"So you remember Justice?" My dad said in a tone that scared me a little.
Of course, I want to say. I never stop thinking about him.
"You know his dad, Mike?" He's still carrying that tone, and my heart starts to pound.
"Kinda," I say. "He looks exactly like Justice, right?"
"Yeah." My dad replies. "Long, stragly red hair. Yeah, like Justice."
"Yeah." I say, scared to death about what happens now.
"He shot himself last night."
Ping. Grief immediately explodes in my body. My knees start to get weak...I start shaking, I feel like I'm gonna puke.
But all I can do is cry. Sobs rack my entire body, and I can hear my dad saying words, but they don't register.
The next thing I know, my dad is pulling me into a hug, his soft cotton shirt comforting me, but not soothing the pain in my chest.
None of it feels real. None of it really sinks in. He's dead. You won't get to see him again. He will never be at another family picnic. He will never be walking around with his grandson.
"It wasn't surprising." I hear my dad say.
Anger suddenly fills my whole body. If it wasn't surprising, then why the hell didn't you stop him?! I think to myself, clanging around a few dishes in the dishwasher. But all I do is try not to cry in front of him anymore.
And then, I run to the bathroom, lock myself in, sit against the door and cry until there are no more tears.
