Young Writers Society

PG-13 for language

Prologue: The Funeral/Afterdeath

My family has a history of suicides and suicidal attempts. Nine years ago, when I was eight, my uncle shot himself in the head. Two weeks later his wife followed in the same way (and, I think, with the same gun). Six years ago, my mom died of drug overdosage. Three years ago, my cousin almost killed herself by slicing up her wrists, thinking they were celery sticks. It was classified as an attempt at suicide, so she was sent to a mental hospital and wrapped up in a hug-me-suit. Then there's the most recent one: my dad hung himself.

I stood beside my older brother, hands clasped in front of me. I felt empty. My brother, Nate (short for Nathan), was in the same state; empty. The tears dribbled silently down his cheeks as we watched the dark wooden casket being lowered into the grave, never to be seen again unless someone in the future happened to dig it up.

Only a handful of people showed up to bid my dad a fond farewell. My cousin, Max, stood on the other side of the grave, holding a woman whom I'd never seen before (I'm guessing, his wife). There were a few other people there that I had never seen; a small, old woman with an obsurdly feathery hat, a tall, stern man who hadn't spoken a word to anyone so far, a short, stiff man in an army uniform. I never knew that my dad had been in the army. Or maybe this man was just one of his friends and he was in the army.

Of course, as typical funerals go, we were all in black. I was wearing a long, black skirt and a black halter top, considering it was the end of summer. Oddly enough, it was overcast and the air had a slight chill to it--very fitting for the occasion. School was starting in a few days, less than a week. Oh, great. Now I have to face the taunting, ugly faces of my classmates.

I knew why only several people had come to my dad's funeral. It had happened at my mom's, aunt's, and uncle's before. Everyone looked at Nathan and me like we were diseased. Maybe we were, destined to fall into the pit of depression and follow our forefathers so far into the darkness that we'd have to commit suicide in order to end our suffering. Whenever I went to the store, the cashiers and customers would glare at me like I had The Black Plague and if they touched me, they'd get it and kill themselves. Hell, everyone looked at me like that. I'd spent the summer in my room with a cigarette in one hand and leaning against the wall drowsily. I'd spy on my dad in his room, staring at old pictures of mom and muttering "I love you" or "I'll be home for dinner," something like that. Nathan knew it was going to happen and so did I. We both knew that our dad was going to kill himself someday, and we had done nothing to stop it.
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The ratio between suicidal women in my family and suicidal men is 3 to 2 (although I'm not sure my cousin counts under the "suicidal attempt" clause, even though that's the way the police classify it). If this is true all around the world, then it is because women have a higher stress rate than men do. Most women have an overreaction to something really quite small. I'm pretty easy-going and rarely get stressed out (if not at all), so I don't think that will be the cause of my suicide. I think my suicide will be caused by someone I love. I think that I will commit suicide (or at least attempt it) because I was dumped by someone that I really loved. Or maybe another person in my family could die. Maybe it will be my brother next. He was the only one in my family that really cared for me. He was twenty-seven, ten years older than me, and he took care of me because our parents were too hung-over to do anything. Now they were both too dead to do anything, probably hung-over in heaven just like they were down here.

I was sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall, taking long drags of my cigarette. It's been two days since the funeral and I haven't left my room. Two more days till school starts, and I don't think I'll be ready by then. I feel like I'm shrinking. I'm getting smaller, weaker, and the only thing I can do is sit and smoke. I've all but refused the food my brother brings me, only for him to leave it beside me on the floor to rot. He's going along with his life, pretending like nothing happened. Hell, maybe I just dreamed the whole suicide stories up. Maybe, just maybe, I'm as healthy as a horse and haven't destroyed my lungs with my smoking habit; or I'm still up and walking, but my soul stays in my room, not seeing through my eyes and seeing through its own. Maybe I'm going to get my sorry ass up off the floor in two days and go to school. But even my thoughts were hopeless. I'd recover in a week or two, go to school as if nothing happened, and watch my life through a lens throughout all of eleventh grade, depressed and probably on the verge of suicide just like my parents.

Nate walked in, tray in hand, and came to me. He settled on the floor and set the tray down. There was a plate on it that contained an apple and a turkey sandwich.

He didn't say anything as he stole my cigarette, inhaling luxuriously before giving it back. We sat in silence for a few minutes as I watched the food as if it were going to get up and try to run away. That's what I wished I could do. I wished I could get up and run. I could run to the beach or the play ground or even school. My room--the most familiar thing in the world to me--was starting to feel like a prison cell. I could see the iron bars that pinned me in here. No lights were ever on, only the sun and moonlight to go by for time.

Finally, Nate spoke. "We need to move."

I sat up a little, my butt sore from sitting on it for two days. "Okay." I made a show of readying myself to stand.

Nate grabbed my arm and my butt hit the carpet with a muffled thump. "I'm serious, Kelly. This house is going to tear us apart."

Suddenly depressed, I smushed my cigarette into the ash tray and muttered, "It already tore Mom and Dad apart." Nate pulled me into him and wrapped his arms around me in a comforting, brotherly embrace.

"We need to move," he murmured into my hair. "We need to leave Mom and Dad in this house. We need to leave."

I jerked away from him and stood, dusting off the back of my torn jeans. The edges of my mouth were turning down but I didn't want to be angry with Nate. If I was, he might leave and I desperately needed someone to take care of me right now.

Feeling Nate's eyes on me, I went to the door, grabbing my purse in passing. The air felt cleaner, warmer, outside my prison cell of a room. I took a deep breath, savoring the smells of the house. I'd spent countless years in the kitchen, baking with whoever was around just to smell the sweets in the oven. Now there was only Nate to bake with, but he had a life that I shouldn't interfere with. He had a life that shouldn't include me, since he was twenty-seven and I was seventeen and our stupid, depressed, drunk parents were supposed to be here taking care of me. But they weren't, were they? No. They were dead. Dead and burried six feet beneath the surface of the earth.

Nate followed me down the stairs, our sock feet thumping solidly on the wood.

"Where are you going?" he called after me. I don't know, I thought as the door slammed shut behind me. It was the hot August afternoon that hit me first, knocking me back to the real world which I hadn't been a part of the past few days. I didn't want to be a part of it now, but I needed freedom from the small confines of the house and my room.

A jolt of fear struck through me and I shot down the sidewalk, panting within seconds. I knew why I was running and why I was afraid. The thought of leaving this place scared me. The thought of leaving Mom and Dad here to decompose all alone in their graves scared me. I wanted them to know I was still here, even if they were dead.

I found that my feet led me to the park. I ran to a bench and collapsed, breathing hard through my mouth. The air tasted great on my tongue, much better than the smokey smell of my room.

I lay down on the iron bench, resting my head on my hand. When my breathing had slowed, I fell asleep in the park.





1. First Day

It was the first day of eleventh grade and I was going. The fresh air and the park had done me good and helped me get out of the "afterdeath" part of getting over a relative's death (when my mom died it took two and a half weeks).

I was standing beside my locker, slowly turning the knob with practically numb fingers. Locker combination: 23-9-14. When I finally got the locker open, I shoved all my books into it except the ones I needed for first, second, and third period. I shut the locker and started walking down the hall to the classroom.

First period was a drag that made me regret coming to school at all. I should've just stayed home with Nate and sat in my room with a cigarette in my hand. This is so boring.

Second and third period droned on in the same fashion. No one talked to me, no one acknowledged my presence, no one even looked at me. They knew another one of my family members had up and killed himself. They knew my father was dead and they had no pity for me. Good. I didn't need their sympathy and kind words. I needed a cigarette.

