And Then Death Greeted Me

FAREWELL

The pain in my ribs is barely there, a dull ache skulking through my mind. The air is clean, the smell of freshly-cut grass and wet pavement wafting slowly through the streets. I take a deep breath. My eyelashes flutter as I open my eyes wider, taking in the busy high street, cars screeching past like high-strung banshees against the backdrop of the cramped line of shops with neon lighting. A swarm of people push past me. I am forgotten in the crowd – I am no one at all, in fact – and that's exactly how I want it. I feel almost like myself again.

Farley's outfit brings a grin to my lips. I can vouch for the fact that there's nothing more unsettling than seeing a friend completely reverse their style. It's like squeezing your eyes too tight, or sitting up too fast.

All of her clothes are pink, from her denim jacket to her combat boots. Pastel pink, even. I can see the flicker of amusement in her eyes even from the opposite side of the street. Once she would've bore three-inch-long black talons, but today it's French nails. I shake my head as she crosses the street, not even checking for cars.

'What are you staring at?' she asks once she's besides me.

'You might want to actually look both ways before crossing the street,' I say in a loud mock-whisper. 'I hear car crashes aren't exactly fun.'

Dark humour is at least one thing we share. 'I wouldn't mind. There's excellent company in the morgue.'

I stifle a laugh. 'What happened? Did you consider baby blue? Or a nice, sunny yellow? It'd suit your complexion better than pink.'

She raises an eyebrow, bringing the scars where her piercings used to lie into sharp relief. 'I look better in pink than you ever could.'

'Because I know enough about fashion to never wear block colours!'

Her mouth contorts as she begins to speak. I grin, waiting for the sarcasm to hit me like a truck. But my gaze falls on the suitcase in her hand, and the smile fades.

Farley falls silent. Of course she does. I suppose, after everything that has happened, we can read each other like picture books. 'Don't look at me like that,' she says weakly. Farley, weak? I must mean a lot to her. 'Don't do that.'

I feel hollowed out, empty all of a sudden. 'Do what?'

'Look like I'm... I'm betraying you. Like I'm hurting you.'

I can barely muster the energy to shake my head.

Her voice falls flat. 'I'm hurting you.'

'By leaving? Yes, you are.'

She laughs, a small puff of air that could've been a humourless chuckle or a dry sob. 'No. by staying.'

'It's not like that.'

'No, it is,' she insists. 'It is.'

I'm at a loss for words.

She frowns. 'It's like... I got you into trouble. I hurt you. and I changed you. I made you think I was the answer.'

'You did hurt me,' I say. 'You definitely changed me. But it was for the better, wasn't it? At least in the long run. You can't just come into my life, reshape everything, and then just split.'

She sighs. 'If you're going to completely disregard everything I say, then hear me out on this, at least. I can't stay here. I can't.'

'Why not?' I ask, my voice so sharp it cuts.

Two cars have trapped each other in the road, the drivers honking their horns. Farley watches them for a second, her frown deepening.

'Farley.'