And Then Death Held Out His Hand

Faith

The room is silent, and I realise I was holding my breath. Sterilised air rushes into my lungs as my eyes smart with burning tears. Echo's body cools as her family continues living the nightmare she's departed.
Jacob pulls out of my hand and leaves the room, slamming the door behind him. I follow, fearing I'm intruding to much on the families pain.
"Jacob!"
His body shakes as I reach for his shoulder. "What did she do to deserve this?" He doesn't look at me, his fists clench as he acknowledges his sisters death. The truth settles on my shoulders. I've lost so many people, can't this be the end? No more pain?

And that's when I tell him my story.
Of that night so long ago.
Of course he knew I was in a foster family, but he'd never pressured me to tell him what happened.
"When I was five, I lost my parents. It was a car accident." I'm whispering, finally able to talk freely, without dissolving into a complete mess.
"I was mad, I didn't understand why they left me and my little sister alone. Then one day, the orphanage gave a talk about loss. I remember everyone crying, thinking about their dead parents. The one thing that stick with me was, 'they chose to go in order to give you a better life." They let you move on'."

"At first all I could think was, 'I don't want that, I just want them. But then, I met people and started to thank them instead. It was like, if they hadn't died, nothing would have been the same, I wouldn't be me. Death makes us stronger."
My last words are barely audible, tears pooling in my eyes. Jacob turns and wraps me in his arms. His voice cracks with pain, tears in his voice, "You make me strong."

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The next days blur as I try to lose myself in distractions. Jacob isn't at school, leaving me to wander the halls alone as Christine goes off with her boyfriend. I feel pitying eyes on the back of my neck, bringing tears to my eyes. It's not me who deserves pity. I lived.

She didn't.

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"Phone."
Mr Lane holds out his hand as I look up from texting Jacob. Great, first period and already no phone.
My bag piles up with textbooks and homework as I leave Biology. Exam week is in a fortnight and everyone is cramming study into every free second. Apart from me. I kind of wish the teachers made me take the test for something to distract me.

------/------
My phone rings making me jump. I glad for an excuse to wrap up this maths homework.
It's Jacob.

"The funerals this Sunday." I've tried to push the death out of my mind. I haven't left the house when I can avoid it, have stopped my tears and pretended to be fine.

When I'm not.

The funeral means that I can't run in hide, that I have to suck it up and face people. And I don't think I can hold in tears at the funeral.
A vision of echo's small, frail body, curled up amongst the many wires, floats into my mind.
Tears spring into my eyes and I clench my fist around my phone.
I text back barely able to see the keys through my tears.

"I'm sorry."

I'm half asleep on my bed, when I hear a knock on the door. I smile at my eyes and glare at the wet patch on my pillow. The evidence that I'm not fine.
"Come in." My voice is a strained attempt at cheeriness. Evie's face peeks around the door, Charlie squeezing and running to jump on me.

"Jacobs here, he wants to see you."
"Kay."
I whisper and she looks at me, her eyes sad. I realise that she has to do what I did at five years old. She had to grow up.

She can't be a teenager any more, things are to much, trapping her like a bird in a cage. I fix a smile on my face and sigh as I look down at myself and my poor makeup.

I doubt he'll notice any way.

Charlie leads the way downstairs, his small hand clutching the banister as he walks unsteadily. I wish I was as young as him. To be carefree, to be little again.

Jacobs sitting on the couch, his eyes sad. He stands up as I approach and my heart lodges in my throat. I run into his arms, tears soaking his shirt, mine soaked by his.

"Why did she have to do this?"

My heart wrenches as I remember that same though being my own after the car crash. How it took me years to answer.

"It isn't her fault, all that matters is that she doesn't feel any pain."

"We need to remember her for what she was, not her disease."
Hearing my words, the images of the sick little girl vanish, leaving me with echo, for who she was. Apart from her cancer. The cancer didn't control her, the chemo had no effect. She was herself until the very end.