Suspect

Troyes PoV

Nauseous.

All I could think was nauseous from the pounding in my head to the queasiness in my stomach, I felt sick in every sense of the word. The air smelled metallic and foul, bile rising in my throat with every intake of breath I could muster despite the weight I felt in my chest. My eye lids felt heavy as I fluttered them open, wincing and shutting them abruptly when the sunlight shone harshly through the window. I rolled over with a groan, eyebrows knit together when I felt my arm slip in a pool of liquid, dismissing it as vodka spilt throughout the night. The insistent pounding in my head ensued, my fingers subconsciously rubbing circles in my temple, and I groaned once again as I realized I had just smeared stale vodka all over my forehead. Except it didn't really feel like vodka, this was warm and thick and I felt my heart drop to my stomach when I glanced down at my fingers, fingers that were coated in red.

Numbness shocked through my veins the second Tyler's scream pierced the air.

It felt as if my life wasn't my own, like I was a character in a deranged horror film that had just been put in slow motion. Time stood still, as did I as everything I had ever known came shattering down in an instant. Ringing, all I could hear was loud, fuzzy ringing resonating through my whole body while I watched Tyler. He was on his knees, arms desperately clutching his stomach, perhaps trying to keep in his insides or rather feel his own grip to remind him of his sanity. I watched hysteria take control of his body as he thrashed and screamed until his hands latched onto Connor's shoulders and he began violently shaking him, begging him to just wake up. I know he continued screaming but I couldn't hear a thing as shock over rode my own body and left nothing but paralyzingly fear in my bones.

It wasn't real. None of this was real. This couldn't be real. My eyes followed the pool of blood seeping from Connor's chest, my own chest feeling hollow as I took in the shard of glass protruding from his chest. Connor lay there, lifeless. Mouth open, eyes wide, nothing but a body. Stained in his own blood, his shirt had soaked so much it was practically dripping at the sides. My best friend. A strangled cry tumbled past my lips and suddenly my life was my own and someone hit play and all I could feel was hurt.

Every sense inside me was heightened, my entire existence buzzing with electricity as I took in Connors eyes that held nothing at all. They were still the same green, the green that takes you deep into the forest where all you can see for miles is dark evergreen trees. He loved the scent of pine. The same hidden specks of gold were still visible from where I sat, the gold that illuminated his irises and reminded you his heart was nothing but. Yet they weren't Connor's. There was no character, no laughter, I felt no comfort that I always sought when I needed him. Looking in these eyes I felt lost and trapped surrounded by looming trees that cast shadows of fear with the weight of gold weighing down my heart.

A trail of dark red had stained a path from his lips to his chin, his lips open and chapped and so, so still. No air coming in. No air coming out. I forgot you don't need to breathe when there's no life left inside you. No life.

I couldn't even remember my last moments with him.

*August, 2001*

"Troye?"

Miss Clara knelt beside me, my focus still trained on the drawing I was determined to finish before class was over.

"Troye, this is Connor. Connor is a bit shy and I know you are as well, so I was hoping you would be kind and be his friend, how does that sound?" Miss Clara beckoned a small boy over, his fingers fidgeting in his pockets and soft brown hair covering his eyes.

"Sure," I mumbled, my gaze returning to my picture as I picked up another crayon.

"Thank you Troye, that's very sweet of you," Miss Clara said as she stood up and left me alone with Connor who still had not taken his eyes off the ground.