GONE | h.s

02

02

Beep. Beep. Beep.

A ringing sound filled my ears, as I groaned silently standing up from my position.

I stretched my body, shoving my hand into my tight jean pocket, retrieving my cell phone.

(8) missed calls from Sandra Willis.

Why in the world is Grace's mum calling me?

It's been five and a half weeks after the accident. I didn't think she would want anything to do with me after what had happened.

I decided to call her back. No matter how much it'd hurt to hear her voice, since her voice sounded way to alike to Grace's.

"Hello?" Her mother says. I almost could hear the brokenness in her tone, which causes a slight ache on my chest.

"Uh yeah.. You called?" I respond back. I bite my lip, not knowing what else to say.

"Yes Harry, I was wondering if you can please ship Grace's items here. It's the least you could do." I hear her sniffle, knowing she's holding back her tears.

Personally, I wasn't planning on moving Grace's items back. Their didn't seem to be a point since this is her home.

Was her home, I reminded myself.

I also couldn't get myself to step foot into our bedroom. It's been four awful dreading weeks of me sleeping on the uncomfortable sofa. If I did end up walking in, it was only to use our bathroom, which held all our  necessities, or to retrieve my clothes, which now majority of them were tossed all over the living room floor.

Forgetting that Sandra is still on the phone, the rest of the conversation consisted of me muttering a "Yeah" and "Sure" which she thanked me once again, before hanging up.

I threw my phone against the wall, causing it to shatter. Fury taking over.

I ran over to the kitchen sink, and pulled out a bottle of scotch from underneath.

Don't do it Harry

Her voice rings in my ears.

Unhesitatingly, I opened the bottle and gulped down half the bottle. The alcohol burned my throat, as I chugged some more.

I wanted to erase her, and her voice. I wanted to erase the image of her scolding me, for turning my problems towards alcohol. I couldn't help but blame her. It's her fault. All her fault. I wouldn't be broken if it wasn't her drastic choice of ending her life. She could have been happy if she stayed, we could have been happy. If it wasn't for her chucking a knife to her throat our lives would be way easier.

I chucked the bottle of scotch against the wall, watching it break into several pieces. I felt nothing but pain and anger.

I slowly picked up the picture of Grace and I, admiring her smile. My green eyes gazing into her brown.

In this moment, is when I realized it was only a matter of time my demons would take full control.