38

Sixteen Years Old

WAKING UP THIS MORNING was normal. But then I started getting frantic texts from Atlas's and my mutual acquaintances, asking me if I'd heard the news. The hair stood up on the back of my neck. What news? More texts come in from classmates, asking me if I was doing okay.

And then Atlas's voicemail.

He's choking on sobs, something I've never heard.

"Ophelia… I'm sorry. Moriah's gone. She's gone. Please call me back. I need you."

I called ten times.

All calls went to voicemail, as if his phone wasn't even on.

My father was home, a rarity, when I went downstairs. He held me when I cried. Comforted me until it was time for him to go to work. He offered to use one of his days off. But I knew how hard it was for him to bring himself to do those things. Drowning in his work was the only way he coped with life. And I didn't want to burden him more by keeping him home.

I would rather sit alone, anyway.

I waited for Atlas to call me back. I texted him many times, hoping for something.

But a response never came.

A couple of days, then a week.

Then it's the funeral. I find Atlas in the pews, sitting alone near the back. I sit next to him, but he doesn't acknowledge me.

"I tried to call you. I've texted you a thousand times. I don't know if you're mad that I missed your call when I was asleep, or if you're grieving so hard that it hurts. But I'm here for you."

"It's my fault," he murmurs. "We were arguing."

"You and Moriah?"

He nods slowly, almost uncertainly. "We argued. I asked for a break and I was going to call my mom to get me. I didn't want to stay. There was some thunder, but she went out on the water anyway. She wanted to scare me or maybe get away from me. It's my fault."

I shake my head, taking his hand. "It's not your fault. We both know how impulsive Moriah is—was."

I cringe. This comforting talk is already off to a terrible start. Still, I continue. "She was stubborn as hell. You loved her for that. She probably wanted to cool off. She wouldn't have done that to cause you any fear, and she probably didn't think she'd get hurt."

Atlas shivers, despite the church being quite warm. "I don't know. I don't know anything. I failed her. It's my fault."

My heart feels like it's breaking. I had hoped to fix things with Moriah. I wanted to be friends. I didn't know why she stopped talking to me, but I wanted to fix everything between the three of us and go back to being the way we were. Maybe even bring Milo along sometimes.

But the pain of everything swells inside me now, burying a seed of misery deep in my chest. I begin to sob. Atlas doesn't move to comfort me. He doesn't hold me close, or even hold my hand, like I did for him moments before. He rises from the pew and leaves me be.

I realize then that we're broken beyond repair. Neither of them valued me as a friend.

Milo finds me moments later and does what I had wanted Atlas to do. He holds me, whispers comforting words in my ear. He kisses my cheek, my head, my hands. We stay in the back during the funeral. He holds my hand while he drives us to the burial site.

I stay back when everyone drops a flower onto Moriah's casket. She wouldn't want me here. I realize that now.

"Milo," I whisper. "Take me home."

He doesn't hesitate. He guides me to his car and takes off out of the parking lot. He doesn't expect me to say anything or fill the silence.

"Atlas was a real asshole to you," he says. "I saw you sitting with him. And the moment you needed comfort, he ran off."

I lean my head against the window. "He's hurting. He blames himself. I don't want to talk about it, though."

Milo doesn't push to talk about anything concerning the funeral. When we pull up to my house, he sees that the lights are off and the driveway is empty, and he sighs. "Your dad isn't home?"

"When is he ever?"

"I don't like leaving you alone."

I shrug. "I've gotten used to being alone. You know that much."

He leans over, tucking stray strands of my hair behind my ear. "As long as I'm around, you're not going to be alone. I know your dad won't like it, but I'd like to come inside. You can shower and take a nap. I'll stay on the couch and watch TV. Just until he comes home. Then I'll leave."

I want to tell him no, to make him go home and not worry about me. But we're too far beyond that point already. I nod, unable to say anything.

He gets out of his car and comes around, helping me out and guiding me to the door. I pull my keys from my purse and let us inside.

"I will sit here on the couch," he says, looking toward the living room. "You shower and take a nap. It will help."

I brush past him and go upstairs, doing what he says. I start the water for the shower and peel off my clothes.

When the hot water hits my skin, it's like magic. I scrub myself clean, washing off the taint of the funeral, soothing the wounds to my heart and my soul, imagining the hurt and the pain washing down the drain. I let the water wash over me, soothe me, renew me.

I don't know how long I'm in the shower, but when I finally get out, my skin is red from the hot water. I don't care. I wrap my wet hair in a towel and pull on my pajamas.

It's almost therapeutic, sitting on my bed, combing my hair. I count the times the comb passes through my long waves, but I eventually lose count. Still, I comb until there's no knots or tangles from the wind outside at the gravesite.

After all of that, I braid my hair slowly, then climb underneath the blankets on my bed. I hate that Milo is right, but I needed this time to process and exist in my room alone.

I try to sleep, but every time I close my eyes, there are flashbacks of good memories with Moriah, as well as the bad. I sit up, sobbing into my hands.

"Hey, shh. It's okay."

Milo sits next to me; he probably rushed up here when he heard me crying. His arms wrap around me, pulling me into his chest.

I don't say anything to him. I can't say a word between all the sobbing.

When I've finally shed every last tear I have left, I'm beyond exhausted.

"Moriah did a lot of things wrong to you, but that doesn't mean she wasn't someone who meant something to you. It doesn't mean you can't grieve the loss of who she used to be. At one time, she was your closest friend. No matter where you stood recently, she still meant something." Milo finishes his speech by kissing my forehead.

I nod slowly. "I never would've wanted this to happen. She didn't deserve this. But what's worse is I'm so numb about her death. These tears are for Atlas. I guess I just thought he would need me again. That he would want me to comfort him. That he'd want to comfort me. We both lost someone who meant a lot to us."

Hot tears prick behind my eyes, threatening to break free yet again. I blink, hoping to chase them away.

Milo frowns in the way he always does when it comes to Atlas. I know there's a part of him that worries that my heart will never fully belong here, with him. That it will always belong to Atlas.

I lean up and kiss Milo softly, a reassurance.

"He doesn't deserve your tears," he murmurs when I pull away.

"Maybe not. But that doesn't mean I don't have tears to cry."

"I should let you sleep."

I sigh. The silence of the house is getting louder, pressing in around me. "You could stay with me."

"I don't feel like being murdered by your dad when he does eventually make it home tonight. But I'm a phone call away. I'll have my phone by my bed, ready to come here whenever you need."

He kisses me again before standing, tucking me into the bed. He closes the door behind him as he leaves the room. I hear him shut the front door, then the sound of his car pulling away.

My body is exhausted; my eyes finally fall shut. Maybe I can sleep away the grief and the heartache.

Maybe I'll wake up and it will all be a nightmare. Atlas and I won't be fighting and Moriah will still be alive.

But life doesn't work like that.

Slowly, I drift away into a nightmare-filled sleep.