XPLR | Colby Brock

~42~

I sat the rose on my vanity and sat down at my desk. Elena had a crush on Colby.

No need to worry. One part of my mind told me. Colby has made it clear that he has feelings for you. And you have feelings for him.

But then another part, a more insecure part, said: if Elena acts on her feelings... he'll choose her. She prettier and hotter and so much better than you, and she always will be.

I felt my stomach sink at that. I glanced at the rose. "No need to worry," I whispered to myself, but for a different reason, "He's just a boy. No need to get so caught up. Focus on music," I whispered as I got up and sat in front of my piano.

I took out my new solo and opened it to the first page. So clean, so sharp. The ink was new, and it smelt good. I placed my fingers over the first keys and pressed them down, listening to the hum.

So clean, so sharp. So new.

I played the first few lines, then played them over and over and over again until I thought they were good enough to move on to the next few lines. And I did that over and over again until I was a few pages in.

Once my hands ached so bad it hurt to move them. Once that happened, I got up and went over to my bed where Colby's folded shirt still laid. I looked at it for a second, then back at my closed door, debating if I should put it on or not.

I did.

I crawled under the sheets of my bed, curling up in the oversized shirt and closing my eyes. It was warm, and it smelled good.

Please don't let Elena act on her feelings. And if she does, please don't let Colby choose her.

But he wouldn't, and I knew it.

I pulled an old plush my mother had given me to my chest and closed my eyes. She would love Colby.

Something in me still felt wrong about this situation. His feelings, and mine, still felt fake and I didn't know why.

My head hurt too much to ponder it now. I let myself fall asleep.

"It's always your fault," the man said to a fourteen-year-old Rose. "This is all your fault."

No it isn't. She told herself. It's not your fault, don't listen to him.

She was still dressed in her black dress from the funeral, and it suddenly felt too small to breathe in. This was her mother's too.

"You're worthless. Such a stupid girl. I wish it was you who killed yourself instead of your mother."

Please stop saying all of this.

He grabbed her by her shoulders, tightly, so much so his nails dug into her skin. "Why are you crying? Stop crying," he growled, shaking her a bit. That only made her cry more, she couldn't stop it.

He took his hand back and slapped her, and she froze, her crying stopping.

He shoved her back until she fell. "All you ever do is cry, cry, cry. Will you ever stop crying?" He snarled. She still didn't respond, she knew better than to start crying again.

"No one loves you. No one will ever love you. You're just a worthless piece of shit, an accident. If your mother had just taken her goddamn birth control, she'd be alive right now and we'd be happy, and I wouldn't have to look after you."

She just stared at the ground, unable to find the words to say anything. She knew better than to say something.

He took a swig of his beer, or gin, or whine, or scotch, whatever it was, she didn't care, and bent down to be eye level with the girl.

"This is all your fault."

Maybe it was. They got in a fight before she hung herself. Could it have actually been her fault? Oh no. It was.

It was a petty argument too, all Rose had wanted was for her mother to come to her first high school concert. She was in chamber orchestra, the only freshman, the first freshman in years! The only pianist too! She just wanted to see her mother in the crowd... see that smile she always has when Rose plays... just see her smile again.

Rose couldn't understand that her father wanted her home. The last words that Rose had ever said... was that she wished her mother were proud of her.

And she didn't stick around to hear what her mother had said next.

I sat up in a cold sweat. Memories of seeing my mother hanging from her ceiling fan swirled through my mind, and I couldn't breathe. I was crying, panicking, just as I had when I had found her like that.

"I just wish you were proud of me..."

It echoed in my mind over and over again. If I hadn't asked her to come that concert, got in an argument with her... she would still be alive. She may have been able to see this concert I have in a month... she may have been able to meet Colby.

Colby. I smelled Colby. My hand started searching for my phone without thinking, but I stopped myself. I took a deep breath and laid back down, wrapping my arms around that plush again and pulling it close.

Momma... I'm sorry.