Broken: Emily's Story

17

The funny thing is, I think Ellie had always been my friend. I'd had no one else. I had told her everything and she would listen. Even when she was too young to understand. She'd always get quiet and just look at me with a thoughtful expression.

When she was old enough to understand things, she would hug me. Just a hug. I'm guessing she had no idea what to say.

Because of that, I'd always blamed myself for her dying. I felt like I'd put too much on her. But then again, how did she know how to kill herself? I had always known she was smarter, but I didn't think she'd know that that would kill her.

I wished she would've said something to me. She had been so happy. Even around me. I wish she could've told me.

Hello? Emily? Eric says, interrupting my train of thought. What? I say, sitting up. You didn't hear me, did you?

No, sorry. I was thinking, I say. Well, stop thinking and eat, he says. He points at a tray of food on his floor. I sigh. I'm not hungry, I tell him. I don't care if you're hungry or not, eat some fucking food, he says. There's a teasing smile on his face.

I can't help smiling at his last comment. I get up off the bed and sit by the tray. There's some sort of meat with some potatoes on a plate and some milk.

Sorry for the quality. These are leftovers from Tuesday night, he says. I look up at him.

You guys keep leftovers? I ask. He looks at me funny. Well, yeah, he says. Don't you?

No. Whatever doesn't get eaten, we throw out. We don't have enough room in the fridge for food, I say, looking away.

Oh, he says. Your dad, I'm guessing? I nod. I grab the fork and stab the meat. I take a bite out of it. It tastes good. A little dry, but good. I chew it slowly and swallow. Feeling his eyes on me I continue eating.

I'm not hungry, but I eat it all. And I have to admit, I feel a little better. And the milk tastes amazing. I drink the whole glass. When it's empty, I stare at it. I really want more, but I'm afraid to ask.

Eric picks up the glass out of my hand, gets up and leaves the room. I stare at his doorway until he comes back. The glass is full.

I look up at him. How did you know? I ask. You were staring at the glass, he says. It was kind of obvious. He hands me the glass. I take it.

I drink this glass a little slower. It's still gone within a few minutes, though. I set the glass back on the tray. He takes the tray and leaves the room. I get up and follow him.

I watch as he puts the dishes in a dishwasher and he puts the tray in a cubby next to the fridge.

We go back in his room. I lay on my side on his bed and he sits behind me. His hand rests on my shoulder.

And that's how I fall asleep.