*****

Milo sat on a concrete bench, deeply engrossed in a conversation with the friends that remembered him from eighth grade. He and his parents had moved, and then he and his mom had moved back to Hero, Maryland, after three and a half years in Florida.

They were scoping out the people eating lunch, his friends telling Milo about their families and friends and high school labels.

"That's Kyle Bartley," Oliver, the one with bleach blond hair, said, pointing to a lean boy in a polo shirt and khakis. "He's a mathlete and plays Dungeons and Dragons." Milo pointed to a burly boy in jeans and a red T-shirt that read "Mmmm, Breakfast" across the front in big white letters.

"Jonny Appleseed over there is on the football team and the wrestling team," Peter, a brunette with hair so dark it looked like black coffee, said. "He's a big-mean-ugly and won't take 'no' for an answer." They all laughed. Milo remembered naming him Jonny Appleseed in seventh grade because he loved apples. Might've gotten bigger, but he was holding an apple in his hand right now.

One of the girls caught his attention. She was lying on the grass, her hands locked behind her head, not eating anything. A small strand of dry grass stuck out from her mouth as she chewed on the stem. She was in torn and tattered jeans and a gray tank top, her toffee gold hair splayed over the drying grass.

"Who's that?" Milo whispered to Sam, pointing at the girl in the grass. Sam grimaced and frowned for a minute, then answered.

"Kelly Hawthorne," he said disgustedly. "She comes from a misfit family. Mom killed herself six years ago; dad killed himself just last week. Her uncle and aunt shot themselves and her cousin went to a mental hospital for trying to kill herself. Don't form any kind of relations with her. She's not the kind of person anyone should hang around with. All she's got is her brother, and he's the most sane in the family, which isn't very much. She stayed in her house five days after her dad's funeral. I'll warn you now; don't talk to her." He sounded serious, but Kelly couldn't really be all that bad. She looked nice. And lonely. She was just staring at the clouds, lost in her own thoughts.

"Isn't Hawthorne the one that called you a dick head after you teased her about her family?" Peter said jokingly. Sam reached across Milo and pushed the slightly bigger boy, both of them laughing.

"I'll be right back," Milo said as he stood up. Oliver, Peter, and Sam all watched him stand, wondering what he was going to do.

Milo left his friends, sitting on the bench and staring at him. By the way Sam had said it, no one really liked her. Poor girl, Milo thought. Must be really sad about losing most of her family to suicide before you've even gone to college.

*****

My gaze kept flicking to the boy approaching me, his almost black hair twisting in the light breeze. It looked so silky and soft. So beautiful as the chocolate brown summer highlights glowed in the sunlight. The green shirt billowed a little with the wind. Deep in his blue-gray eyes, I found that there was pity and sympathy behind the pleasant expression.

I closed my eyes, trying to wish him away as I plucked my pretend cigarette from my mouth and threw it down into the grass. I'd never seen him before, so he must be knew and curious about me. His friends (some of the meanest boys I'd ever known) had probably already told him about me. Typical. In a small school, everyone knows your past, present, and future.

A shadow blocked out the sunlight and I opened my eyes, finding the boy standing before me.

"Hey," he said. His voice was dreamy like he'd been out in the sun, basking in its warmth.

I gave a small nod and said, "Hey." He looked harmless, but judging by the people he hung out with, that wasn't the case.

"I'm Milo," the boy said, not bothering to offer his hand.

"Kelly." I stared at him for a minute, trying to see what he was really getting at behind the calm blue of his eyes. They looked like vast oceans on an overcast day. Beautiful, just beautiful.

"Can I sit down?" Milo asked. I nodded and he arranged himself beside me. When he was settled, he asked, "Do you remember me?"

I shook my head. "Nope."

"Uh, you called my friend Sam a dick head after he teased you about your...family. Sorry about that by the way." I grimaced at the memory.

It had been on the day of eighth grade graduation and I accidentally bumped into Sam (who was flanked by Peter and Oliver). He yelled, "Move it, Hawthorne!" and when I didn't he said, "Of course. The girl with the suicidal family is deaf." He had smacked his forehead, and then mine and I yelled, "Shove it, dick head!" loud enough that it rang out through the whole building. I'd punched him in his eye and he had a black-eye for the whole summer.

"Yeah, I remember that asshole," I said, my fists clenching involuntarily. "He still tortures me, even though I gave him a black-eye for the whole summer."

Milo laughed almost nervously. I flipped onto my side, propping my head up with my hand.

"He got what he deserved, too."

"Oh, come on," Milo chided. "Sam ain't all that bad."

"He is when you've got a 'misfit family'."

"I'm really sorry about whatever it is he said to you," he said softly, his eyes cast downward to the ground. He looked adorable in the grass, shamed by his friend and sympathizing for me.

I flopped back onto my back, putting my hands behind my head, clearly dismissing what Sam had said in the past. That's what it was: the past. Nothing could take it back. I closed my eyes, finding that all I saw was Milo, glowing in a halo of gold and white light. The corners of my mouth turned up into a smile as I gazed at my imaginary Milo.

I opened my eyes reluctantly. I didn't want my imaginary Milo to go away. But I got a better picture of the real Milo, soaking up the sun like a snake. His eyes were closed as he leaned on his elbows, head tilted upwards to the sky. I realized that Milo had heard my past and actually accepted it. He didn't believe I had a disease. The words Don't judge a book by its cover. flitted through my head and were gone.

*****

Milo opened his eyes, finding Kelly's ice blue ones. They were perfect in every way, the color between the pupil and the eyelashes pristine and blue. They weren't ocean blue or even sky blue. They were ice blue. The blue-ish tint on ice and snow that you see when the moon shines on it. He studied them, holding them and memorizing them for future pondering. What color were mom's eyes? What color were her dad's? Then he remembered. What color had they been.

Milo reached out and touched Kelly's cheek, his fingers as light as a feather stroke. All the chatter coming from the students as it came time for lunch to end died away and it was just him and Kelly, lying in the grass as they were, both with blue eyes.

*****

The rest of the day was boring without Milo. The teachers in each class droned on about something that they'd all studied last year, but I couldn't remember a single bit of it. Plus, my thoughts kept drifting back to Milo. I didn't want to be in class. I wanted to be with him. Him and his silky, dark hair. To me, he seemed like glass: breakable and fragile, but beautiful under the sun.

When school ended, I trudged out to the large brick wall that surrounded the school grounds. I waited for Milo to get out of class.

After about ten minutes, I saw him with Sam, Peter, and Oliver. They were laughing and joking, and I almost believed that Milo was one of them. But I couldn't believe that, not after lunch.

I walked over to them, and Sam saw me coming. The big bear of a boy stopped laughing and glared at me with distaste. Milo saw me too, and he looked a little worried. He stopped laughing and glanced from his friends to me, probably wondering which would be the better choice to be with right now.

"You think you're hot stuff, don't you, Sammy?" I all but growled at the six-foot-one boy.

"Watch it, Hawthorne," he warned.

"What; are you afraid that I'll give you a black-eye?" I raised my fist and stuck it in his face. "Maybe I'll break your nose instead. Suicides are very good with pain, Sammy-wammy." Was I in first grade or what?

He took a threatening step forward, only to be held back by Peter and Oliver. "It's no use, Sam," Peter said, his voice strained. "She's not worth it."

