Being in a group home wasn't ideal for anyone, but for the six teenagers, it was the best they could get out of the crappy system. In other's eyes, it was an odd way to form a friend group bonding over being in the same abusive home. But in their ey...
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My brother was dead.
The same phrase had been playing on repeat in my head, over and over, since the moment I woke up in a hospital bed.
He had stepped on a landmine at some old, abandoned military base. And the worst part? I didn't even know he'd joined the fucking army.
Now, a crisp, pristine American flag lay across his casket, perfectly folded, like his death had been some noble sacrifice instead of a senseless accident. Maybe he had cleaned up. Maybe rehab worked. Maybe that military camp Mom sent him to had done him some good after all.
Mom.
She sat on the farthest end of the front pew, putting as much distance between us as possible. Nine years since I last saw her. Nine years since she gave us both up.
My mother wasn't even technically my mom anymore, not after she signed her custody away. All she was someone that I shared half my DNA with.
Then, American Pie by Don McLean starts playing. Not the upbeat part, the part toward the end of the song where it's slow and depressing.
Apparently, at some point, Darian had turned into a good old-fashioned American man—the kind that didn't do hard drugs, the kind that died with a uniform on his back.
When the music reaches its final, drawn-out notes, they lift his casket. Mom and I follow in silence, step by step, like we're walking through a dream.
I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be standing. Because Darian died the same day I tried to kill myself.
The itchy suit that my social worker had gotten for me rubs against my skin.
I glance back over my shoulder, my eyes landing on his photo.
Darian, grinning—his dark brown eyes bright, his face frozen in a moment of happiness I don't think I ever saw in real life. He looks proud, like he found something worth living for.
And all I can think is—why him? Why not me?
I hadn't gotten better, Darian had. He was finally turning his life around.
As they lower my brother into the ground a single tear makes it way down my cheek. The crumbled piece of notebook paper peaks out of my pocket but I shove it back in.
The stupid speech I had written was useless now, I wasn't going to spill my guts out to people who probably knew my own brother better than I did.
My friends weren't here, I actually had no idea where my friends were. None of them knew I had a brother. Expect for Makayla.
"You're selfish," My mom sneers, coming up behind her. I don't respond—continuing to stare at the hole in the ground.
She blows her nose again, the colorful church hat she's wearing almost slides off but she pushes it back up. "Trying to do that to yourself. Trying to die on purpose when your brother had no choice?"
I had never gotten to apologize to him—he never got to see what I had grown into. I wasn't the annoying little brother anymore.
I had turned into him.
And if I didn't change anything I would be in a coffin soon enough, just like my older brother.
I stand over his coffin, blue flowers scattered over the tan wood. "I love you, Darian."
