A week and a half of drowning in my sorrow. A week and a half of feeling utterly destroyed. A week and a half of wanting nothing more than to make it all stop.

I hate feeling this way.

I hover over Mom’s casket, my hand resting on the polished wood as Hudson stands next to me. It’s weird knowing her cold body is in a casket, and she will be buried under ground for eternity.

She’s gone.

I’m here.

Everything is different, yet everything feels the same.

My world is darker than it was before, clouds hanging above me. They pour rain over me, crying as I cry, making everything feel so much bleaker.

Hudson, Kristy, Jason, and me. That’s it.

We’re here, and no one else is. I didn’t try to find my dad to tell him Mom died because he left us. He doesn’t deserve the chance to tell her goodbye.

Both sets of my grandparents passed away before I was ten. I don’t remember anything about them, and Mom and Dad never kept in touch with any of their family. So it’s just me, and the people I call friends.

It’s sad that this is it.

The sun beats down me, making me sweat in my black blouse and pants. My long brown hair falls over my shoulders, adding another layer to my scorching skin. I wish it was raining. I wish other people weren’t out having fun when I’m barely keeping myself in one piece.

Kristy walks up next to me, wrapping her arm around me, squeezing me close to her as I stare at my mom’s casket. “You want to grab something to eat?” she asks.

I shake my head no.

I haven’t said a single word to any of them since they showed up. The only reason they knew about the funeral today is because Kristy wouldn’t stop asking me about it. I told her merely to shut her up. I assume she told Hudson because I’ve been avoiding him like the plague.

It’s almost like I’ve taken a vow of silence, refusing to say a word to anyone.

“Do you want someone to take you home?” she whispers.

I don’t miss how she says someone. I know she means Hudson, even though she doesn’t say it.

I shake my head no again, slipping away from her hold.

I shoulder around Hudson, hoping he doesn’t follow me, but he does, and I continue to ignore him.

Jason lets go of my bike when I wrap my hand around the handle bar. He doesn’t say anything. He just folds his arms around me, gripping me against him. I pat his back once, and he drops his hold on me.

Walls are caving in on me, and all I want to do is get away from all three of them. They’re overcrowding me, bombarding me with their sympathy and sad eyes. I don’t want any of it.

I hop on my red bike and pedal down the road. I leave them all standing near my dead mother–everyone I care about in one spot. I glance over my shoulder, and the pity on their faces causes my stomach to twist in knots.

I veer off the road, not wanting to feel their eyes on my back. I move slower, careful not to run over any gravestones that are hidden in the grass.

This day is too much. The crushing weight on my chest. The grief settling over me.

I press my lips together, grinding my teeth.

I haven’t cried all day. I wouldn’t let myself because I knew I wouldn’t be strong enough to go home alone if I did. I would let Kristy, Jason, and Hudson take care of me, but that’s not what I need…not right now.

I have to get through this. I can get through this.

At least I think I can.

I notice Joey five feet ahead of me, his hands in the pockets of his black slacks as he walks down the paved road.

I slam on the breaks, my brows pinching together.

When he spots me, his eyes soften as a small smile tugs at his mouth. “Did I miss the funeral?” he asks, his eyes scanning my face.

I nod.

“I’m sorry.” He runs a hand through his blond hair. “I went to your other job to check on you, and the chick with the shaved head told me when the funeral was.”

Damn Kristy and her fucking mouth.

I purse my lips.

“I can leave. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He takes a step back.

Before he can walk away, I jump off my bike, letting it hit the ground. I throw my arms around his neck, and I cry for the first time today.

He’s stiff at first, but his body relaxes and his arms wrap around me.

I fall apart in Joey’s arms for more reasons than one.

My mom is dead, and it feels like I lost a part of myself. It’s like someone took my right leg, deciding I didn’t need it anymore. But I do. I need her as much as I need my leg.

Joey helped me. He saw me falling apart and helped a girl who has only ever yelled at him.

