The Bad Boy Is A Loser

21. || bring him back home

     They said it was heroin.

     Heroin took a husband from his wife.

     Heroin took a father from his child.

     Heroin took a young man from this world too soon.

     It didn't add up. Allen was always focused and diligent in his work. He didn't slack. He cared about his shop and his work. He loved his family. He was a friend to everyone.

     Something wasn't right.

     The man was a bit of a hippie and a stoner, but he never appeared to be a drug addict.

     That didn't add up to anyone.

     During the wake, Allen's wife was inconsolable. Her seven year old daughter, Willow, hardly understood what was happening as her mother wept at the silver casket in front of her.

     Calvin Collins promised he would take off work and support his son during the time of loss.

     It didn't happen.

     Carter was left sitting in a nearly empty pew beside Jeffree, glass-eyed and tight lipped the entire time.

     He couldn't even bring flowers... Carter thought bitterly of his father, fighting back the urge to let out an angry cry.

     The night Allen died, Zehara visited him again. He cried to her and expressed his thoughts deeply, but she couldn't seem to understand his grief.

     He didn't blame her for not showing up to the funeral. It wasn't like she knew Allen anyways.

     But couldn't somebody comfort him in his time of need?

      His bruises weren't any better from the week before. They were now shades of green and yellow, burning embarrassment into his being as he shamefully let them show on his face.

     Jeffree was doubled over in his seat, face buried in his hands as he huffed and cried, over and over again. For once, Carter empathized with the eccentric, antisocial male. He too was by his lonesome, having no support from loved ones during his suffering.

     A loud, but stifled cry erupted from behind Carter. Swiftly, he turned his head around to see who the cry belonged to.

     Troy was standing near the row of seats where Carter sat, Isabella hooked to his side for emotional support.

His hand covered his quivering lips, eyes glossy and red from the river of tears that flooded his waterline. Isabella gave her share of emotions as well, gaze cast upon the carpeted floor. With every snuff and squeak of cries, she gently padded her shadowed eyes.

They took their seats directly behind Carter and Jeffree.

Troy's head hung helplessly, hand falling from his mouth as another cry quivered from his lips.

"I can't look," He confessed somberly, "I-I just can't do it..."

Watching a loved one lay lifeless in a bed of white was unnerving.