Shattered Appearances ✓

t w e n t y - t w o: The Life of Thomas Morgan.

*warning* Remember in the summary of the book I said that rape and suicide while briefly would still be mentioned? Yeah, that's going to happen in this chapter. I'm warning you guys now so if this is a trigger for you then you shouldn't read this.

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I pay no mind to the name on the tomb behind me as I sit on the slightly frozen grass. Although cemeteries released a bitter memory, I chose to not focus on it and instead observed the people that were coming in. A few of them were by themselves, dropping flowers off and then leaving while other stayed for a while and talked to the dead.

A couple tombs to my right, several grave keepers are burying an oak coffin. Once they put it in, they take turns putting dirt inside the hole. I try not to remember my mom's own oak coffin and look away.

Following Dr Schacter's orders, I began my steady stream of anti-depressants again after nearly a year of being off so my mother could pay for her treatments, and while it did help somewhat, I didn't feel anything. I don't feel sad but I'm not happy, or angry. I'm just there. Rose thinks that we should continue with our current dosage for a few more weeks to see if my hormones level off, or else we switch medications/ dosage.

Not a few feet away from me, I saw a familiar face. Thomas was holding a bouquet of red Geraniums and was heading towards a grave. When he arrived at a short marble tombstone he set the flowers down. Just as he was about to leave his suddenly changed his mind and headed back. Sitting down on the soil, I noticed he put his hands up to his face, a move I immediately recognized.

He didn't want anyone to see him cry.

I was more than shocked as I started to analyze who the person in the grave could be. His mother and Paige are alive- wait, his other sister. Now I remember. Thomas told me about how his older sister died; her name was Maya.

Standing up, I started to approach him slowly. The sky was grey and it looked like it was going to rain again but I didn't care. I was behind him so he didn't see me coming until I gently sat down next to him.

He looked up slightly so I had a chance to see his red rimmed cheeks before he looked back down again. Not knowing what to do since I wasn't good with emotions, I did the same thing he did to me a few months ago when I told him about my mom.

I held his hand, my dry hand coming in contact with his clammy one. I put my earlier distrust about the journal aside and try my best to comfort him.

Looking at the name of the tombstone, it said:

Maya Morgan

Beloved daughter and almost mother.

March 31, 1994- February 20, 2011

I squeezed his hand once after I read the dates.

"She died today, huh?" I said, needing something to fill in the silence. It wasn't the smartest question, but I couldn't take it back now.

I didn't expect him to answer it, but he nodded. Letting go of my hand, he picked up a small piece of grass, and played with it with his fingers. He was clearly uncomfortable with me being here based on the way he avoided looking at me. Not knowing if I should stay or go, I adjusted my legs to be prepared to stand up. I dusted off the dirt from my black jeans and looked at him again. He returned my gaze this time and spoke.

"I never did tell you what Maya died of, right?"

I shook my head, saying no afterwards. Although I spoke a lot about my own life to him, he rarely spoke about his own, only saying things when deemed necessary.