In Saving the Imperfect

16. Without the ones we loved

Alana opened the door to let the purple rays of morning sun. Layne didn't even react to that – he laid with his eyes open, just as he did for the whole night. No one dared to speak.

"We should go help with breakfast," whispered Malia and pushed Alana outside.

One after another, the rest of the Rejects stumbled out of the cabin, each of them giving Layne a sorry look of which he didn't care.

Only after he was completely alone, Layne took a deep breath and stepped outside. He walked aimlessly past the cabins, his head empty of any dominant thought. Only when he found Victor did he understand what was his body carrying him to.

"You haven't found him," he said.

Victor didn't have his signature smile on. "We found him."

* * *

There was no doubt it was Troy, even if Layne looked for any possible reason to deny it.

The mangled remains were barely recognisable. Yet undoubtedly familiar. The pieces of clothing scattered around, same ones Troy was wearing the last time Layne had seen him.

It was the reality, and at the same time, the nightmare. Layne's head was spinning, his vision turned blurry. He did not manage to squeeze out a single word – and neither did the few people who dared to come with him.

He did not react when Alana wrapped her arms around him and squeezed him tight, pressing her head against his shoulder. Her tears soaked right through his t-shirt. Iker and Zander stood further away with their heads lowered, whispering something between each other.

Layne's eyes were open but he did not see anything anymore. This time, the world was over.

"Layne, it's ready," whispered Malia.

He shook his head, awoken by the use of his name. He was in the cabin – he did not remember how he got there. As much as he was aware, seconds ago, he was still standing in the forest, hugging Alana – who was now nowhere to be seen.

"What?" His dry mouth made speaking painful.

Malia tilted her head, her eyebrows furrowed. "We're ready for the funeral."

"O-ok," he stuttered and followed her outside.

The sky was turning pink.

The sun was already setting and he had no recollection of the day that passed. He staggered behind Malia, still with no real will of his own.

"Layne, everyone knows it's hard for you," she said. "But they're going to be expecting you to say something. He was your friend, no one here knew him as you did."

He nodded, forgetting that she couldn't see him.

"Layne?" Malia turned her head at him.

"S-sure."

"I thought it was all moving a little too soon. We all could use some time to settle but Victor said we have no means to preser- you know, nevermind. I'm probably tormenting you even more."

He didn't respond.

Further away from the village, they reached a plain piece of land, surrounded by trees. Simple wooden crosses stuck out of the ground one next to each other. Some looked like they could have been standing there for decades. Others were relatively new. There were more people buried there than space allowed it. Each of them had letters carved into it, although there hasn't been enough light to read them from afar.

A small group of people gathered around a fresh grave, a pile of black dirt still standing high above the surface of the ground. No cross, no nothing. Layne bit down on his lower lip. He couldn't believe all that was already done. He wasn't even there to help – or at least, he didn't remember that.