If You Loved Me, Why'd You Leave Me?

Chapter 9

Two weeks passed since the funeral.

Mum and I had tried to speak with each other; we had tried to eat, to sleep, to do something with our lives, but it was as if someone had wedged a knife into the bond that held us together and severed it, leaving us both completely lonely, as if we had no one else in this world. Only, I had Phil, the blue eyed boy that did his best do distract me, whereas my mum had no one. She was completely and utterly alone, and she blamed her son for the death of her husband.

I was sitting cross-legged on my bed, laptop open in front of me and music blasting out of my earphones, fingers dancing over the keys. My phone was next to me, Phil's face up on the screen. He was rambling on about how he thought Striker was quite casual with Wilson despite the fact that Wilson was much like me: dying. When I asked Phil what he meant by that statement, he said "People who are dying get treated differently to others. They get everything they want, and I'm not saying it in a mean way because they should get everything they want before they die, but Striker treats Winston as if he's not dying, and to some people that may seem mean. Wilson asks Striker for something - Striker declines and suddenly everybody is furious."

"I've never thought about it in that way." I replied, realizing it was true. Once I had asked my auntie to take me to a funfair and she had refused; suddenly my parents were furious and my auntie was feeling horrible afterwards, when really all she was doing was being a responsible carer. She hadn't had the money to take me, it was that simple. "So, does that make Striker a good character?" I asked, knowing Phil would give me his honest opinion.

"It makes him a perfect character." Phil told me, and I could hear the smile in his voice despite not being able to see him. "And I love how Wilson just takes it in his stride; he hardly notices. At least, that's what I've picked up from what you've told me."

"I guess so." I stopped typing and flexed my fingers. I stretched out my right leg due to the pins and needles growing there. "So, do you like the idea of the two being together?" I asked casually.

"As in... boyfriends? I think that's a great idea!" Phil chirped. "Although you do whatever you see fit; it's your story. I mean, their friendship is great too, so... yeah." He laughed nervously, and I joined in.

"I'll just see what happens. I'm not really one to plan out my stories, it takes too much time."

Phil hummed on the other end of the phone and I put my laptop on the pillow, standing up. I grabbed my phone. "Phillip, how would you like to come round tonight for dinner? Mum said she's staying at grandma's this week, so you can come round whenever you want."

"You two still not talking?" Phil asked pitifully. I shook my head, despite Phil not being able to see me anyway. "I'll come down - you need company."

"Thanks Lion." I hung up and returned to my laptop. Now that I was alone my mind could focus more and I could vanish into my own little world, where I preferred it. It was world full of joy and fearlessness and I didn't have to think about the misfortunes of reality. The ficional world was my escape.

"Wilson, what was it you were going to tell me the other day? When I said we should live together?" Striker asked the boy one day as they were sitting on the lush grass, biting into ham and cheese sandwiches. It was a lovely day - sunny and hot with a gentle breeze - and the boys were enjoying a picnic under the shade of a large oak tree. They had been silent as they ate, but now Striker had asked that question and Wilson had no choice but to answer.

"You're going to get mad at me," Wilson told him, his throat going dry. It was better to get his secret out - get it over and done with. "But I won't be here when you're older."