Raising an eyebrow, I stuck a hand on my hip. "I'm not worth it? Oh, Peter. You need to get out more." I smiled almost sadly and shook my head. Turning my attention back to the restrained Sam, the pit of anger swelled. "You know what, Sammy? I might just break your nose this year."

He lurched forward, the two boys holding his arms keeping him back. "I'll get you, you bitch." He shrugged off the hands and straightened his shirt. "I'll get you," he promised.

"Scouts' honor?" I questioned. He growled. I looked over at Milo to find him dumbstruck. The girl with the suicidal family has a bit more backbone than most girls.
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When I got home, I went straight up to my room to smoke. The pungent air was almost comforting. Now I remembered why I loved summers so much. Because Dick Head Sam always went away to summer camp. He was never home during the summer, so I could do anything without having to bump into him. He never understood how to quit when he was ahead. He always felt like he had to have the last say in everything. Not with good ole' Suicide Kelly. I always got the upperhand.

My thoughts glided to Milo and I started wondering about where he lived, what his parents were like, how much time he spent picking out something to wear in the morning, what brand of toothpaste he used. The list could go on and on, getting into sillier questions all the while.

Nate leaned on the door frame, holding a bag of popcorn, his fingers absentmindedly picking up the small puffs and popping them into his mouth. We'd talked very little since the whole "I think we should move" thing, one day we hadn't even talked at all. He always brought me food (which I was slowly beginning to eat). I was grateful that he still wanted to care for his little sister when their parents had so rudely left them here on the face of the earth.

"Hey. Gonna do your homework tonight?" He asked, drifting into the room. I puffed out the cigarette smoke.

"Hadn't planned on it."

"Great."

I stared at him, eyebrows raised. "You think me not doing my homework is great?"

He rolled his eyes, dismissing it. Nate never really cared much for school--and, like I said before, our parents were too hung-over or drunk to care--so he didn't really think it was bad if I didn't care. What a great example my family sets up for me.

"Well, I want to take you to this concert. The Sherman Peabodies are playing and I think both of us could use some fun." The Sherman Peabodies was one of the best rock bands in Maryland, and it was also one of the best kept secrets. No one knew about them except for Marylanders and the people that visited the small town of Hero.

"Sure, I'll go." An idea flickered through my mind. "Can I bring a friend?" Was Milo her friend yet?

Nate raised his eyebrows. "You have friends? I thought everyone believed you were insane, or something."

I smiled softly. "Not this boy."

2. Making Plans

I was pacing in the living room, the phone in front of me, sitting silent on the side table. I kept glancing at it as if it would ring and I was trying not to be startled by it. I'd called the school and asked for Milo's number (the most embarrassing moment of my life). For the past five minutes I've been pacing beside the phone, chewing my nails. Nate saw me and smiled and shook his head. So that's how I've spent most of my afternoon.

*****

Milo was sitting on his bed, trying to do his homework. But all he could think about was Kelly, lying in the grass with the blade of dry grass between her teeth. Her toffee wavy hair in the grass. She'd looked like a model right there, posing unintentionally for a picture.

Throwing his biology book down on the bed, he stood up and went to get a notebook from his desk drawer. He went back to his bed, picked up the pencil, and began to sketch Kelly onto the paper. He tried to get every detail perfect, but those ice blue eyes he was unable to copy. There were no eyes in the world like Kelly's.

When he was finished, he looked at the sketch. Milo frowned, brow furrowing. The nose wasn't turned up like Kelly's. The hair wasn't wavy like Kelly's. Ripping the paper out of the notebook, Milo threw it to the floor and tried again.

He tried for what seemed like hours, but he never got her features right. He tried portraits and full-body, but nothing was right. It never turned out like Kelly.

*****

I'd worn my nails down to little stubs. I was still pacing, but now Nate was watching. His eyes tracked me as I moved a few steps to the right then a few steps to the left. There was a strange glint in his eye, the drop of knowledge finally showing itself.

"Just call him," he said plainly, smiling a little. I stopped and spun to look at him, eyes wide.

"I can't just call him," I exclaimed. "He saw how I acted with his friend Sam."

Nate's smile widened. "Wasn't Sam the one you called a dick head at the end of your eighth grade graduation?" I groaned and plopped myself down on the couch.

"Why does everybody remember that?"

"Well," Nate drawled, "I believe it's because you yelled it loud enough for everyone in the next town to hear."

I groaned again and leaned back into his outstretched arm. Curling it around me, Nate hugged me to him.

"I gave him a black-eye for the whole summer," I muttered. "And then this afternoon I threatened to break his nose." Nate's chest shifted with laughter.

"That's my sister." I snuggled into my brother, wishing that the moment wouldn't end. Nate had been the one to bring me up. He'd taken care of me when Mom died and Dad fell into the pit, and he was still taking care of me now that Dad died. When we had been younger, we used to fight about stuff that no one really cared about. When he brought his first girlfriend home, I was rude to her because I was jealous and made her breakup with him. He yelled at me why I had done it, and I told Nate that he'd said I was his girl, the one and only. He laughed at that. Then he forgave me.

"So," Nate said, his breath shifting my hair, "you going to call him, or what?" I leaned away just enough to look into his eyes. The purest blue eyes in the whole world. They looked more like the ocean on a sunny day then ice on an overcast day, like mine.

In answer, I stood up and snatched the phone from its cradle to go into the kitchen with it. I didn't want Nate to eavesdrop on the conversation, and if I went up into my room and shut the door, he could listen through the wood. The kitchen was the best place.

Breathing deeply, I punched in the numbers slowly and precisely, careful not to mess it up. I put the receiver to my ear cautiously. After four rings, a woman picked up.

"Hello?" the woman said from the other line.

Even though she couldn't see it, my face flushed with embarrassment. What if I'd dialed the wrong number? What if Milo had a girlfriend and had plans with her tonight? What if this was all a dream and I had never met Milo?

"Hello?" the woman said again.

I snapped up and remembered why I was calling. "Hi, is Milo home?"

The woman yelled, not into the phone but loud enough that I could hear it. "Milo, one of your friends is on the phone!" Then she was back, talking to me. "So what's your name, dear?"

Certainly not dear, I thought. "I'm Kelly. Me and Milo met at school today and I was wondering if he wanted to, ah, go to this concert with me and my brother." There, that's more than my name, that's what I'm planning to do, too.

I heard a boy talking to the woman and let out a small sigh of relief. "Thanks, Mom," Milo said to the woman. "Hello?"

"Hi, Milo," I said warmly.

"Kelly!" He sounded surprised that I was calling him. "What's up?" he asked, a little flustered.

"Um, I was wondering if you'd like to go to this concert with me and my brother." I paused, twisting the phone chord around my fingers. "The Sherman Peabodies are playing," I added. I could hear the nervousness in my voice, and hoped that Milo couldn't hear it through the phone.

"Sure, just let me ask my mom." I heard the clack of the phone being put down onto a hard surface. After a few minutes, Milo was back. "She says its okay, long as we're home by midnight." Cool mom for a woman that calls strangers "dear", I noted.

"The concert starts at six so, we'll come pick you up around..." I glanced at the clock on the stove. 4:23. "Five-thirty?"

"Yeah, great." Milo gave me his street address so we could find him. Awkwardness set in for the next few seconds that we were silent.

"See you then," I said as a closing of the conversation.

"Yeah, see you." The line went dead and I went back into the living room to put the phone back.

Nate was watching me intently, clearly wanting to hear the news of who was coming with us (a person he still hadn't met).

"We're picking him up at five-thirty," I said as I placed the phone on the cradle, careful not to meet Nate's eyes. I saw him nod out of the corner of my eye, and sat down next to him. I smiled. "His mom wants him back by midnight." Nate smiled and laughed a little.

