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(Pilot pt 4)
Death sucks. Not for the person who dies, well, because they're dead. It sucks for the people they leave behind who have to pick up all the pieces. Knowing you have to live the rest of your life when they won't be there is gut-wrenching. The moment I realized my mom was dead was engraved into my brain. I'll never forget what I felt. It was like suddenly every molecule of air was sucked from my lungs. I felt like I was going to pass out. I could feel my heart contracting like someone was reaching into my chest and squeezing it like it was a stress ball.
The funny thing is, I didn't even cry. Not a single tear. I guess it was the shock– that's what my old therapist said at least. My brain couldn't comprehend the information being told to me because I never in my life thought about what it would be like without her. That thought didn't cross my mind once. So, when she was taken away, entirely too early, I couldn't process it. I didn't process it until a few months later. And during those few months, I was–there was no better way to describe me–a shell. Completely hollow. I couldn't feel anything, think anything, do anything.
The months following were ten times worse, though. I broke. Fell apart. Wasted away. Call it whatever you want, but all in all, I was broken. I cried and cried until I was completely dried up. Every. Single. Goddamn. Day. The hardest part was the panic attacks. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw my dead mother lying in a casket. I saw me dragging her lifeless body away from the wreck. The blood that was on my hands. The glass that was shattered all over the ground. The flashing blue and red lights. The people who had to rip me away from her.
The scar across my stomach served as a constant reminder of that day.
It sucked.
•••
Somehow the five of us ended up at the docks. I sat at the edge of a table, in between John B who was sitting, and JJ who was standing, holding onto the beam from above. In any other case, I would be admiring how his position was really accentuating his biceps, but the time was inappropriate.
Hey, Kie and I admire the boys' looks too. We hang out with three hot guys. We're teenage girls. Put the pieces together.
A body was found and was now being pulled from the water. We all watched as the woman, who we assumed to be the man's wife, ran up to him. All I could see in my head was me, in the same position that poor lady was.
"Who's that?" John B asked.
A random girl that sat on the other side of him answered. "It's Scooter Grubbs. He was out during the storm."
Scooter. I never met him, so all I knew him as was just some lowlife who didn't do much for himself. I saw him on the streets a couple of times, but what he did didn't make him any less of a person. No one deserves to die, no matter how scummy they are. Sometimes life is a far worse punishment than death.
