At Dusk

13

I feel empty, like there is this huge hole inside of me that nothing can ever fill because it was filled by Weston and when he died it got ripped out and now I'm empty.

Weston and I had always dreamed of going to the seaside. We had read about it in my books, listened to songs about it from his small collection of records and seen some tapes from before the world changed. It was the perfect place to run away to, where the sun always shines and the fun never ends. He never made it there, but three days after he passed, we drove down. We brought his ashes and sprinkled them in the ocean. We didn't want to bury him as we don't know what the future holds and where we will be. I haven't cried since then, it's as if I have run out of tears. It still doesn't feel real, I'm still waiting for him to walk through the door and tell me he's fine. I can't stop beating myself up about the day he passed. If only I hadn't gone to that stupid benefit maybe he would still be here.

It has been eight days since..... I feel dead inside and the only thing helping in the slightest is the endless amount of alcohol that I have consumed. I haven't left my room other than grabbing more tequila or whatever my drink of choice is for that day. I have barely slept, I just wake up gasping for air wishing I would have died and not him. I've only eaten enough to keep me alive. I know that the guys keep posted outside my room all day everyday, there isn't a moment where there isn't at least one of them sitting there waiting for me to find a healthy way to deal with this and believe me I know this is not a healthy way to cope but I'm weak and what is wrong with that.

I lay in beg all day, a bottle in one hand and a photo from Weston's tenth birthday party and the bandana in the other. In the photo, I'm on Weston's back and Hayes is on Oliver's back and we have cake smashed all over our faces. Even though things at home were terrible, things like that day would make me forget it and I was able to just be a kid.

I lay there in grey joggers and a grey spaghetti strap crop top with one of Weston's hoodies on over it. Just as I start to think I'm broken as I haven't cried since the beach the tears come flooding down my face. There's a knock at the door but I just ignore it turning around so my back is facing it but the knocking continues.

"I really don't want to talk to anyone right now," I sniffle sitting up as someone walks in the room and I turn my head to see Dylan nervously standing there.

"I know you don't want to talk to anyone and I get that, but the drinking has to stop," He says walking over and taking the bottle out of my hand and placing it on the floor.

"I'm losing hope, he's gone and I don't know what to do, how am I meant to live without him, how am I meant to go on, how do I get passed this?"

He pulls me in tight for a hug and I just sob in his arms making him pull me closer. A few seconds later he begins talking.

"I don't know how, and I know that isn't the answer you are looking for but it's the only one I have," he frowns holding my hand before looking me in the eyes as it hits me.

"How am I ever going to face Milo, I'm the reason his brother died."

"You are not the reason Weston died, do you here me, this is not your fault, we all agreed, by ourselves, to come here. It was a freak accident that he got bitten and that he got sick, and we will face Milo together, but we have to do it together, that's the only way we will make it, we will be each others support systems, we will be okay, we will make it through."

"Together?"

"Together," he agrees squeezing my hand, "But it needs to start with you having a shower and a proper meal and promising to stop the drinking because you know he would hate to see you like this."

"I promise," I tell him looking down at the photo as a tear lands on it.

"When was that taken?"