This is a short part 2 to Night so read that first.
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My legs were shaking and my hands trembling as they reached up to cover my mouth. Dark red blood pooled in front of me. My head started to feel light as I watched the blood pour from the boy's neck. I stared in shock. I felt sick.
"I'm sorry," I heard my dad's voice next to me. "Don't worry, you're safe."
I didn't reply, didn't hear the words and sobs coming from my mother as she rushed to my side to comfort me. I didn't hear her mumbles of "I love you"s and the muttering from my dad. I just stared at the lifeless body in front of me.
He looked so harmless as he lay there, as if he couldn't hurt a soul. His frail, small framed body looked so delicate. His fingers were so nimble and weak. His eyes were shut, eyelids cold and still. His eyes were blue, I think.
But what shook me the most were the words he had said only minutes before.
I love you.
What did that mean? Why did he say that when he was dying, when he was so weak? Why did he even bother? Why did he reach towards me when he knew my dad had a gun?
What killed me was that he looked so harmless. The reaching forward. The shushes. The soft fingers.
I didn't want to admit it. It just made me feel worse.
But he hadn't tried to hurt me.
My mom was crying. Her tears were staining my shoulder and she tried to wrap her arms around me. I snapped back, shoving her off forcefully.
"GO AWAY!" I shouted. My voice was dry and husky. My mom stared at me with wide, shocked eyes and white cheeks
"Connor-" she reached forward.
"WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!!" I screamed, "BOTH OF YOU! DAD, HOW THE FUCK DO YOU HAVE THE NERVE TO KILL SOMEONE LIKE THAT?! LIKE ITS NOTHING?? HOW? AND MOM, HOW DO YOU JUST SIT THERE AND CRY! I KNOW YOU DON'T CARE THAT SOMEONE'S LIFE WAS JUST TAKEN AWAY. SO WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU CRYING?! YOU GUYS ARE DISGUSTING." I burst into tears, falling onto the ground.
I heard my mom run out in a fury, and looked up to see my dad looking at me without a single reaction. Not a single flicker of fear, not a single hint of sorrow. And the gun he held. The awful gun. It made me sick looking at it. How it could kill so easily, so effortlessly.
I didn't stop crying and didn't stop sobbing. I laid on the floor for the rest of the night, through the morning. My eyes were dried from crying. My head was a jumbled mess. And my body was shaking. It was weak. The smell of blood made my head hurt.
I looked over one last time. I saw him there. I remembered the way he looked at me when I woke up, the way his eyes sparkled.
He looked familiar. Like I'd met him somewhere before. Had I seen him? Had we met a long time ago? Had he come to my room before? Had he come other nights? Did he always sit there on my bed?
I was only making up things at this point.
But I remembered things. Flickers. Images. Little memories of blue eyes and brown curly hair. Of pale skin glowing in the moonlight. Of warm breath against my cheek. Of fingers brushing through my hair. Of shadows in my room.
And I thought they were all dreams. They were, weren't they?
Or maybe they weren't. Maybe all those dreams were real. Maybe it was him.
Maybe it has always been him, all this time. All the times I thought someone was next to me. All the times I tried to reach forward and touch him, but I couldn't. All the times I wished he came closer. All the times I wished I could hug him and cry into his shirt. All the times life felt so helpless and I only wanted him to be there.
And I never thought it was real.
I only cried harder. My tears soaked into the floor, just like his blood next to me. He was gone. I'd never know if those dreams were real or not.
I moved closer, scooting closer to his body. With trembling, apprehensive hands, I took his hand in mine. I held his palm, his fingers falling perfectly around mine. I closed my eyes, curling into a ball by his side. His hands were chillingly cold, but they felt so familiar. They felt just like the fingers I'd always felt in my sleep. And they were comforting in some way, because he'd always been there, and he still was.
Except I'd never see his eyes again. I'd never feel the warmth of his skin again. I'd never hear his breath while I slept again.
I stayed there on the bedroom floor as he laid next to me. I didn't know how long, or when my parents came in and gasped, dragging me away from him as they took him away. I just cried. I felt more hollow and alone than I'd felt in my whole life.
When I went to bed, I stared up at the ceiling. I looked at the window, but no one came. I slept, but no boy visited me in my dreams.
I wished I could tell him that I loved him too.