"That's one trusting mom." A wave of sadness washed over me as I remembered that our mom was never home, and when she was, she was drunk and hung-over. Depressed, I leaned into Nate. He knew where my thoughts were, and wrapped his arms around me in a hug.

Even though our mom had died six years ago, it was still a sensitive spot for both me and Nate (more for me).

*****

The excitement and joy that was bubbling up inside Milo wouldn't stop. He knew that he would see Kelly tomorrow, but going to a Sherman Peabodies concert with her was a whole lot better. He remembered that they had fourth period together. Maybe tomorrow they could sit together.

God Milo, what are you, nine? Sitting together? You've only known her for one day. She could be a whack job just like the rest of her family. You still lived here when her mom committed suicide. What if she explodes herself or something? Don't get your hopes up that she'll stay on earth. The suicide gene is in her blood.

SHUT UP! Milo screamed soundlessly at the voice in his head. You're wrong. Kelly wouldn't commit suicide. She's not depressed. But her family is.

*****

I stood in front of the mirror, pinning my hair up in different ways. This was one of the only dates I'd ever been on, considering my family history kept the guys at bay, and I was really nervous. I hadn't been this nervous on a date ever.

I posed for the mirror, holding my hair up in a bun at the nape of my neck. Two wavy locks framed my face. Nice. I grabbed an elastic band and tied my hair in place. It made the torn jeans and gray halter top look more elegant even in their ugliness. I set my hand questing for my eye shadow on the dresser, my fingers brushing a cold chain. I looked at it.

It was the necklace my mom had given me when I was ten. It was a gorgeous, silver four-leaf clover. I smiled, feeling the tears bubbling in my eye. I missed my mom. She had been the best, aside from her drinking habits that formed after my uncle shot himself. We'd spend the weekends in the kitchen, baking brownies and cookies and sometimes even cakes. We'd laugh and joke and then Dad and Nate would walk in and we'd all be very silent, listening to everyone breathe. Then we'd burst out laughing, doubling over in happiness.

I hadn't realized it, but the tears were starting to pour out. Wiping them away quickly, I clipped the necklace around my neck and stepped out of my smoky room.

Nate was on the couch again when I came in. "Don't you ever go to work?" I asked. He looked up from a magazine.

"Yeah, but my boss's letting me take time off to get both ourselves back in shape."

I snorted. "You sound like someone who's newly obsessed about working out." He didn't bother with explaining what he really meant; we both knew. We both didn't want to talk about it.

"I like it," Nate said softly.

"You like my hair?"

"No." Nate touched his fingers to the four-leaf clover. "Your necklace. I like it." My hand rose instinctively to touch it, our fingers brushing.

"Mom gave it to me," I whispered, my voice breaking. The tears had come again, falling out and running down my cheeks.

"I know." Nate hugged me comfortingly, his chin resting on my head. "I know," he whispered again, this time for comfort. I could sense that he was crying, too. We had too many good memories locked away in this house to let go of it. Both of us knew it. Both of us wouldn't let go of them. We couldn't move to somewhere else, no matter how the memories tore us apart. They were memories, both good and bad. They couldn't be replaced with a new house and new friends (although I think that might be unlikely) and a new neighborhood. We couldn't let go of this house.

When we'd finished our sobbing, I went into the bathroom and washed my face. The water was cool and soothing on my skin. More memories of me in the bathtub upstairs, Mom or Dad washing me as I tried to escape from the bathroom, laughing. Nate had always been out with his friends, then. That was before anyone committed suicide in our family. That was when we'd all had friends. After my aunt and uncle shot themselves, everyone separated us from them. We became a lonely family. That was when both my parents started drinking. That was when we stopped having fun.





3. The Concert

I was standing in front of Milo's house, ringing the doorbell. Nate was waiting in his SUV at the curb, watching. I heard someone running inside. Then Milo opened the door, wearing jeans and an old, Sherman Peabodies T-shirt. His hair was a mess, and I wished I could run my hands through it to feel its silky smoothness.

"Ready?" I said.

Milo took in my hair and necklace. "Yup."

We walked to the car and both sat in the second row of seats. Nate fired away into the questions. I stared out the windows. Let the boys have their fun.

"So where'd you get a Sherman Peabodies shirt?" I asked at random, interrupting Nate in the middle of a question.

"I lived here till I was in eighth grade. The Sherman Peabodies have been around a while, so when I went to one of their concerts after graduation as a sort of goodbye party, I bought a shirt to remember them by. At that time, I hadn't known I'd be moving back, so I thought I'd never see them again." He smiled. "Shows how wrong I am." We all laughed. The ride continued on like that. I joined in with questions, answering Milo's, too. But he never brought up my dead family.

Nate pulled the car into the park's crowded parking lot. There was an amphitheater here that was used for concerts of all kinds, plays, and anything that had to do with music.

Today, the Hero Park Amphitheater was set up for the Sherman Peabodies concert. There were amps, instruments, and fans all over the place. Mostly a lot of people from the high school. There were some adults, but none over thirty. For some reason, when you turn forty, you hate good music.

Nate led Milo and me to a spot and we sat on the prickly grass. I was very aware of Milo's knee, almost touching mine. He and Nate were still going on with the questions I was sure only boys would have the answer to. Then Nate asked a question that caught my attention.

"So Milo, on a scale of one to ten--one being the worst and ten being the best--how much do you like my sister?" His eyes were laced in mischief and I wondered what he was spinning around in his head.

"Nate!" I cried, enraged that he would ask such a question. Milo looked both embarrassed and glad that Nate had asked him that. "Can't you ask normal questions?"

"That is a normal question," Nate defended, eyes glinting in amusement.

"I mean when I'm around." Nate smiled mischievously.

The crowd exploded into cheers and we all turned to see the Sherman Peabodies walking onto the stage, raising their hands to get the crowd riled up. The drummer had a shaved head with a four-leaf clover tattooed on the back of his skull. The guitarist had curly red hair in a ponytail that almost reached his waist. And the lead vocalist and guitarist had medium brown hair in a buzz. His name was Sherman, oddly enough.

They got into their positions and the drummer started off. The guitarist joined in, and then Sherman began to sing. It was a wild song that got you pumped, and Nate, Milo, and I ended up standing and bouncing up and down with our hands in the air as we cheered and sang along with the chorus. It was loud, but not loud enough to drown out the voices. The smell of sweat started to rise as everyone went crazy with (haha) "dance-fever."

The Sherman Peabodies played five wild songs before calming it down to something a little more mellow. By the seventh song, I was unconsciously stealing glances at Milo. He looked like he was enjoying the concert.

Then, I felt his hand brush mine and our fingers interlocked. I smiled. Even though I couldn't see, I was sure that he was smiling, too. His hand was soft and kind and I wondered what was to come tomorrow at school.

After the concert, Nate took us to get ice cream. I think he might've known that we were holding hands for half of the concert. When the last song ended, Milo quickly slipped his hand out of mine and started talking to Nate. I was a little put out by that, but I did understand the reasons behind it.

"Two scoops cookie-dough," I told the girl behind the counter. She nodded and turned to Milo.

When he didn't acknowledge her, she cleared her throat loudly. He was startled as he jerked his head up to her and told her he wanted the same. I stifled a laugh that he'd been watching me and not paying attention to the girl behind the register.

She got our ice cream, and while Nate paid for it, Milo and I found a table to sit at. He looked embarrassed and uncomfortable as I watched him play with his ice cream.

