Dead If You Do

Chapter Seven

'I have a surprise for you.'
           
Next to me, Eden grins. The clock chimes six and the sun begins to set, casting rays of fire across the clouds. Papers surround us, filled with notes covered in black ink – I can barely move my legs without wrinkling the paper – and, at the end of the bed, Eden's eyes glimmer as she plops another fry into her mouth.
           
'Wanna know what it is?' she pushes, leaning forward slightly.

At this point, we're both desperate for a distraction, so I look up from my lashes, releasing a breath pent up from work. 'Do I want to know?'

She looks at me, eyes narrowed. 'What kind of surprise would you not want to know?'

A shrug. 'I can think of a few.'

Like my room being broken into.

'Well, that's just silly. I love surprises. So, I'm going to ask again: Do you wanna to know what my surprise is?'

I try to keep a laugh from escaping my lips. 'Okay,' I say finally, the bed springs digging into the back of my legs, 'I'll bite. What is it?'
           
Eden grins and shuffles off the bed, reaching across the floor for her backpack. It scrapes heavily across the carpet as she pulls at it with her fingertips. She gets a better grip and it flies through the air, landing with a thump in her lap. Ruffling through its contents before finding what she's looking for, Eden looks up, biting down on a smile as her eyes sparkle against the pink fairy-lights.
           
'Close your eyes,' she says.
           
I cock my head. 'Really?'

'Yes!' A laugh, bubbly and bright. 'Now, do it before I have to tie you down. Oh, and hold your hands out.'

'Fine.' I close my eyes and do as she says, palms facing up. For a moment, there's nothing, only the mixed sounds of our breaths, but then something heavy lands in my hands, instantly weighing me down. I bite my lip. Sharp corners jut into my fingertips – four of them. I frown.

'Can you guess what it is?' she asks. Before I have a chance to reply, she speaks again. 'No, actually, I can't wait. Just open your eyes.'

And I do.

In my hands is an empty photo frame made of light coloured wood. With the glass still intact, it's nearly the identical version of the one Daisy gave me last year. My eyes start to sting, but I blink away tears before I look up at Eden. She leans forward in against the bed, lashes flickering against her eyelid.

'I know it's not the exact same,' she says hesitantly, 'but my reach was limited.'
           
'Eden,' I reply slowly, still not sure what to say, 'you shouldn't have.'

She shakes her head. 'No, I had to. I could see the frame meant more to you than what you said. And now that I'm seeing your reaction, I know I'm right. Did... Did someone give it to you?'

I open my mouth, but words choke in my throat as a hot tear falls down my cheek. I take a deep breath. 'Yeah,' I reply, throat tight. 'It was my cousin, Daisy. She was like my sister.'
           
Eden leans back, the movement soft and careful. 'Where is she now?'

'She –' I take a deep breath, digging my nails into my palms. 'She died last year. In a car accident.'

I watch Eden's reaction carefully, tears blurring my vision. I always hate this part. When confronted by grief, I've learnt that people almost always react the same: with a weak smile, a fumbling of words, a rigid hug. (Extra points if you get all three.)

These clumsy attempts of sympathy usually make me feel worse, mostly because I know I don't deserve it. Daisy is the one who deserves the tears, the hugs, the love. And me? I deserve nothing. But I watch Eden nonetheless, who bites her bottom lip and says nothing else.