Shedding

Mike

It's been some weeks since I've seen or even spoken to Chris, the whole situation two months back messed him up. He used to text me paragraphs of completely crazy talk, something about blood, people with no skin, or eyes, and that girl I had... I had... never mind. He and I have been friends since college, we're best friends and I trust him with everything I have. He tells me everything as well, but lately, it feels like I've lost him. He isn't the same at all; he became frantic, dazed, and disoriented in such a short amount of time. I'm going to his apartment to check on him, the walk from my place to his isn't super far but it feels like it's taking forever so I'm basically on the verge of a run. I don't know the last time he ate so I brought him a big box of our favorite wings and two packs of beer- honestly, I've been tempted to just bring one and drink the rest but I know that'll upset him more. Maybe I'm doing this because I'm guilty since it's my fault and all. Finally, here, it took long enough. I walk into the lobby straight to the stairs and start to sprint up there, the anxious thoughts flood in. Does he blame me? What if he's hurt, what if he hurt himself?
    I bang on the door, I'd been knocking for five minutes until I finally decided to put my police training to use. I broke down the door to be hit by a wave of the most horrendous smell, and my heart dropped to my stomach. His apartment had no lights on with only a bit of light shining through the curtains, dishes flooded the sink to the left of me where the kitchen was. The smell of rotten food filled the fridge and pantry and spread throughout the place. His living room was left alone with only a couch and tv on the floor, his apartment always looked a bit empty and sad but good memories made the place come alive. The door to his bedroom was between the couch and the kitchen just barely creaking open, with no light from the inside. My heart was thumping and tears swelling up as my thoughts turned to the worst. I walked slowly towards the door as I closed the front door, the only sound was my deep breathing and my slow hesitant footsteps... oh god I can only hear my breathing. I open the door slowly and look down... on the count of three then I'll look up. One, two, three. "Chris?".
    Chris lay there silent, unmoving, with scratch marks all over him, and his expression... That expression is engraved in my memory. Is this what he was trying to explain to me, the sight of that kind of expression? I started to remember all the memories we shared, when we drank till we dropped, when we studied together, cried together, laughed, talked, and fought with each other. He was my brother, he was more than that he was my favorite person in the world, and he's gone. I shrieked and cursed for him to wake up, for this to be a dream, for someone to help, to express my gut-wrenching pain. I screamed hard with everything- in my thoughts nothing but screams. Why him? Why not me? He had so much to live for unlike me whose nothing but a drunken fool. Why didn't I just listen, I should've come sooner. God damn it. I kept screaming. I can't recognize my voice, it's cracking and gurgly and filled with anguish. I swear the whole world would hear me as I yelled. On my knees I go between punching the floor, pulling my hair, to grabbing myself so hard it leaves red finger marks. Neighbors called the police at some point in time, but I refused to move. Why couldn't I have died with him? My life is now empty without him here, I'm nothing but an empty shell without him.