When rainbows fall

Chapter 12. Tommy

This is so not how I die.

I am not going to be that kid who everyone hated until I die and then is pitied. That's not going to be me. The only comfort I can get from that is Max probably wouldn't care at all. Which means I won.

"Dad! Stop!" I hear myself plead, but my voice seems so distant. In the corner of my eye, I can see Cosette's still body. Fuck. I never should have brought her here, I should have made her go home and front the disappointment radiating form her parents.

The seconds blur together and I don't know if I'm in pain or not, and all I can see is my father's face drifting in and out of view. I try to punch him, but even I can tell that they wouldn't leave a mark. 

He's yelling something but I don't hear it. I want to cry , I probably am, even though I know it will make things worse. I want my uncle.

Suddenly the pressure on me is gone, and Cosette is standing above me, her eyes wide and her mouth open. She's staring past me. She has a crowbar in her hand.

I don't understand.

"Cosette?"

"Oh god, I didn't mean to!" She cries, the crowbar landing on the ground with a thud. I look at where she's looking and Dad lies there, completely still, with his face resting on a fallen fence post.  Behind me, I can hear Cosette vomitting.

My mind is blurry and I try to say something but nothing comes out. I push myself up the best I can, and crawl over to him.

"Dad? Dad come on, wake up!" I yell shaking him but he won't stir. There's blood pooling from his head and on the splintered wood. I feel a lump in my throat, as I continue to shake him, "Dad, please!"

Cosette kneels behind me, there's drops of blood on her face, and a cut on her head. Her fingers press against his neck.

"I think he's dead. We should call someone the police or an ambulance" She says, like she's in a trance.

"Dad?"

~~~~~

My uncle sits across from me, my leg feels sore and weird, the cast is heavy and restrictive. My aunt has taken their kids to the art gallery. I hate art.

"So, how is the leg?" He asks, like he has nothing else to ask. I know he wants to ask about Cosette and about Dad but he won't and never will. At least he doesn't drink. 

"It's broken" I mutter in reply and he sighs

"Somebody's grumpy"

"Somebody's nosey" 

"You can talk to me, you know?" he says, his voice laced with cancer, it makes me want to run away to Neverland. Somehow, I prefer the awkward conversations with my Aunt, who I'm pretty sure hates me.

"Yeah, I know"

"Good" he says and we continue to eat in silence, neither of us not knowing what to say. He's done his best to avoid talking about Dad, while my Aunt has done her best to weave him into the conversations.