black tide. | ✓

0.2; funeral

"they make me think of you."  - wings, birdy. 

✞ ✞ ✞

During the weeks that followed, all I received from my fellow class mates at school were pitying looks and the more than occasional "I'm sorry for your loss".

Every lesson was a nightmare without Allison, and all I did was stare at the empty chair beside me, or across the room, wishing she was sat there in maths complaining like normal about how logarithms are the most pointless thing known to man.

They told me how Ali died the day after I found out about it.

It wasn't a car crash, or a hit and run. It wasn't an accident at all.

She killed herself. Took her own life. Left us all in the dust without even a simple goodbye note, or a single sentence explaining.

After a while I was sick of the apologies from people, and the looks in the hallways. The only thing that kept me going was the fact that I knew at least I didn't have it as bad as Aiden Browne - Allison's older brother in the year above. He was your cliché popular jock, quarterback of the football team, dating the head cheerleader and obviously a shoo in for Prom King. Everyone in the school knew him, therefore everyone in the school knew that his little sister had recently passed.

So, yeah, at least it wasn't as bad as having everyone in school giving their condolences. But it was still pretty terrible.

Unlike most people, I didn't have a "squad" or a "clique". There was no one else - just me and Ali. So, instead of sitting at our normal table in the cafeteria on my own like a loner (which I was), I took my lunch to the library each day, and sat there with a new book every time, away from the looks and whispering, away from the pitying stares and nudges. Away from the attention.

At the end of my last lesson a couple of weeks after, my teacher - Miss Martin - called me over as everyone excited into the mad rush of the hallways, eager to get away.

"Yes, Miss?" I asked, not sounding anywhere near as enthusiastic as usual; I just wanted to get home, finish my homework and watch Netflix until 3am.

"As you won't be here tomorrow," she began, handing me a small file that contained some information sheets and questions, "here's the class work and homework, its due in next Wednesday. If you don't manage to get it done, however, don't worry about it, I understand."

I was utterly confused, and started down at her outstretched hand with furrowed brows. "I'm sorry, Miss, I don't think I understand?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I assumed as its Allison's funeral tomorrow you would be taking the day off to attend?"

Oh. Allison's funeral.

"Um, I'm not actually going to the funeral, Miss." I mumbled, directing my gaze to the floor in an attempt not to make eye contact.

"And why's that, Charlie?" she was looking at me intently, perching herself on the edge of her desk and tilting her head to the left as if trying to get a better view and understanding of me.

"I don't really want to subject myself to that."

"To what, exactly?"

"Hours of people saying how much they're going to miss her, and how happy and bubbly she was." I explained, getting gradually louder as my temper increased and tears pricked my green eyes. "I don't need to be told how much I'm going to miss her - I know that I won't stop thinking of her every single day until I'm dead! And I don't need to hear all the bullshit about how she was so 'happy' because she wasn't happy at all! If she was, she would still be here. She wouldn't have killed herself! I don't want to subject myself to watching my best friend in the entire fucking universe being dropped into a hole in the ground, or hear how amazing she was. She's gone, dead. The pain is already unbearable as it is, there's no point in making it worse by forcing me to say goodbye."