She's Gone and I'm Lost

14 | the apartment

dedicated to demonicblackcat because I'm so fluffing proud of her (she's getting her book published)

14 | the apartment

January 1st | 12:16 pm

My mom has been worried about me lately. She thinks that she's being discreet when she cracks open my bedroom door to check up on me every hour. She thinks that I don't hear the creak the wood makes as its slowly pried open. That's why I left the house. It was much easier than expected; I just got up and walked out the door. No one stopped me, no one even noticed. I was tired of my parents tiptoeing around me. I was tired of them treating me like a fragile piece of glass. No, they were treating me like I was broken glass. And they didn't want to cut themselves picking up the broken pieces. I'm writing this at a café. The café that Alex, Marleen, and I used to go to. This is the first time that I've been since Alex died. But it's okay because she's sitting right beside me. I know she isn't real, but I can pretend. I can use my imagination just like Alex and I used to when we were little. I wonder if the shack we built in the woods is still standing. Probably not.

There's a couple sat at the table across from me. A young couple, probably still in high school. They keep laughing loudly and every time I look over, they're smiling. They don't notice me looking, they're too busy staring into each other's eyes. I want to be happy for them, I really do. But I just... can't. I think I'm jealous. 

Because for the last couple weeks, that's all I've wanted. To be happy.

I can't keep looking at the two happy people, so I looked out the window. I see my reflection in the glass and my face blends with the shapes of the streets outside. A waitress has come to my table and I ordered a cup of coffee. Plain, black coffee. I hate black coffee. But I don't think I can order the drink I always used to get. I don't think I deserve it. But after a few sips, I couldn't stand the taste so I pushed the mug over to Alex. She hasn't said anything. She used to love black coffee, it was what she got whenever we came here. As the days go on, it gets harder and harder to remember that she's not real.

| | | | |

"Isaac?" I asked. I couldn't see how it was possible, but somehow, my brother was the one standing in front of me. We shared the same black hair and brown eyes, it was obvious to anyone that saw us that we were related.

He looked equally as confused as I was. It was palpable that we were both wondering how the other was standing before ourselves, but there was no denying it. My brother that I hadn't seen in years was standing right in front of me, in the door way of my dead best friend's sister's apartment. A month ago, I never thought that I'd write that sentence out. But here I am, doing just that. It's crazy how much things can change in a short amount of time.

"Danika?" he asked in return. Isaac sat the box, which I assumed was holding a cake, on the coffee table and turned to me. "What are you doing here?"

I was still staring at my brother in shock. "I could ask you the same question."

"I live here," he replied.

"What?" I asked. The facts weren't adding up. Why would Isaac be living here with Naomi?

"He lives here," Naomi pitched in. "He's my boyfriend. Do you two know each other?"

"She's my sister," Isaac explained. He then turned back to me and asked, "But why are you here?"

I didn't know how to answer that question. Was I here for answers? Was I here to meet Naomi? Was I just trying to hold on to the last piece of Alex I had left? Something told me that it was probably the last one.