petal [book 1] ❊ l.s.

sixteen - soulmates

"Louis, it's okay. Everything's going to be okay," Liam reassured him, squeezing the older boy's shoulder as they passed under the metal gate. Even the gentle breeze swallowed his empty words whole, exposing the meaningless promise for what it really was: weak.

Maybe he was the weak one, Louis thought.

His mother was buried on the outskirts of the city. The cemetery was nice (for a cemetery): not too crowded, very well-kept, and quite secluded. It was quiet in the suburbs, nothing but a gentle breeze rustling through the leafless trees. Not even the city traffic could bother them here. There wasn't another living soul around on such a cold December afternoon.

"Do you want me to stay?" Liam asked him gently as they moved down the sidewalk together. "If you don't want to be alone, I can stay."

Louis shook his head. "I'm okay. Give me a minute or two."

Liam squeezed his shoulder one more time, then stepped to the side, winding his way back to the gate to wait. Louis headed down the path, then into the grass, working hard to maintain a facade of confidence as he approached the plot that he had purchased for his mother.

He didn't have to find the headstone; he knew exactly where it was, a map burned into his brain, a memory of the day his world came crumbling down. It felt like yesterday. With every step, the invisible fist around his lungs tightened. By the time he stopped, he could barely find his voice, but he choked out:

"Hi, Mum."

Just like before, the words were swept up by the wind, and maybe that was for the best.

He crouched down in front of the worn headstone, clasping his hands together in front of him for balance. He realized all at once that he hadn't even brought any flowers. He could only hope that his own presence was enough.

"I'm sorry it's been so long. I-I tried to come back. I wanted to, but I just . . . I don't know."

He didn't know how to say that he was never strong enough. Every single day that passed was a new weight on his shoulders, and days turned into years. Six years now bore down on his spine, an impossible burden of guilt. He was a son who abandoned his mother's grave, who spent years building a life to distract himself from what he had lost -- and in doing so, had left it behind.

"This is going to sound crazy. For fuck's sake, I'm going crazy." He winced, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. "Sorry. Didn't mean to curse. Bad habit I picked up in college."

The gravestone just stared back at him, silent as ever, but he could hear his mother's reprimand. His stomach was still tied up into knots.

"Okay. Okay, I'll just say it."

He picked nervously at the fragile stems of grass under his feet. Part of him wanted to up and run from the cemetery, not stopping until he could jump into his bed and hide there for the rest of the day. He took a deep, calming breath, gathering himself.

"Do you . . . do you know Harry, Mum?"

After Harry's panic attack at the funeral and their conversation, Louis couldn't help wondering. If Harry had dead spirits' voices in his head, was it so unreasonable to believe that his mother might be one of them?

"He's my . . . my friend. He's my friend." The words felt awkward as they rolled off his tongue, and he couldn't believe that he couldn't even explain his relationship with Harry to a gravestone. "Anyway. He hears voices. Sometimes he can sense someone's future based on their spirit, you know, while they're still alive -- honestly, I haven't got the slightest idea how that works -- but mostly, he hears the voices of people who have already . . . passed."