12 Days Before Christmas || ✔

d a y # 7

** Marco's banner by wishtobefairy **

** Play the song as you read this for maximum effect **

Beth.

It's the last straw when Hunter West's phone goes straight into voicemail, his chirpy voice telling me to "leave me a message after the beep and I'll get back to you, no promises!" I'm about to break down, I don't think leaving a message would suffice.

Where are you now that I need you?

I try his cell again, eyes brimming with tears ready to spill, emotions running rampant. It's a little past 4 in the morning, and I woke up screaming awake to a nightmare. I knew it was too early to celebrate because I could sleep in a little yesterday morning. These things had repercussions, this is just bound to happen.

I'm met with Hunter West's irritating voicemail note again but I don't end the call after the beep. This time, I'm desperate enough to leave a message. In his defense, I am calling at 4 a.m., who am I to be demanding him to lose his sleep over me?

"Hey, it's me. Beth. I'm just calling - you know - everything is just peachy and my mother texted to announce that the family dinner has been moved up to tomorrow and - I don't know - maybe I just wanted to hear your voice? Not this fake happy voicemail voice but the real you - the you who would make me feel like life is worth living and that there is someone out there who genuinely cares for my well-being and would drag me out to eat ice cream for breakfast and make me go on the most ridiculous activities to redeem myself and leave stupid notes under my pillow so that I wouldn't kill myself.

"I guess this is just waiting to happen -  the after effects of being actually happy for the past few days. I just relived Marco's death again in my dreams and I'm shaken. I should never have been given the chance to live, not if I am the sole cause of Marco's death. Nobody could tell me otherwise because there's no justifying the fact that Marco died because he was running after me out on the snow-plaited road. There is no justifying that!

"Hunter West, could you even begin to imagine my guilt and pain? Marco is dead because of my impulsiveness and recklessness. I was throwing a fit over such an insignificant matter to cause the death of someone so significant to so many people out there, not just me. It would haunt me forever, how I was mad at him for giving Caylin a ride home after the party the night before as she was too drunk to remember her own name. And I was frustrated at myself for leaving the party early to get in some last minute studying for the calculus test the next day, and I took it all out on him. It was such a petty thing - Caylin was already so wasted she couldn't even make a move on him if she tried. It was just my silly jealousy - and it costed - it costed Marco's life."

And I cried, wailed, screamed, the pain crippling me, unable to form coherent words anymore. I don't even bother to end the message - I let it record everything.

Truth is, I don't really want to die. I just want to stop feeling. I don't want the overwhelming guilt and the pain and the knowledge that I had ended such a beautiful life, all because of a rash action. Marie is wrong, I would never be able to forgive myself.

Reality hits me again and again. Marco is dead. It's all my fault. He'll never get to graduate high from college, get married, become a father nor will he ever hold his grandchildren in his arms as he smiles down at them in his gray hair with pride. I took away everything from him; his future; and while he's gone I'm still here, condemned to live out the rest of my pathetic life in misery.

Marco, Marco, Marco. I'm seeing his blood - bright red, his favorite color - his motionless body, his eyes full of indecipherable words, his hands as they try to grasp on mine. I'm holding on to him, both physically and mentally, but he's slowly slipping away. He had sustained several fractured skull, five pair of broken ribs, and a severe spinal cord injury due to the blunt force trauma. The truck that hit him was going over a hundred kilometers per hour. A recovery from that would take a miracle - a miracle that is bestowed to only a few.