking me in the eyes. "Listen. I understand what you're feeling-"

"You don't understand," I snap without thinking. I curse at myself silently. He's the only one that can understand.

Florian stands his ground, taking a deep breath in without releasing it. "Andy. You have no idea how fucking devastated I am. You aren't the only one who gets to be fucking sad! I'm staying here with you, away from my soon to be fiance, trying to help you, and you won't let me! So fine, don't eat. Don't fucking eat if you don't want to."

With that, he storms off, walking into his old bedroom and slamming the door shut behind him. I swallow the ever present lump in my throat, placing my head in both of my hands now.

He has a good point, I think to myself. A really good point.

I get up from the kitchen table, walking down the hallway that leads to both of our rooms. I stand in front of Florian's, wanting to knock and make sure he's okay but at the same time hesitating.

I don't know how long I'm there, just contemplating, but eventually I give up on my thoughts and head to my own bedroom, closing the door softly so unlike Florian's slam.

I go and sit at my desk, staring blankly at the wall. I never know what to do with myself these days.

It's been a week since my parents died.

My attention is suddenly drawn, almost magnetically, to a little slip of weathered paper hanging on the wall that has been there for as long as I can remember.

The Rules, it reads. Follow these, and you will be safe from any kind of harm, my little starshine.

My mother wrote this list for me when I was a kid. I never questioned it, only listened to everything she had to say. I obeyed. For years, even now, I obey. Even with her gone, I obey.

Why?

Why should I listen? Why are these rules in place?

To keep me safe.

How have they ever kept me safe?

I got sick and injured and sad and everything like every other kid I knew. No matter what I did, how much I followed those damn rules to the T, nothing ever got better for me.

I've been following these rules for my entire life, and now my parents are dead.

I stand up from my desk, unreasonable anger bubbling up within me. I quickly change into jeans and my favorite sweater. Before I leave, I snatch the piece of paper and stuff it in my pocket. Then I grab my camera and head out of the front door. I don't even bother telling Florian where I'm going, he wouldn't care anyways.

It's a nice day out, the clouds are blocking the sun out just the way I like it, and the wind is blowing softly, washing the gentle smell of the sea down over me. I almost loathe how nice it is, how the rest of the world seems to go by without a care while I'm just here, stuck in my own sadness.