Timeless

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

            “You sleep funny. You look like a bowling ball when you sleep...a fuzzy bowling ball with a heartbeat.” Pixie giggled at the cat. She was really my last resort, which is saying something because I think I liked her the least out of all of London’s friends. It was about three weeks later, and I still rarely talked to London. It was beginning to scare me; I never really knew how London reacted to Emily’s death, or how she grieved. I didn’t know if she needed help or...comfort or...I don’t know. That’s what was horrible about the whole situation. I didn’t know.

            Pixie’s house is a deplorable mess: beer bottles lying around, the aroma of leftover food floating around, a defunct air conditioning system, her sister’s schoolwork streamed across the floor—which you couldn’t see at all—and the smell of smoke everywhere. It brought back such haunting memories; I couldn’t save Emily, her death...did she die of suffocation or burning? What did she look like as she died? I’d spend nights the first week after her death, not only worrying about Starburst’s injuries, but also Emily’s death. I screamed into my pillow to make myself forget. It wasn’t right.

            Emily’s death.

            “Um, Pix, where are your parents?” I wrinkled my nose. “And not to be rude, but how the hell can you stand living like this?” I didn’t even try to hide my disgust. Pixie’s face flickered guilt momentarily before it disappeared behind her usual punk-rocker crazy look.

            “Mom’s out with her friends smoking, dad’s out with his buddies doing...something,” I looked at her, “I have no idea where he is truthfully. Left when I was young, mom’s always talking about him coming back, but he never did. And Amanda’s finally twenty-one so she’s out drinking, getting drunker than a sailor probably.” She answered honestly, as if it didn’t bother her at all. It got quiet, and I finally decided to steer the topic towards something a little more familiar.

            “What does Amanda’s initials stand for? She does that too, right?” I asked delicately, hoping I didn’t trigger anything bad about her sister. From what I’ve gathered, Pixie sort of relies on her sister to take care of her; her “mother figure” I guess. Now that she’s hardly sober, I think it’s affected Pixie.

            “Amanda Lyle Eira: Alcohol Law Enforcement. Guess it doesn’t surprise really surprise me she chose that, it’s just a little...obscure for her.” I didn’t say anything after that concerning her sister.

            “So, how are you dealing with things?”

            “You mean Emily?”

            I nod. She shrugs, but doesn’t look at me. And she’s blushing.

            “Okay, I guess. I miss the little looniness she brought. So clueless, so pretty.”

            “Looniness?”

            “It’s a word, I promise.”        

            “I hear ya.” I don’t really.

            “It’s just...it was sudden. I mean, every day, I’d see Emily out on her lawn, talking to nobody or just limping around like a little rabbit-hamster. I’d never thought she’d ever be in the line of danger and now,” she stopped, breathing through her mouth, the promise of crying coming as usual, “I don’t blame you. Don’t get that idea at all, I don’t blame you.”

            “Everyone else does.”

            “Everyone else is stupid. You fell asleep, so fucking what?”