7 Things About the Boy Next Door

Broken

"We must be willing to let go of the life we've planned, to have the life that is waiting for us." -Joseph Cambell

~Harmony~

My mother slinks in front the kitchen with a withdrawn expression; hollow and idle like a costume of a woman.

I notice how empty she looks as she drags her feet over the greying carpet towards my bawled form on the couch. I watch her distantly through hooded eyes and notice her gaunt cheeks, droopy lips and prominent black rings around her dull eyes. Her lightly grey-streaked hair looks limp and greasy under the harsh lighting, clothes crumpled from constant use over the past few days. It's safe to say we've seen better days.

I'm sure I don't fare any better though, if not worse. The pair of us haven't exactly been catching the recommended hours of beauty sleep since the night Mel left us for a better place. Or I hope it's a better place, I wouldn't really know.

Okay, that first part is a bit of a lie; we haven't gotten any sleep since Mel di-die-, I can't even think it. The words get plugged in my throat with the suffocating ball of thick emotion.

It's just not possible. I don't understand. I'm confused. How? How does this happen? Why?

I need Mel like I need air. She'd know what to do; how to comfort me even in a way a mother couldn't. She's the only one. But she's gone; just forever this time. She isn't at a friend's house or out partying under the stars, she's not going to come home tonight, or any other night.

Is it possible to die from a broken heart? Because I think I'm pretty close.

***

~Harmony~

It's been over a week now; nine sleepless, stressful, sorrowful days and I still can't voice the words death, dead, dying, died, demise and deceased. I just can't, because if I do, it means coming to terms with what happened and accepting that Melody is not here.

I won't.

I can't.

Not yet.

I'm also drained, not only physically, but emotionally, too. The whole circumstance feels like a big, wet blanket over my head; a perpetual weight I will never shed like the shackles of a condemned slave.

I find myself in our joint room, which I guess just turned into my room. Not our room. My room. The phrase sends a poor taste rushing through my mouth and I burst into the toilet, dry-heaving on an empty stomach.

I dutifully avoid the mirror above the sink and rinse out my acrid mouth, splashing some iced water over my skin for extra measure.

Then I return to the room and stare longingly at the posters spread through Melody's side like the walls were her pages of a scrapbook. Idols, pictures, quotes and favourite dream outfits worn by the latest celebrities congest her wall.

It is no secret that Melody was the better half of the two of us. And I was happy that way - her shadow was a lovely umbrella to live beneath. Where she would prefer to go to the salon, I would want to relax at home with a pen and paper, scribbling down possible answers to philosophical questions I conjure. When she would ask me to go shopping, I would want to snuggle up by the fire and lose myself in one of my paranormal romance novels. Where she'd prefer to gossip about boys and other girls around school, I'd prefer to hide in my bed and write until my fingers ached.

We were polar opposites, but ironically made for the best pair.

I wish I went shopping with Mel more often now. I suddenly miss the long days of begin dragged around the shops against my will but nonetheless feigning interest for my twin's sake. Lately I've been having a lot of wishes like that - a lot of regrets; I wish I could hear her sweet voice one last time. I wish I could talk to her again. I wish I told her I loved her every chance I got because now it's too late. I wish we had a proper goodbye. I wish she had a proper, full life. I wish she were here.