"Hey," I said. He jerked his head up, our eyes meeting for the briefest moment before he stared at his ice cream again. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he mumbled, but it didn't look that way. Why was he so ashamed of holding my hand?

*****

Milo couldn't look at her, though he knew she was watching him. He wished he were anywhere else but here, with her, right now. I held her hand, he thought happily. She didn't shy away. Milo was afraid of what his friends would think. Would they be disgusted by him just like they were with her? How could they be disgusted by Kelly? She was so kind. She was beautiful and her laugh...Oh, her laugh was wonderful.

Milo spooned a small chunk of the ice cream into his mouth, careful not to meet her eyes. He wasn't ashamed that they had held hands. It had been the most wonderful moment in his entire life. But his friends were going to hate him when he told them what he'd done. Maybe he didn't have to tell. Maybe all he had to do was be quiet.

But what would tomorrow hold? If he sat with Kelly at lunch, then his friends would hate him. If he sat with Sam at lunch, then Kelly might hate him. Why couldn't he be friends with people that got along?

If it was a choice between Kelly and Sam, Milo believed that he would choose Kelly. Her ice blue eyes would always be etched in his soul, watching him closely to see that he wouldn't stray. Was Kelly more his friend, even though they'd just met? Was Kelly more than a friend to him?

*****

We sat in silence. Nate had sat down and stayed silent, somehow knowing what had happened while he wasn't there. He'd scarfed down his ice cream and watched us eat ours as slow as slugs after he threw his paper cup away.

I dared to steal glances at Milo from under my brow, and once I caught Nate's speculative eyes, telling me that I should stay silent.

We finally finished and threw the cups away before heading out to the SUV. Milo and I sat in the back again, not talking at all, but staring at nothing. Nate drove in silence, and I sensed him watching us through the rearview mirror closely. It was like standing in a room filled with portraits of people you never knew. All of them were watching and their empty eyes stared at you no matter where you went.

Nate pulled the car up to the sidewalk and Milo and I got out. I walked him to his door, carefully avoiding his eyes for fear of seeing regret that he'd ever met me in them. I didn't want it to end. I liked Milo. He was a good friend and he hadn't judged me like everyone else.

"I guess I'll see you tomorrow, then," he said quietly, disturbing the silence. His words hung in the air like a circling vulture, almost ominous at how flat they were.

I nodded. There was nothing I could say. But there was something I could do.

Milo turned to walk inside, but I grabbed his hand and spun him into me, hugging him tightly for only seconds before letting go and stomping away back to the SUV. I got in the back and Nate drove us home in silence.

I like this a lot! Your style is very good, and your descriptions of characters conjure up a good picture of waht they might look like. I like the way you switch between Kelly's and Milo's POV; you don't have any trouble with the transaction. I'm interested in what's going to happen next, and that's a good idea - Kelly coming from a family with suicidical tendancies.

I don't think there are any grammer/spelling/punctuation mistakes. Well done! Continue!

-ShadowTwit

4. Beaten

I rolled out of bed drowsily. My head and shoulder ached. I left my room and went into the bathroom, going to the sink and downing two Aspirin. My sock feet scuffed along the wood as I went back into my room, half awake.

Milo entered my mind. What had been his reaction to my hug last night? I hadn't looked back to see it. Would he skip school today, knowing that I would be there? Hell, maybe I wouldn't. Maybe I would skip school. Maybe I would be the coward; it sort of ran in the family.

I was on automatic and put on a pair of olive green parachute pants and a white tee, clasping the necklace behind my neck. I pulled on my tennis shoes and trudged down the stairs. I didn't want to talk to Nate. He would say something caustic and ruin my day for me. He'd bring up last night. He'd ask me what had happened between Milo and me. I would tell him nothing and he'd pester me until I had to go to school.

Unfortunately, Nate was already downstairs and eating toast. He glanced up from the newspaper like a worried father. He was still in his pajamas, though, so that kind of ruined the image.

He didn't speak, just watched me as I fixed my own breakfast. I sat down in my chair, setting the plate of toast in front of me so I could slap some butter on it.

"You're eating today," Nate noted as I spread the butter thinly over the toast.

"Yeah," I said quietly. And that was the end of the conversation until I finished both slices.

"What's up, Kelly?" Nate asked almost suspiciously. "At the concert you two were having loads of fun and then I have to watch you eat ice cream with the speed of a turtle."

I jerked my head up and yelled, "You didn't have to fucking watch, Nate! You could have left us there to wallow in our problems until we sorted them out. You could have left," I wailed. Tears streamed down my face mercilessly. I wanted to crawl under my bed like a cockroach and die. I wanted everything to be fine. I was warring within myself about how I so wanted Milo to hold my hand again and how I so wished I had never met him. Once again, our actions were in the past and they couldn't be taken back.

Nate stood, no hate in his eyes, only comfort, and knelt in front of me. He grabbed my shoulders and pulled me to him. I knew how much he hated to see me cry. We sat there for a while, him holding me while I sobbed into his shoulder. Oh, yeah, I still had to go to school. Great.
-------
I was sitting in third period, waiting for it to end. I'd had Nate drive me to school this morning after I cried. I had yet to see Milo, a fact with which I was both grateful and mournful about. The look on Sam's face this morning made me think that I had stolen one of his best friends, something I didn't feel sorry about in the least.

Third period ended and I trudged out of the classroom to the sun warmed grass. I laid down in the grass and stared at the clouds, trying to find cheerfulness in their fluff, but finding they only fueled my depression. I knew of only one cure and he had yet to show himself to me. I needed Milo.

*****

Sitting under the tree, Milo watched Kelly in the grass, looking as content as she had yesterday. She was staring at the clouds again. He wished he could walk over and join her, but was afraid that Sam would hate him. Sam had been Milo's first friend and they'd stayed that way till eighth grade. Milo remembered Sam being friendly to Kelly--until her aunt and uncle killed themselves.

He watched her chest move up and down as she breathed evenly. Milo sighed. He wished that they could be together. He wished everyone would try to accept her and her family, no matter the suicide. He wished that he could walk over to her and tell her everything. So that's what Milo did.

*****

I watched Milo approaching; watched his hair bounce with his gait. He was already curing me, all the way across the courtyard. His head was down and his steps were somewhat uncertain. He was walking towards me, just like yesterday, only this time he didn't look as pleasant.

"Hey," I said as he was settling himself on the ground. I didn't move, lying still in the grass, breath slow and soundless.

"Hey." His voice sounded small and distant. I looked around, finding Sam's venomous glare as he watched us. I dismissed it and turned my gaze back on Milo, who was now staring at me almost pleadingly.

"Sam looks pissed," I blurted.

Milo nodded, "Yeah, about that. Sam is gonna hate me because I'm hanging out with you."

I felt a stab of pain, but said plainly, "Then let him hate. I've lived half my life with him hating me and it doesn't--"

He cut me off. "But he's my friend. He's been my friend since pre-school. I don't want to loose him over a girl." I frowned. Seeing it, Milo added quickly, "But not just any girl." I stared into his eyes, wondering if he was joking. He looked honest enough.

"Are you trying to be funny, 'cause it ain't working," I stated dryly. Milo winced.

"No. I just know who I'm going to choose if it comes to that." He didn't look at me. I felt Sam's--and almost everyone else's--eyes on us, and I didn't feel embarrassed or ashamed that I was sitting here, in my usual spot, with Milo.

