Step Brother 2://:Tyler Scheid

17_The Ballad

"It's fucking midnight and we had to come and bail you out of prison?" Marshal let's a small grin surpass his lips. "You're lucky I like Andrew."

I look at her through the rear view mirror. Her brown hair curls in her tear stained face as she sleeps. I remember Cheyanne, sometimes she would cry before we went to bed. And that's how she would look. Only her hair was curlier, dyed. Everything between them is different in some way. Just about everything round that Cheyanne had, Andrew had in a sharper, calmer tone to it.

Where Cheyanne had a round face, round chin, chunky cheeks; Andrew has a sharp face, pointed chin, cheekbones that show. Where Cheyanne's structure was a smudge on a painting; Andrew's is a masterpiece chizzled from stone. Where Cheyanne's curves were out of proportion; Andrew's curves are perfect. Everything's sharper with Andrew.

"I can't believe I ever trusted you, Tyler! You were better than the others! I loved you and that's what I get for loving someone isn't it?!" I remember Cheyanne's last words to me. She was in the front yard, her face soaked in tears. Dad had tried to calm her down but when she saw that he had seen her face in the wreck it was, she left. And that's what she always did. If she knew someone saw her in her wrecked stage: she would clean up quick, apologize profusely, or just leave and come back when calmed down. And she left; so I thought she would come back later on after having calmed down. It's when she didn't that I called her mom. And that's when they found her in the bathtub.

I remember the call. I remember her father's voice, near notorious to Cheyanne that he never cried, his voice was breaking. "I'm sorry this happened..." I had said. "I don't even know why..." Her mother's voice had chimed in.

I remember her funeral. Mark, Sean, Ethan, and Felix had been with me in the front row; Alana right next to me. Cheyanne's parents were on the other side of Alana. I remember at some point when someone was talking, Alana reached over. She didn't hold my hand or anything, she grabbed my wrist in a vice while her hand pressed to her trembling lips. Makeup had dripped down the hand covering her mouth.

I remember just looking at her face, red and puffy. Her eyes squeezed shut. Her short purple hair mangled through the air. Her grip had gotten tighter the longer she had cried, her knuckles were a cream white with her grip.

I never pulled away, even when my wrist started to hurt. I just distracted myself with looking at her clothes. A Panic! At The Disco shirt identical to one Cheyanne had, black skinny jeans, and one of Cheyanne's favorite pair of Converse; black suede hightops. I remember looking at my own shoes. An old tattered pair of Converse; once black but then brown through the years, holes had been poking out around the feet. Cheyanne loved the way they looked.

I remember reaching into my dress jacket pocket, playing with my favorite pair of earbuds; a green pair of wireless Beats.

I remember laying them in the casket. The casket was completely empty, only two pairs of earbuds: Alana's and Cheyanne's. Cheyanne had always wanted to be cremated. Be spread across the world. And so that's what we had to do; when I had placed my earbuds in there, it had felt like a hole was ripping right through my chest.

I remember when we were on the way to the burial of Cheyanne's casket. We were in a black limousine, me and Dad and Alana and Cheyanne's family. Her sister still wasn't comprehending exactly what had happened, her mom was trying to explain it to her. "She's not coming back..." "But where did she go? Why are we all dressed in black?" I remember looking at Cheyanne's older brother after that. He had been fighting every last breath, trying not to cry, but hearing his littlest sister speak had broken his chances of lasting without crying.

When they buried the casket of earbuds, a Walkman, and a cassette tape, I stayed after. I sat on the bench right in front of the tombstone and stared at it. I remember someone sitting down next to me and looking up. A guy stared rather intently at the gravestone. Strained eyes. He looked like what Marshal looks like. Only without the purple streak in his hair, brown instead of blue eyes. "How did you know her?" He had asked, his eyes set on the ground. "I'm the guy who slept with her." I had answered. "You're Tyler. The other best friend. She never shut the hell up about you; loved you almost as much as she loved Alana. I'm Jacob." He got up after that. Left.