Kid in a Locker (REWRITING)

4. The Walking Dead

It had been a long night. I feel like I had been held underneath the sea with a tuggboat on my chest while I screamed for help. My face was red and swollen from crying, though that had stopped hours ago.

My music was still blasting through my headphones when Peter opens the door. He sits down on my bed mirroring me, crossing his legs like mine and touching our knees together. In his Pac-Man pants and frazzled hair, he seemed younger than he was.

"How'd you get out?" I ask, wipping my sweaterpaw against the bottom of my nose. There was nothing there to get, but the action gave me enough of a reason to not look up at him.

"He's out cold." Romul and Peter share a room. Ever since Peter went into the sixth grade he insisted on sleeping in a bunk bed. This caused problems when Peter wasn't able to sleep. Most nights it was okay and he could lay in bed on his phone while he waited for his melatonin to slowly reach the level it needed to be at, but some nights it was too much and he couldn't get settled. Those nights, I would wake up because Romul was screaming bloody murder at Peter for trying to get up and waking him.

The bed creaked enough that sometimes I could hear it through the wall on the nights before the screaming. We all had tried to convince Mom and Dad to replace it, and every time they agreed. They always forgot the next day however, and we were always stuck in an endless cycle.

"Thinking about him again?" He asks.

I nod, moving my headphones to around my neck.

"I'm sorry." He grabs onto my shoulders and pulls me close to him, tucking my head underneath his chin. I wrap my arms around his small torso and allow myself to be held by him. He kisses the top of my head.

"I just miss him." I say. What I don't say is I also feel guilty. Peter knows.

"He did a bad thing." He says. "And then he did an even worse thing. You cannot beat yourself up over this."

"I know."

And I did. I knew that what happened to him was something out of my control. I know that in my mind, I swear I do, but I can't help but feel guilty. There must have been something I could've done. Anything at all.

"A week until a year." I say.

"Feefee..." He trails off, removing my hands from around his. I look up to see his face full of concern. He knew that there was no way I wouldn't count the days, and yet he's still disappointed as I let the fact out into the still night air.

"I know."

I wanted to go visit his grave, but that was oceans away and in a different country. Travelling there would be too much hassle, plus I didn't know if I could actually take it.

Hanna's grave was there as well. That was the one thing I knew I wouldn't be able to take. She was once the person I would love to talk to about this, but seeing as how she caused it, that wasn't such a great idea. I would give anything to not see her again.

I wince at the thought. It's not true at all.

A door slams near the back of the house and then an engine rumbles. Mom and Dad were getting ready to go to work.

"It's five." I say.

"Yeah." He looks over at my alarm clock. It sits upon a stack of cardboard boxes that act as a nightstand. Somewhere in these boxes was my actual nightstand.