Awake at Last

Thirteen

A/N: I know I said I was updating other stuff yesterday, but literally I'm on a roll for this again. AS MUCH AS I HATE TO SAY IT, Kirstie's death opens up way to many story possibilities. Also, there's probably going to be a sequel to this, if everything that I've got planned goes as... planned. Yes. So enjoy the chapter guys!

PS: I've got a lot of ideas for this, so I'm going to try to make it extra long :)

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It's been a month. Everyone has moved along in life, more or less. Not totally, since at least one of us bursts into tears every day. Mitch moved back to Arlington with Wyatt, Kevin went to travel through Europe, and the others -Avi, Scott, and Esther- moved in with Piper and I. Avi, Piper, Esther, and I have all gotten jobs and continued paying the bills, but Scott's taking it the hardest. He hasn't moved off of the couch except to get food and use the bathroom. He's so depressed. It's really sad.

As far as the fans know, Pentatonix hasn't broken up. They're simply on hiatus for a while. Videos for the channels haven't been released since Kirstie died, and everyone has deactivated everything aside from their e-mails. Twitters, FaceBooks... everything. But tonight they're releasing a video, after Kirstie's funeral.

I'm staring at myself in the mirror. I haven't bothered with makeup, since I'll end up bursting into tears at the funeral anyway. My hair is done in a side braid -Elsa style- and one of those cliché black face-cover thingies covers my eyes. I'm in a knee-length black dress with a frilly skirt, and wearing black flats. Lacy black gloves, borrowed from Piper, adorn my hands. I definitely look like I'm going to a funeral.

It's drizzly and gray and foggy outside. Funny how the weather is always fitting for every occasion in my life. I continue staring at myself in the mirror, and feel a tear run down my cheek. Furiously, I swat at it, telling myself I cannot cry until I'm at the funeral. But how is that supposed to work? It's my fault Kirstie is dead. All my fault. Everything wrong with life right now is my fault. It all roots back to me, the troublemaker, the problem causer. I'm the one who brought this down on everyone. If I had let Piper go through her stupid fucking mating rituals, if I hadn't caused her to leave.... she wouldn't have gotten kidnapped. I wouldn't have gotten taken, and Kirstie wouldn't be dead. If, if, if. My life is a giant 'if'. I can't help it, though. I just feel so... guilty. Kirstie didn't deserve to die.

I do.

I'm zoning out, staring at myself in the mirror and silently calling myself a killer, when I feel hands slip around my waist. It jolts me back into reality as I realize Avi has managed to sneak up on me. His hair is combed back and he wears a simple black suit with matching black dress shoes. The only thing that can bring a smile to my face is his touch, but right now even that isn't working. I feel his lips run over my shoulder, and sigh. "Avi." I mumble. He doesn't stop, so I reinforce my voice and say his name louder. And not in that way, pervert. "Avi."

He groans and looks up, as if asking why in the actual hell I made him stop. "What?"

"It's funeral day. We're not making out." I order, tone strict. He sighs, and I suddenly feel like I'm his mom. He rests his chin on my shoulder, gazing at our reflection in the mirror.

"Why did she have to go?" He asks. He's almost like a little kid, asking why his dog -and no, I'm not comparing Kirstie to a dog- is gone. It breaks my heart all over again.

"I don't know," I answer, voice cracking as I hold in another wave of tears. Truth is, I do know. She had to go because I was an idiot. There it is again. I. I'm the cause of her death. She shouldn't have gone, it wasn't her time. But here I am, alive and well, shoulder fully healed. Just the cause of her death, walking around as if I've got any more entitlement to live than she had. I don't even realize that a torrential wave of tears has been released and is now crashing down my face like Niagara Falls.