Heyyyy!!!
I am proud to announce that one of the next few parts posted will be written with my soul sister, Reagan!!
We are supper psyched and hope you guys are as excited as us. Also, I realized that the story might be hard to distinguish between the present and the past. So i think I might just go back and italicize the past..?
If this is a good idea, just leave a comment below and it's as good as done. Thank you so much guys!
~Stay Beautiful <3
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Brooke
I miss him so much that daily functions have become some what of a chore.
Every time I step out of my bed, my body cried for me to lay down.
Every time I try to focus on something other than Kyle, my heart just screams his name in the back round.
Every. Fucking. Time.
I can't sleep. I can't eat. I can barely even speak.
"Brooke?" Chad knocks. "Brooke are you there?" he asks. I don't answer. I can't bring myself to the words. He decides to walk in. He looks at me, but I keep staring straight ahead. KyleKyleKyleKyleKyleDeadDeadDeadKyleisdeadKyleisdeadKylediedkyleisdead. My head is spinning. I'm lost in an infinite prison of memories.
"Brooke," he tries again. "We're gonna have a visitor in a little while, okay? Take a shower." He looks me over once, and then leaves. I catch a glimpse of worry and exhaustion in his face. Not only has this situation broken me into pieces, but it also has shattered my big brother. I think about how hard it must be for him to see me like this; I can't help it. I am a mess. I feel in so deep that I often find myself drowning in the after-math. I decide maybe I should do at least one small thing for my brother. I get up and I walk to my shower to bathe my sad bones. I didn't do it for me. I didn't do it for the "visitor". I did it for my big brother. Because I put him through so much and he sure as hell doesn't deserve any of it.
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Chad
I swear it's like she gets worse and worse every single day. I am constantly feeling like i need to resusitate her soul. Her eyes, once bright blue and filled with life and hope, are now a dull, lifeless grey. Her body, always petite, yet full, is now sunken in; nothing but bones. I called a counselor here to speak with her, and although I'm about 90% sure it won't do much, I'm not giving up until there's nothing left to do.
Ding Dong.
I walk to the living room and open the door, staring down at the tiny stranger before me.
Her name is Mrs. Smith.
And she is my last hope.