"Milo..." My voice trailed off. Ruining this would ruin me, and then I would have to cry. I didn't want to cry in front of the entire student body of Hero High School, much less cry in front of Milo. "Milo, I haven't gotten you out of my mind. I can't." My voice broke once.

I hadn't realized that Sam was stomping towards us. Milo let go of my hands and stared up at him. I looked at him, too.

"You bitch!" he yelled, "You think you can steal my friend from me!" Sam kicked me in my side and my breath whooshed out. I rolled over, curling into a ball as Sam kicked me again, this time his foot landing at my back. I flinched. Then the kicking stopped and I turned over to see Milo on top of Sam punching in his face. There was blood seeping from Sam's nose, reflected on Milo's knuckles.

I watched, just like everyone else, holding my breath. The English teacher, Mr. Bartley, came running and got Peter and Oliver to pull Sam away while he yanked Milo back. Sam's nose was bleeding, the red slime oozing down his face. He glared first at me then at Milo. Milo's fists were bloody and he looked ruthless as he glared from underneath his brow at Sam. There weren't any scratches on Milo as far as I could see, and that was good.

I'd never seen him look like that. He looked vicious, his hair wild and his eyes dark and penetrating, no matter how pale and blue they were. It wasn't that I was scared of him; it was just a shock to see this new side,--this so violent side--of Milo.

Mr. Bartley turned to me. I didn't know if he had seen Sam kick me, but as his face untwisted from anger and into kindness and sympathy (something I'd only ever gotten from the extra-nice teachers). "Ms. Hawthorne, would you like to go to the nurse's office or would you be alright accompanying us to the office?"

I was suddenly very aware of the pain in my side. Gonna have a bruise tomorrow, Kelly. But the nurse wasn't needed, and I wanted to see how much trouble Sam was going to get into--though I think Milo would get in more trouble since he was the one beating Sam's nose into a pulp.

"No, I'll go to the office with you," I said, rocking into motion to stand a little closer to Milo, feeling that I should be protective of him. Mr. Bartley nodded and whisked us away toward the office.

*****

He felt wild and animalistic as he trudged down the sidewalk to the office. He knew he was in deep shit, but it was to save Kelly from a "meant to be dead" beating from Sam.

Milo looked down at the ground as he walked, aware of Kelly favoring her left side beside him. He was too angry at Sam. Kelly hadn't stolen Milo from him. They were still friends--unless Sam didn't want to be friends anymore because of Kelly. Milo knew he would choose Kelly over a million dollars. He hated that he had to choose between his two best friends because one of them was seen as diseased, but Kelly was number one to him. She meant the moon and earth to him.

Milo saw his bloody knuckles and wiped them on his shirt before putting a protective arm around Kelly. She kept the same pace, but walked into him and kept him close, leaning a little on him. Milo liked that. She had seen the side of him that the girls down in Florida had all feared. But she wasn't afraid.

Glaring at Sam, flanked by Oliver and Peter, over Kelly's shoulder, he realized that he'd just broken his best friend's nose to protect Kelly. A small smile turned his lips up. He had broken Sam's nose. Now Kelly wouldn't have to.

*****

We were all sitting in the principal's office, keeping eye contact. Oliver and Peter were sitting out in the lobby while the principal, Mrs. Inglehart, went over the events of the past five minutes.

I was sitting next to Milo, wishing that I could hold his hand again. The first thing Mrs. Ingelhart had done was send Sam to the nurse's office and give Milo a hand wipe to get the blood off with. Sam was back, sporting a big white bandage on his nose. The blood was gone.

Mrs. Inglehart spoke to Sam first. "Alright, Mr. Cunningham, would you please tell me exactly what happened this afternoon?"

Sam took a breath and said, "I was eating lunch with Oliver and Peter. We were minding our own business and then Milo comes over there and punches me in the nose. Completely at random. We end up on the ground--me getting my nose smushed in--and thankfully Mr. Bartley comes running along and pulls Milo off me. You see what he did to my nose." Sam pointed to his nose. Liar, I thought bitterly, folding my arms over my chest.

Milo spoke up. "But how does that explain how you got over to where we were sitting?" Sam glared menacingly, and Milo glared back.

"That's enough, boys," Mrs. Inglehart said firmly. "Milo, it will be your turn to talk in a moment. Now I want to hear what Ms. Hawthorne has to say." She smiled encouragingly and nodded for me to talk.

"Milo and I were sitting and talking in the grass. Sam is glaring at us for some reason and then he's stomping over to us. He kicked me twice--once in my side, the other in my back. Milo knocks into him and punches the living daylight out of his nose." I smiled at Milo; he smiled back. I continued, "Then Mr. Bartley comes and pulls Milo off of him while Oliver and Peter are restraining Sam."

Mrs. Inglehart nodded, turning to look at Milo. Her eyes were kind and encouraging. "Please tell us your story of what happened, Mr. Sinclair."

"Mine is the same as Kelly's," was all he said. Mrs. Inglehart looked at the three of us.

"I'm going to call your parents," she said. "You may sit in the lobby and wait until I call you back in." The three of us stood up and left. Sam went out first, then me, followed by Milo.

Sam sat down with Oliver and Peter and they muttered things under their breath, stealing cold glances at Milo and me. They were all sitting on the small couch, so we went to the wall. We sat down and leaned against it, staring at nothing, yet staring at everything.

"I'm sorry," Milo said suddenly.

I looked at him, brow furrowed. "Why? It was Sammy's fault, not yours." I said "Sammy" extra loud so he could hear it.

"Yes, it was my fault. I told you that he'd hate me for choosing you over him. I just didn't know he'd take his anger out on you." His voice was soft, laced with apology and regret. I wondered if he regretted us ever meeting. I know I didn't.

I took his hands in mine and kissed the top of them. "It wasn't your fault, and it still isn't. Sam will be Sam. You can't change him from being, ah, mean, and neither can I." Milo looked at me warmly. I smiled, thinking that even if he was in trouble, I would ask him to be mine.

*****

He stared into her eyes, soft and forgiving. It was his fault--and he knew it--but he knew that fighting with Kelly was no use. He took his hands from hers and enfolded them into his, kissing them lighting. He knew that Sam was watching, but Kelly was more important. Sam had hurt her, and if Sam couldn't deal with Milo's friends (or perhaps Kelly was more than that) Milo wouldn't be his. It just made him sad that he would never get to go over to Sam's house again to smell the salsa that his mom was obsessed with making or play tag with Oliver and Peter. Sam was gone from Milo's life, and with him were Oliver and Peter.

Side note #1:
Hero, Maryland, is not a real town. Just thought anyone who checks this story out should know that.

Side note #2:
If anyone has any better suggestions for the chapter names please PM me or post it.

Side note #3:
I'm sorry the three main characters have blue eyes. It just turned out that way, but at least they have different shades of blue eyes.
Thank you for reading through the side notes. They aren't really all that important, but they kind of are. Thank you

Enjoy reading "Suicide"!

And now...[drum roll, please]...CHAPTER 5!

5.

I was leaning against the wall, cigarette in hand, and talking to Milo on the phone. He had gotten in a lot of trouble because he broke Sam's nose. I don't see what the big deal is. Sam looks better with white bandages on his ugly face.

Mrs. Inglehart did call our parents--all except for mine because 1.) I don't have any parents; and 2.) I didn't do anything wrong. Milo got in a lot of trouble, but I think Sam got in more trouble because his mom doesn't believe that men (much less boys) should hit girls.

The bruise on my left side right near my rib cage has successfully turned green and yellow along with the traditional colors of blue, black, and purple. Milo walked away unscratched (thank you, Lord), and Sam has a broken nose. Yeah for the guy that did that to him!

