The Beginning of the End (Editing)

Twenty Four : Plum Pool

July 19th
Entry #107

Time is passing so fast, fall is approaching so quickly. It's not long until my birthday, and Lochie still thinks he loves me.

Love isn't real, If it was I think my Mom and Dad could still be here. Sure, a fire burning them to the ground doesn't mean love doesn't exist but I think that if they loved me, they wouldn't have settled with dying.

Before he dropped me off tonight, we sat in his car. He told me he loved me, but it felt weird to hear it. I don't know why, but it felt so wrong. It was like hearing a lizard say he wants to cuddle.. so strange.

But what was stranger was the thought of Kyle which invaded, and I just couldn't say it back. Not because I don't believe in love, there was something else.

I left the car, and Lochie was upset. He didn't say anything. I just got out of the car and he drove off. And ever since, I can't stop thinking about Kyle.

That awkward son of a bitch.. why would I think of him?

-

I never thought I'd wake up in Harry's room on his couch, but I am. I lean over the edge of the sofa and pick my phone up off of the ground- thank god for silent mode because thirteen missed calls from Ma is bad news.

Yesterday was bad news too, and I felt as though I was just drowning in this ocean of fuck-knows-what because I'm a guilty prick who did the worst thing a person could do to the person he loves.

When he gave me that journal, I didn't want to read anything and still barely have. I opened the cover, and it was enough for my heart to break.

A flower fell out, all dried and brown like the autumn leaves. A folded piece of paper fell out too. I didn't take much notice until I looked at the page which read, "A very special gift from a very special person". I opened the paper, and tears dared to spill from the brim of my eyes.

It was a sketch of me when I was a kid.

And the flower that I gave her the day we met.

I didn't want to leave the hospital, and I sat there for hours until night fell. Harry stayed too. He let me be with her. He didn't make fun of me for crying, he was crying too.

I didn't dare to turn the pages anymore, I didn't want to know anything else and I still don't this morning.

Her nurse came in too many times to count, to check on her progression. But nothing has progressed, and her nurse told me that she probably won't be able to talk again when she wakes up. That is, if she wakes up.

I don't know if she meant what I think and though she meant, and a big part of me doesn't want to find out.

I just want to drink, which is bad for 9:14 A.M, but Harry let me do that last night when the hospital warden forced us to leave before security did.

He told me that he read the journal, and that he feels sorry for me and everything that's happened. We came to a truce, and for once I think I might have a friend who understands truly. I haven't heard from Mike and Taylor for weeks, and neither of them have visited El at all as far as I'm concerned. I don't know what kind of "friends" don't pay a visit to their hospitalised, possibly dying friend.

If I see them again, god would they fucking hear it from me.

"Morning," Harry grumbles, sitting up like a zombie emerging from the grave. He reaches over to his bedside table and grabs his D.I.Y bong made from a plastic bottle. "You want some?" He then grabs a small baggie of weed.

"I better not, I should get home." I kick off my blankets and put my jeans and jacket back on. The smell of drugs reminds me off the parties I've been to but never wanted to, then I think of Eleanor again.

Fucking Eleanor.

"Don't hurt yourself, okay?" He mumbles as he takes a hit. "If you need me I'll be right over."

"Thanks, Harry."

"Don't forget the journal," He mumbles just as I'm about to leave the room. I pat my chest to see if I can feel it in my inner pocket, and it's there. Hard and full of mysteries like it was yesterday.

"It's here," I exhale and turn around to see him exhaling a cloud of smoke. I inhale deeply, "Should I be worried about what's in here?".

He puts the bong back and slips a plain black shirt over himself before standing out of bed, nearing towards me with concern in his expression. Once in front of me, he brings his hand to my shoulder.

"Look, like I said, of you need me I'll be right over." He gives me a reassuring smile before walking past me and down his stairs.

Not another word is said, and so I find my way out of the home and into the cold air. But it's familiar out here, and my eyes are bought to the street and it's houses. This is just around the corner from home, this whole time? Harry's lived a mere few houses away?

I turn the corner with a blur of last night events after we started drinking, I have no idea what I might have said but I doubt it was anything too important. I was too drunk to care, and that's all I wanted.

I admit my drinking habits are bad and getting worse, and I hate to think I'm becoming an alcoholic cunt. El would be laughing at me if she could, but she can't even remember me. One of out last conversations with her included her thinking I was her boyfriend.

As if.

I refocus my attention away from pitiful thoughts of the forget-me-girl and notice clothing blowing around in the street. I'm surprised that it hasn't rained with all this cloud around, but the wind hasn't faltered.

The clothes look familiar, and as I approach my home closer and closer with each step I realise they're Dads. Unless Ma forgot to fetch the clothes in from the drying line outside last night, I don't know why they're out here.

I open the door and I immediately detect the heavy scent of liquor in the air.

"Mom?" I call out into the hallway. No response.

Where is she?

I walk around, continuing to call her name, but instead come across her phone buzzing on the kitchen counter. The number has no name, but the number looks familiar, and already I feel like something is wrong.

Very wrong.

"Don't you answer that," Ma's slurring voice turns me around. For such a usually pristine woman, she looks like the aftermath of hurricane Katrina holding a half empty bottle of red wine.

"What's wrong, why are Dad's clothes outside?" I ask her, declining the call quickly and turning back around.

She doesn't answer, she just stands there with her arms folded across her chest and mascara streaking her ageing cheeks.

"Ma?" I ask again, with a little more urgency. She brings the wine bottle to her smeared red lips and takes a quick swig before dropping it on the floor. A plum pool of glass and wine forms at her bare feet.

She continues to cry, and she looks at me with so much hurt in her eyes that I feel my own sorrows even more so.

"Kyle," She mumbles, attempting to take a step but I quickly step in to hold her before she steps on the broken bottle. She bursts into tears in my arms, and I feel the sensation of crying rising in me too.

"What's wrong, Ma?" I urge her again.

"Don't be your father, don't hurt the love of your life like he has," She cries hysterically into my arms.

And I can't help but feel those words sting horribly at my heart, because we'll, I've hurt the love of my life before I even had the chance to love her.