7 Things About the Boy Next Door

Chapter 16

"Everyone thinks I've gotten better. I haven't. I've just gotten better at hiding it." -Unknown

~Harmony~

The days come and go and before I know it, Tuesday morning is pouring through my window in warm, steady beams.

I crack my eyes open and smile into the cool sun - actually smile! A warm breeze cuts through my silk curtains and flutters over my warm cheeks, slowly easing me awake. Throwing my covers off, I slide my legs out of bed and spring to a stand in a strangely good mood.

I skip over to my white dresser and fish a hairband from my pot and twist my hair into a messy morning bun on the top of my head when a fluorescent pink post-it note catches my attention.

I tweak my bun and peel the paper from the wooden table top and read mum's short, fat letters.

Morning Sweetie, I've popped out with some girlfriends for a coffee. Make sure you tidy your room and then the day is yours, I know you have that party tonight. -Mum x

I grin proudly into the paper; mum's actually doing it. This is another baby step forwards and I proud of her, of us.

Then I read the second line again. Oh yeah! I have a party tonight. I start to get excited all over again, not because of a silly party, but because I will see Dylan again in several hours.

I scrunch up the post-it and chuck it basketball style into the bin sitting in the corner of my room and use the wall like a backboard. Goal! I cheer in my head as the little paper flutters into the iron bin. I jog around my room with my arms out stretched in celebration, but I feel like I'm celebrating a little more than a mediocre goal. This particular goal has more meaning than that.

I giggle at my theatrics and decide to start my day for real. I wiggle out of my matching cherry pyjama shorts and vest and into my favourite ripped denim shorts and loose fitting t-shirt as I haul the hoover out of the cupboard.

I stand in the middle of my room with my hand on the body of the hoover and feel a little pang of pain flood my chest as I look over to Mel's side. I've been trying to avoid looking in her direction, and it's been really hard, but I need to stop hiding from the truth.

I abandon the hoover for a moment and crawl over to her bed. I stand to the side of it, looking down at the purple sheets in distaste - not to her though, but instead to the unfortunate situation.

All too suddenly, my breath comes in quick and shallow gasps as I'm hit with another tsunami of agony. These waves are impossible to avoid and as effective to stop as trying to reading a blank sheet of paper. All you can do is hope you've got the best board and hold on tight as it takes you straight to the ground.

I crash into her sheets in a heap, tears about to burst from my eyes like in cartoons as I cuddle her pillow to me. Then I cry. But it's not normal crying; it's the crying that accompanies a sadness so overwhelming that tears don't come. My chest feels hollow and my nose starts to run a little.

No more sulking. No more moping. No more grieving. No more tears. Melody's words ring in my head.

Slowly, the wave evens out until only gentle ripples remain and I sit upright with her pillow in my arms. I drop my head into the fabric and inhale. Nothing, I smell nothing. I try again and breathe in deeper this time, and then even deeper until the distant scent of violet perfume and papaya soap wash is detected. It's still there; her smell is just hanging on. But that scares me. Soon, when the last remnant of her physical being has vanished, she will really be gone. There will be no point in having any of her stuff because it will be like she wasn't even here to begin with.