It's raining. I think of how completely cliche that is- of course it's raining. I sigh. My stupid dress is itchy an all I want to do is go back home and sleep. Forever. But, no you're her sister, that would be inappropriate.
Inappropriate my ass. I didn't choose her. I didn't choose her death or this stupid funeral.
I tug on my dress. One of her stoner boyfriends is standing behind me and I can feel his eyes on my ass. Fantastic. Creep. Someone is sobbing loudly behind me and I have to force myself not to roll my eyes. It comes time for me to drop my rose on her. The rose has turned into a soggy, too sweet lump, crumpled in my pale hands. I sigh. Again.
I trudge up to the casket and look down at my sister. She's beautiful, even in death. Bitch. I glance at her wrist. You can still see the angry red slit, crawling up her right arm. I have to force myself not to throw the rose down at her. I have to force myself not to scream.
I drop the rose and smile bitterly. I turn abruptly and walk away, never looking back.
........
What pisses me off more than anythingis how dramatic the whole damn thing was. The way she did it, the lead-up, even the damn funeral. All of it was just so... Maya.
Of course, she wrote a note. A sob story of sex and drugs and how she just couldn't take it anymore! Oh, boo freaking who. It made me want to scream. But, of course I didn't.
And of course, Sam had to find her. He's eight. Her body, folded in a puddle of blood, completely soaked in crimson, razor clenched in her pretty fist. Sammy, he didn't scream. He didn't cry. He just stood there. Staring. Silent. He's only eight, for crissake. Seeing him like that, having the image of his little face completely terrified burned into my eyelids, into my skull made me want to shake her dead, cold body. It made me want to scream.
But of course,I didn't.
I had always known she was screwed up. Even when I was too young to know, somehow, I knew.
It started small. Alchohol, cigarettes. I remember the first time she brought a guy home. I was twelve. Mom, Dad, and Sammy were out. I was laying in bed, watching Gilmore Girls when Maya's laughter floated through the door. I flew upstairs, excited to see my big sister.
"My! My, I-" I slid to a stop. They were on the couch, her on her back. He was on top of her, ugly, sweaty hands up her shirt. When she noticed me, she jerked away. What suprised me were her eyes- they weren't angry, panicked, or even excited- they were blank. Completely emotionless.
"God, Abigail. Sorry, baby, go back downstairs, okay? Turn up the volume and don't tell mommy and daddy about all this, okay?"
All I could manage was a nod and stumbling down the stairs. I remember turning up the TV to drown out the moaning. I remember sobbing under the covers. I wanted to save her from that stupid boy. I felt dirty. She was my big sister.
From there, things only got worse. Cigarettes turned into weed; weed to coccaine. The moaning above my head became a constant night noise. We all knew what was going on, even my parents, but they didn't was to admit their Christmas Card family was collapsing. It seemed like, as long as everyone pretended everything was okay, one day, it would be.
Instead, she killed herself.
In my head, that took away the problem. Except for the fact that logic wasn't at play, here. Everything had to be emotional, it had to be about how we feel.
Truth is, I felt great. Better than ever. I no longer had the burden of worrying about Maya's well-being. Sure, I missed her, but I missed the her before. The big sister that would talk to me about boys and share chocolate with me on bad days. But you get used to missing someone when they've been gone for so long. The stoner Maya was just as good as the dead Maya, and I'd had plenty of time to adjust to not having a sister. Why did everyone think this was that different?
........
When my parent's told me I was transferring to a private school, I couldn't help but laugh. Too bad they didn't realize that public schools are "bad news" 3 years ago. Maybe then we'd still have Maya. Not that I cared.
I didn't even bother saying bye to my friends. I knew it would just cause more drama than it was worth. They'd probably cry or something. This way, they'd just forget me.
My first day at Westfield Heights was altogether uneventful. It was a tiny school, so word that there was a new kid spread fast. Most of the kids had known eachother since pre-k. I became the new thing, something fresh to obtain. But I wouldn't have it, any of the fake smiles or 'Welcome to Westfield!"s. I kept to myself and gave anyone who came near me the cold shoulder.
For the next week, I sat alone at luch, reading. At first, several people tried to come sit with me, but after sitting there, silently for the entire lunch period, they never came back. Slowly, things died down and I took on my role as a wallflower.
I decided to go by Elliot. Abigail, Abby was the old me, the me that didn't exist anymore. Elliot was the emotionless, silent girl that ghosted the halls of Westfield Heights. The cold blue eyes that told people to stay away.
It wasn't until I was walking home one day that I really ever noticed him. It wasn't that he wasn't special- he was. I didn't notice anyone around here, it took too much effort. So when he came up besides me, I was shocked.
"Elliot, right?" he said, matching his pace with mine. I looked up into green playful eyes, my face stunned. I covered my expression quickly.
"Yes." I replied, ice in my voice. He didn't show any sign of faltering.
"Knew it. You're new, right? My friend Shawn and I were talking and-"
"What do you want?" I asked sharply. He chuckled.
"Everyone said you were a bitch. Guess I didn't think it was true." I mentally shoved myself for being hurt by the comment. The bitchier they thought I was, the easier it was to keep away from them. The easier it was to keep away, the better.
"You guessed wrong." I shrugged. He laughed again. "What's so funny?"
"I see you, Elliot. I see right through that little mask you put on. You're just a big teddy bear, deep, deep down-"
"Look, what the hell do you want? Do Ieven know you?" My words were harsh, but I kept my voice icy and even.
"Oh, where are my manners," he said, laughter in his eyes. Whoever he was, he was starting to piss me off."I'm Avery, Avery Jenkins."
I wish I had known in that moment how important the name Avery Jenkins would be in my life.
