The Incredible League of Goth Pizza Haters (RH)

Part 21

---Sylvia---

There was a knock at the door and I unlocked it. Outside, Meg was waiting and bawling.

"What the hell happened?" I ask, walking over. She took me in her arms and cried into my shoulder. She tried to say something but I couldn't make it out through her sobs. I took her inside, sitting her down on the couch and rubbing her arms. Cody, Ian and Mark had gone to visit some friends in another band, so we were alone. She calmed down a bit, then choked out;

"Via... Ricky tried to sleep with me. I told him no, but he just kept trying. He tried to push me up against his RV but I ran. There are bruises on my arms where he grabbed me. I don't know what to..." She rubbed her eyes, smearing the already smeared mascara. I couldn't believe it. Ricky? Really? I never expected that from him. I comforted Meg and she begged me not to tell anyone to avoid drama. I reluctantly agreed. 

Laying in my bunk that night, I ran over the thousands of different ways I could confront Ricky. Yes, I agreed not to tell anyone about it, but I still knew. And I planned to take some sort of action. 

***

The next day we all went out for breakfast and I only went in because Meg asked me to. I hate breakfast. Eggs tend to nauseate me. 

Yet I still fucking ate some. I ate three eggs with toast. I noticed Ricky staring at me a bit from across the table but I ignored him. Afterwards I buried my face in my hands and declared myself nauseous. Ricky looked as if he were going to pass out he went so pale. 

Weird.

***

The drive was long and comfortably quiet until I tried to check my social medias but all I found were messages about my dead sister. 

I'd been trying to forget about her death. Returning to tour, why couldn't I pretend she was still alive? Maybe I could convince myself she was at home studying. She wanted to get into an art college, or maybe go into fashion. She had entire sketchbooks filled with clothing designs so maybe she was drawing in that. Or coloring. She was amazing with chalk drawings. There's no way any art college would reject her. 

But I couldn't forget because even when scrolling through my feed it was all Abby. Abby the fallen angel who had her life so tragically stolen from her at such a young age. This wouldn't have bothered me, I would have found it sweet if she hadn't killed herself. If she had died from illness or a car crash or a bank robbery then maybe I could see her as the victim the world regarded her as. Instead all I could see was the sister who didn't love her family and friends enough to get help. I wanted to forgive her but I still hurt too much. 

Though, this is my fault too, I realized. My fault. My mother's fault. Dani's fault. The fault of the girls at her school. The fault of the faces staring through their computer monitors as they clicked share and sent their comments on my sister's mistake. I'd seen the video. I'd seen what she'd done and she didn't deserve what they did. 

Cyberbullies. Real bullies. Shitty sister and mothers who didn't know how to help. It was our fault. Her blood is on our hands. I'm a horrible person for thinking she wasn't the victim but my head is turning in circles and I don't know what to do or think anymore. 

Sometimes I don't even want to live.