What He Left Behind

Eleven

October 10th.

The day I've been dreading for months.

I don't even bother trying to get out of bed because I have neither the energy nor the motivation to go to school. I know I will not be able to get through the day without breaking down, and the last thing I need is everyone seeing that.

Instead I curl up in a ball and pull the blankets tightly around my shoulders, the hollowness in my chest more painful than I can bear. You read these books and listen to these songs and watch these films that make you think you understand what it's like to lose someone, but the truth is nothing can prepare you for it.

When I was made to see the guidance counsellor at my old school, she told me to try and express my feelings through art or through poetry but I couldn't do it. There is no way to describe what it's like to lose your best friend. Austin was everything to me and now he's gone. I've lost the one person that I truly cared about. How can I even begin to articulate what that feels like?

For the first time since Austin's death, I play back the memories out of choice. It's his birthday after all and even if everyone else is prepared to act like he never existed, I am most definitely not. Besides, I think it's important to go over the memories now and again; I'm scared I'll forget otherwise.

I hear my phone buzz, but it doesn't really register in my brain, therefore I don't check it. It isn't until a few minutes, and a few more buzzes, later that I finally reach out onto the night stand and pick up my phone. The brightness from the screen is temporarily blinding, but I eventually make sense of the blurred letters that spell out Charlie's name. I have three missed calls and a text: Morning doll. Get dressed, we have a birthday to celebrate x

The biggest smile lights up my face because for a second the longing is replaced with relief. Finally, there is someone who acknowledges that Austin existed. It doesn't make the grief go away but it does make it easier to deal with, knowing I don't have to face it on my own.

My phone buzzes again with another message: The front window is open by the way. Don't make me come in there

I get out of bed and splash water on my face and pull my hair up into a messy bun. I probably look an absolute state but I hurry downstairs to let Charlie in because I don't doubt that he will climb through the window otherwise. As soon as I see Charlie, I practically fall into his arms and fight back the tears that come to my eyes.

It's rare that I get emotional in front of people. The last person who saw me cry was probably Austin. Even at the funeral, I didn't shed one tear. It was only when I was alone that I allowed myself to get upset. Right now though, I'm close to coming completely undone and I'm not entirely sure why. Maybe it's because it's Austin's birthday and I miss him or maybe it's because Charlie's here and he understands.

Charlie holds me for a while, his embrace making me feel safe and less alone. Neither of us speaks, but that's okay because I'd rather not talk when I feel like this. When I feel like this, there's nothing worse than being hounded with questions or having to force a smile at people's overbearing attempts to comfort me. Just the mere fact that Charlie's here is all the comfort I need. Isn't it strange that the person whose presence used to make me want to stick pins in my eyes is now the one to make me feel calm?

"I'm sorry," I say as soon as I'm sure I can string the words together without them coming out as a sob.

"Don't apologise," he hums, softly stroking the back of my head.

"I can't believe you're here," I say after a while, "Haven't you missed enough school already this year?"

"Fuck school. Do you wanna go and get ready so we can go out? If you feel like going out?"