He fixed my bike. He took me to the hospital, and now he’s here when he doesn’t owe me a single thing.

We hardly know each other, but he’s showing me a compassion I know I don’t deserve.

“You should be more careful with that bike. I don’t want to have to fix it again.” He laughs softly against my hair.

And I laugh-cry along with him.

I don’t know how long we stand there, but when I pull away from him, blood rushes back to my hands as I drop my arms.

I pick my bike up off the ground, holding it upright as I look at Joey.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

He nods, his eyes kind, not full of pity.

I throw my leg over my bike and pedal away. The clouds that have been hanging over my head beginning to dry out.

It’s been four days since the funeral.

Hudson has called, sent me strings of texts, and showed up at my front door. Each time I ignored him, putting a barrier thicker than steel between us.

Shoving people away is my specialty. I’ve become a master at forcing everyone out when all they want to do is help.

My walls haven’t deterred Hudson though.

Like right now. I’m sitting on a swing at the park in our neighborhood, and he’s walking toward me, watching me cautiously, making sure I don’t run away before he reaches me.

He stops short, towering over me with his hands in his jean pockets. Jeans. It’s hot as Hades out here, why is he wearing jeans?

“Are you okay?” he asks, rolling back on his heels.

I grip the chains of the swing in my hands as I flatten my lips together.

I hate that question. I loathe it. I wish it was erased from everyone’s mind because most people don’t want the truth. They don’t want to know that you’re falling apart inside. They don’t want to hear about the sleepless nights you have. They don’t want the truth. They want the easy answer. I’m fine. Guess what? That’s almost never true. I’m fine means I’m broken, I’m pissed, I need someone, or go fuck yourself and leave me alone. It never means I’m fine.

“Yeah,” I say, not giving him any hints as to how much I’m decaying on the inside.

He occupies the swing next to me. “I won’t let you fall off the ledge.” It’s a little too late for that. “I won’t let you disappear on me, so don’t think you can ignore me until I go away.” He tugs on the chain of my swing, dragging my attention to him. “Because I won’t.” He sears me with his eyes, trapping me with an intensity I’m not ready for.

But I was. I was ready to jump with him, to plunge in to his world and embrace something new. I was standing there, teetering on the edge, trusting he would be there to catch me, but then everything changed.

The floor dropped out from under my feet, and I fell all on my own, crash-landing harder than I thought I would, but I got up. I got up on my own without his help, and now I’m surviving, but I wouldn’t say I’m living. I’m merely existing in a world that’s passing me by, so did I really get up on my own or am I still stuck on the ground, imagining I’m standing on my own two feet?

We sit in silence, moving back and forth on our swings. Him next to me, offering me what I can handle, just his presence. No talking. Nothing else besides existing next to each other. A million miles between us when we’re barely a foot apart.

I was getting used to having people, someone to talk to, someone to lean on, someone to laugh with. I was growing, improving, and now I’ve taken five thousand steps back, diverting to my old ways.

He stands to leave, and my mouth falls open, but I don’t say anything. I keep quiet–keeping myself in confinement, not daring to let anything in or anything out.

To my surprise, he kneels in front of me, holding my face captive in his hands. “Truth,” he says, my eyes roaming his face. “I miss you. I miss you more than I have ever missed anyone, and you might not be ready to hear this, but I’m ready to say it, and I need you to hear me.” He pauses, searching my eyes for something…anything. “I love you.”

Love.

It’s too much for me to handle–too much when I still feel torn to shreds by the woman who loved me.

I stand from the swing. “I can’t,” I whisper as I step around him, leaving him kneeling on the ground.

I glance over my shoulder and see him standing, his hands on the back of his head.

Before I can catch a good look at his face, I turn away, not wanting to know if I destroyed someone who only ever tried to help me.

I don’t let those three words he said in because the sad truth is if I do, I’m scared I’ll fall all over again, and next time, I won’t be able to survive the crash.