"What's the punishment going to be?" I asked into the receiver, letting the smoke out as I spoke.

"Starting tomorrow, I'm grounded from TV, the computer, and the phone," Milo sighed. Then his voice had a suggestive cadence to

5.

I was leaning against the wall, cigarette in hand, and talking to Milo on the phone. He had gotten in a lot of trouble because he broke Sam's nose. I don't see what the big deal is. Sam looks better with white bandages on his ugly face than having to take on the atrociousness full blast.

Mrs. Inglehart did call our parents--all except for mine because 1.) I don't have any parents; and 2.) I didn't do anything wrong. Milo got in a lot of trouble, but I think Sam got in more trouble because his mom and dad don't believe that men (much less boys) should hit girls.

The bruise on my left side, right near my rib cage, has successfully turned green and yellow along with the traditional colors of blue, black, and purple. Milo walked away unscratched (thank you, Lord), and Sam had a broken nose. Yeah for the guy that did that to him!

"What's the punishment going to be?" I asked into the receiver, letting the smoke out as I spoke.

"Starting tomorrow, I'm grounded from TV, the computer, and the phone," Milo sighed. Then his voice had a suggestive cadence to it. "We could sneak out."

I laughed at the idea. "Your mom didn't forbid you to see your friends, so I don't think it'd be as much fun."

"You're right." He sighed. "How is your bruise coming?" he asked tenderly. I smiled. I hadn't yet unvailed my feelings for Milo yet, but he sounded like he held the same ones.

"It's big, ugly, yellow, and green," I said, scowling as I twisted to see the bruise forming on my side. It was huge, and I think it wasn't done growing. Then a thought struck me that made me smile. "Hey, kindda sounds like Sam." Milo laughed, but it sounded just a little forced.

"I know you hate him and all," he said, absolutely serious, "but Sam is still my friend as far as I know. He may hate me, but he's still my friend until he says we're not."

"Gee, you sound like God right there. 'You may hate me, but I'll always love you.'" As I said the words, I knew that I wasn't just immitating. The last few words had come from my heart. It might have sounded like an immitation of God, but it sure as hell came out of my mouth.

Milo was silent for a minute, probably having understood the meaning in the words. We didn't say anything, just let the moment sink into us like sand in our toes. Nate was the one to break it.

"Dinner!" he called from downstairs. I took a short drag from the cigarette and ground it into the ash tray.

"I got to go, Milo. See you tomorrow."

"See you, too," he said a little dreamily into the phone. I turned off the phone and lumbered down the stairs and into the kitchen.

*****

Milo turned off the phone and set it down slowly on the bedspread. In so many words, Kelly had just told him she loved him. She loved him. She loved him!

Milo fell back onto the bed, crushing the air out of the comforter.

5. I Love You--In So Many Words

I was leaning against the wall, cigarette in hand, and talking to Milo on the phone. He had gotten in a lot of trouble because he broke Sam's nose. I don't see what the big deal is. Sam looks better with white bandages on his ugly face than having to take on the atrociousness full blast.

Mrs. Inglehart did call our parents--all except for mine because 1.) I didn't do anything wrong; and 2.) I don't have any parents for her to call. Milo got in a lot of trouble, but I think Sam got in more trouble because his mom and dad don't believe that men (much less boys) should hit girls.

The bruise on my left side, right near my rib cage, had successfully turned green and yellow along with the traditional colors of blue, black, and purple over the course between lunch and now. Milo walked away unscratched (thank you, Lord), and Sam had a broken nose. Yeah for the guy that did that to him!

"What's the punishment going to be?" I asked into the receiver, letting the smoke out as I spoke.

"Starting tomorrow, I'm grounded from TV, the computer, and the phone," Milo sighed. Then his voice had a suggestive cadence to it. "We could sneak out." I could almost see him smiling through the phone.

I laughed at the idea. "Your mom didn't forbid you to see your friends, so I don't think it'd be as much fun."

"You're right." He sighed. "How is your bruise coming?" he asked tenderly. I smiled. I hadn't yet unveiled my feelings for Milo yet, but he sounded like he held the same ones.

"It's big, ugly, yellow, and green," I said, scowling as I twisted to see the bruise forming on my side. It was huge, and I think it wasn't done growing. Then a thought struck me that made me smile. "Hey, kindda sounds like Sam." Milo laughed, but it sounded just a little forced.

"I know you hate him and all," he said, absolutely serious, "but Sam is still my friend as far as I know. He may hate me, but he's still my friend until he says we're not."

"Gee, you sound like God right there. 'You may hate me, but I'll always love you.'" As I said the words, I knew that I wasn't just imitating. The last few words had come from my heart. It might have sounded like an imitation of God, but it sure as hell came out of my mouth in reality.

Milo was silent for a minute, probably having understood the meaning in the words. We didn't say anything, just let the moment sink into us like sand in our toes. Nate was the one to break it.

"Dinner!" he called from downstairs. I took a short drag from the cigarette and ground it into the ash tray.

"I got to go, Milo. See you tomorrow."

"See you, too," he said a little dreamily into the phone. I turned off the phone and lumbered down the stairs and into the kitchen.

*****

Milo turned off the phone and set it down slowly on the bedspread. In so many words, Kelly had just told him she loved him. She loved him. She loved him!

Milo fell back onto the bed, crushing the air out of the comforter. He smiled. His mom walked past his room, holding the laundry basket. She saw him as she passed, then backpedaled to the door. She looked puzzled by his expression.

"What's with you, Milo?" she asked cautiously.

"Everything," he said to the ceiling. His mom dismissed him and walked down the hall.

"Dinner will be ready in half an hour," she called back.

Milo didn't care when dinner was. He had to see Kelly again. He had to go to her house. Even if she thought it was a dumb idea, he was going to sneak out tonight and hold her to him. Milo wouldn't let go of her ever. He wouldn't let anything hurt her. Kelly, he thought, I love you.

*****

We were sitting at the table, me slowly eating the spaghetti while Nate watched me, clearly knowing something was up.

"How was school today?" he said, trying to sound nonchalant.

I jerked up and stared at him. "Oh, school. Yeah. Uh, Milo broke Sam's nose." No need to tell him why.

"No kiddin'," Nate said in disbelief.

"Yes kidding. And they're best friends too. Were best friends, I think." I forked a wad of noodles and tomato sauce into my mouth, trying to avoid getting into the nitty-gritty of it all. Nate didn't need to know about the whys behind the action. No details. But, obviously, Nate didn't know that that was the game-plan.

"Why'd he break Sam's nose if they're best friends?" he asked, taking a forkful of spaghetti and shoving it into his mouth.

I decided that there was no way that I was going to evade Nate with this one. "Um, it had to do with me. Sam thinks I'm stealing his best friend, so he came over and started kicking me"--I stood up and showed Nate the ugly bruise--"Milo knocked him on the ground," I said, sitting back down and swallowing the rest of the food in my mouth. "And he ended up breaking Sam's nose." I shrugged, twisting my fork in the spaghetti noodles.

"Whew, glad I wasn't there," Nate muttered.

"Yeah. Mrs. Inglehart called their parents. Milo's been grounded from TV, computer, and phone, starting tomorrow." Now we would only be able to talk at school. Not that we had talked all that much on the phone the past two days, but it was still the only other communication we had besides lunch and fourth period.

Dulled by that thought, I stood up, the chair scratching on the linoleum tile, and took my empty plate to the sink. After washing my plate, I went up to bed. I wanted tomorrow to start. I wanted to see Milo.

