TOO LATE

V

I noticed that I was having problems when Sunday rolled around. I couldn't leave my room. I would get sick just thinking about facing the people out there. I have read Brooke's poem at least twice every thirty minutes. I felt like I was going insane. I tried to distract myself by listening to music, but it only worked for a couple of minutes before my mind would drift back.
  I tried to figure out why I was hurting all of a sudden and why this was hitting me so hard. Maybe, I thought, I'm in pain because I'm yearning for Brooke. I wished that I could talk to her and learn more about her, but how? She's not here anymore...
   I glanced at the clock. 11:39 P.M. I grabbed my shoes and a beanie and headed downstairs. Before I could make it to the garage, my mom spotted me. "Luke, where are you going?"
"I'm, uh, going to Br- the Anderson's house. I thought that maybe I could talk to them about her."
"Hmm.. Alright then. Be careful." Her voice sounded like she knew something was up with me. Knowing her and Dad, they were probably going to share theories about me or some crap like that.
    When I was driving that day, my hands were shaking so I grasped the wheel tighter, my knuckles growing white. I parked in front of their house and just sat there, staring at the door. It took me about five minutes to gather up the courage to walk up and knock. A sniffling Mrs. Anderson answered the door. "S-sorry but I don't want to buy anything..."
"N-no, I'm, uh, Brooke's friend.." I lied.
"Oh! She never mentioned you. What's your name sweetie?"
"Luke Hemmings."
"We'll come on in Luke. I've got some brownies in the oven, so make yourself at home." I awkwardly sat on the couch and looked around. It looked nice and warm unlike my white, cold house. I started to wonder if she stayed in her room twenty-four seven. Maybe she only went downstairs to do home work or eat dinner.
    My knuckles were turning white again because I was holding the arm rests too tight. I sighed and flexed my hands. I thought it was ridiculous. Freaking out like this all the time made me feel pathetic. How could I change so much within two days?
    Her mother came back and asked about how Brooke was during school. Guilt rushed through my head like a burning haze. I made her school life a living hell. Fucking shit...
" I wish I would've spent more time with her, but my hours.." Wow, just like my parents, I remember thinking. She broke into a sob so I gave her an exceedingly awkward pat on the shoulder.
  "Would it be okay if I go to her room to get something? I let her borrow a book before she left.." I know that probably sounded horrible but I never had to deal with something and someone so sad. She gave me a weak smile and said "Second door on the right."
   Feeling relieved of the bad vibes down there, I ran up the stairs and count the doors. I opened it and walked into the cool room. Damn the vibes in here were even more depressing. She had posters of The 1975, Arctic Monkeys, Blink-182, and so many others that I loved. We could've talked about them together and shared earbuds. I shook my head. I need to be fixed.
    I spotted a notebook on her desk. It was thick and full of paper scraps and pieces of colorful fabric. Brooke's Bored Book was scrawled on the side. I smirked at her handwriting. It was just the right amount of messy. I picked it up and peeked in inside. In it was doodles of things like Orca's in Space and poetry of an extinct mind. There were also poems from other books that were probably in her book shelf. I stuffed the notebook inside my jacket. I knew I shouldn't have but I had to. I needed it. I don't know why but I just did. Damn. Whenever I held that book, my hands would stop shaking and my body felt like it was on a drug. Reading it just increased the feelings.
    I turned around and sat on her bed. Beside me was her worn out hoodie. I remember making fun of her for wearing it almost everyday. That day, she told me that washing and drying machines are an invention obviously too complicated for my mind to understand. I gave out a soft laugh at the memory. I lifted the sweater up and took a breath in. Her floral scent filled my nose and my body. This smell is extinct. No one will ever be able to smell this off of her body ever again. Almost everything physical  about her is extinct. My breath hitched and my palms grew sweaty. Without saying goodbye to Mrs. Anderson, I left.