She hated him. He hated her. And that was alright in their world until one night. Everything changed then, conversations exchanged between drags of a shared cigarette having developed a mutual respect between enemies.
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Slowburn enemies to frie...
I lay flat on my back, the soft plush of the mattress enveloping me. The dusty box fan on my nightstand rocks back and forth as it breezes me with cold air. Despite my forming goosebumps, I don't move to turn it off. I sit still as a rock, not a bit of me moving except the unsteady rise and fall of my chest.
I did not know Will Byers well, but I knew him enough. Enough to notice that when he laughed, he only showed his top row of teeth. Will Byers was the most fragile of flowers in a meadow of thistle. He cried a lot, not because he was sad most of the time but rather because he felt emotions so strongly he had no other way to express them.
It hurt knowing Will was gone. That we had failed, and I'd never get to thumb through his drawings or Dustin up from his house.
Worse so, it hurt when we got the invitation in the mail for the funeral.
The worst part of it all, though, was Dustin. His wails as he'd shake himself out of night terrors, the stomping of Claudia and I running to his bedroom. My little brother would be drenched in sweat that made his shirt stick to mine as I hugged him tight. It got so bad that he began sleeping in my room every night.
I shift my eyes to my left. Dustin sleeps curled into a ball on the opposite side of my queen-sized bed from me. A pale pink comforter wrapped tightly around him, nothing but his nose and mouth poking out. I contemplate letting him sleep past the funeral today to save him the despair.
No, I can't do that, I tell myself. He deserves to say goodbye.
Goodbye's a hard word. It's so definite, so negative. It implies that it's forever. I'd like to dream it's not.
Dustin must hear the cogs in my head turning. He stirs awake, his storm-colored eyes fluttering open. He looks at me through a glassy haze, eyelids still puffy and swollen from crying the night before.
"Hey, Buddy," I croak, ruffling his hair up a bit with my hand.
"I don't want to go," he admits, curling his lips into a tight frown.
I'm quiet. I try to come up with anything that will provide him with any solace, but I know it'll never be enough. "I know." I muster. I drag my heavy body out of bed and try to put on a brave face.
