cemetery ☞ n.m

viii

i should've stayed, he thought.

i should've stayed and helped her.

but he didn't. and that feeling kept him up through the night. the image of her body slouching on the ground whilst playing the guitar along with the lyrics she sang, and the fear that suddenly overcame her as her body-language changed when he approached her.

i should've stayed.

leaving her alone felt like the right thing to do at the time, and he knew that he'd regret that as soon as he turned away from her and walked in the opposite direction.

he knows that she's hurting, in some way. and the fact that she was sitting in front of a grave playing a guitar at three in the morning, proved his theory.

she probably isn't even thinking about me, he thought.

i should forget about her;

but i can't.

there was something about the way that she looked at him, as cliché as it may sound. the look that her big, brown eyes gave off told him something that was so unclear. and it only made him want to see her even more.

"is anyone even up for clubbing?" gilinsky asks, seeming way out of it. it was obvious that he didn't want to go clubbing, but neither did the rest of us.

nate shrugs. clubbing was their favorite thing to do, with johnson. everything that they did with him just seems so bitter now.

"yeah, me neither."

i miss the way shit used to be. before all this happened. before i got involved with all those people who participated in killing my best friend.

we were so dull now. he was literally the light of the group, he brought up all of the conversations. he made all of the plans, those of which were actually fun. he was the reason why we didn't give up on ourselves.

now he's gone. he's fucking dead.