I liked that Nate and I ate dinner around nine. I wasn't the kind of teenager that stayed up all night. I just ate and then went to bed. It was kind of relaxing.

I went to the bathroom first and brushed my teeth, then to my bedroom. I changed into my pink pajama pants and a black camisole. My dad had bought the pajama pants for me at Christmas as a sort of joke. I ended up really liking them and wore them every night. They had yellow horses printed all over them, and they made me feel free. Horses were free, so was I.

*****

Milo crept out of his window. He'd left a note on his bed, telling his mom where he was if anything happened to him and not to worry. Not much of a runaway, but Milo wasn't that badass to not let his mom know where he was, even if it was only on a note and not in person.

He climbed down the side of the house. He'd decided that it would be more authentic if he wore the traditional spy-black clothing. He was wearing a sweatshirt and a pair of dark jeans. The hood of the sweatshirt covered his head. A shot of adrenaline pumped through him, even though he wasn't really doing anything bad, having told his mom where he was going, but he wasn't one of the kids that sneaked away from home a lot, either.

He ran to the garage and got in the electric blue sedan that he and his mom shared. Turning the keys in the ignition, he silently drove away from his house. He realized that he didn't know where Kelly lived, and decided that he would drive around and try to spot Nate's SUV.

He found the SUV and parked on the curb, staring at the house. It was old and rustic, the red brick fading. A few vines had started climbing their way up the sides of the house, creeping in like shadows in the afternoon. Milo took a deep breath and got out of the car. His desire for Kelly was pumping through his veins in company with his blood. He had to see her.

Milo started across the yard and looked up into the second story windows, trying to decipher which one was Kelly's. Most of the downstairs lights were on. Luckily, all the blinds were down to conceal whoever was inside (probably Nate) from Milo and to conceal Milo from them. There was one light on on the second story, and, deciding that was Kelly's bedroom window, Milo started climbing up to her window.

He got to her window and peered inside.

Kelly sat on her bed, pressing her fingers to her lips as she smoked the cigarette. Kelly smokes?

Of course, retard. Both her parents are dead, what do you think she does in her spare time; sing?

Shaking the voice away, Milo watched Kelly get up and leave her room after scrunching the cigarette into an ash tray. He started unlatching the window to open it from the outside.

*****

I went to the bathroom, and when I came back, I nearly screamed. A man was crawling in through my window, dressed in a black hoodie and jeans. He tumbled into my room. A robber wouldn't make that much noise, the more reasonable part of my brain said.

I stood in the threshold to my room, watching as the man started to stand. I recognized him. I knew those eyes anywhere. Milo.

I squealed a little, very aware that Nate was downstairs, and ran to him. I leapt into his arms, catching him by surprise, and planted a big kiss on his lips.

The action caught even me by surprise. Immediately, I unlocked my legs from around him and stood up straight on the floor, backing away a little. But Milo wasted no time. He grabbed my arm and pulled me into him, kissing fiercely. And Milo was a good kisser. His lips held passion and beauty. I'd studied his lips before, but that just didn't compare to kissing him.

I kissed him back, still aware of Nate downstairs drinking his nighttime coffee. I backed away, not leading Milo onto my bed or anything, just ending the kiss reluctantly. I opened my eyes to find that his were wild and happy. I smiled, and he smiled back.

"So what has Romeo come to say at this time of night?" I asked playfully, backing up until I found the bed and sat down, crossing my legs.

Milo came to sit beside me, staring at his knees. "I had to talk to you in person," he said almost bashfully. I watched him as he stared at his knees. He looked wonderful, sitting beside me in my bed, and it took all of my will-power to sit still.

"About what?" I pressed.

He looked at me, our eyes meeting. "I haven't stopped thinking about you since yesterday, and though that doesn't seem like a long time, the hours we've spent away from each other have been almost unbearable for me." I nodded mentally. My feelings exactly.

He continued, "You're the only one that has ever torn me and Sam apart. You are the only girl that has ever destroyed our friendship." Milo winced, but if I tried to comfort him now, he would move away or it would turn into something lovely really fast. He didn't need lovely. He needed someone to spill everything out to.

He looked back at his knees. "In so many words, I'm telling you that I love you." I froze, nearly fainting. His blue gaze switched to me, gaging my reaction and saying, "If that's not how you feel then--"

But he didn't get to finish his sentence because, for the second time in the past five minutes, I covered his mouth with mine. I hugged him to me, wishing that I could feel the skin of his back instead of the cloth of his sweatshirt. But I held back, worried that if I moved too fast, he would turn and jump out the window, leaving me in my room.

Milo fastened his arms around me, holding me firmly to him even in our hard-to-maneuver-in position. We sat like that for a long time, unable to move and break the moment. It was Milo, in the end, who broke away. I let my head thump into the hollow of his neck and shoulder. He stroked my hair with a steady hand.

"I love you, too," I breathed into his chest, the words almost inaudible. It seemed impossible, but we had fallen in love after only two days. Now the school would have something to talk about: how the long-lost resident fell in love with Suicidal Kelly.

6. You and Me

So far, the school day was going pretty damn well. Milo walked me to first and second period (where I am now) and is probably going to walk me to the rest of my classes. He didn't spend the night last night, but today he's all smiles and hugs. Everyone is staring or glaring at us. No sign of Sam, yet, but when he does show up, I hope he gets a taste of his own sweaty sock.

I have been unusually elated today, and when Nate asked me what was going on that he didn't know about at breakfast, I simply said, "Me." He didn't understand what that meant and let it slide. Thank you God for brothers that can't understand what their sisters are saying. I didn't think I was ready for him to know about Milo and me.

Second period drifted along as I thought about Milo. I fixed an image of him in my mind and memorized everything about him. The freckles and moles on his skin; the different shades of blue that made up his eyes. I found, while staring mentally into his eyes, that there were green and hazel speckles dotting his irises.

I went to my third period classroom to find an angry, beaten Sam in his usual seat, whispering angrily to Peter. Peter listened intently, until his eyes found mine. His eyes smoldered angrily, glaring vengefully at me. I wasn't startled that that was how he looked at me, and I returned his cold eyes with my own. Mine seemed to be much more effective--considering he turned back to Sam and whispered in his ear--and that was probably because they were ice blue.

Sam's glare did startle me. It was colder and harder than Peter's or anyone else's. Rocking back a little, I wondered if it was safe for me to be in the same classroom with Sam. I didn't know that mud-brown could be as cold and hard as ice.

*****

Milo felt wonderful. There was no word yet made that could describe how he felt. Kelly loved him. And he loved her. Sam was the only thing that truly threatened them now, and Milo knew Sam well enough that his friend wouldn't get over it easily. They'd known each other since pre-school. They'd been best friends since first grade. Milo and Sam had watched each other grow up. And then Peter came along in third grade, and Oliver in fifth. Both were extremely loyal to Sam, but Milo wasn't. Milo knew he had his own life--and that life would rather have Kelly included in it than Sam--but he wished that his friend would accept her. She wasn't diseased even a little bit. She was perfect; perfect in every way.

*****

We sat in my usual spot (our usual spot?), talking about the Sam's glacial stare. Milo was leaning back on his elbows, while I was lying back in the grass, hands behind my head.

"Sam," Milo muttered, shaking his head in denial. "We've known each other forever." In truth, and I knew it, I had torn Milo between his best friend and me. He'd chosen me, but I could see that he was hurt that he had to give up a lifetime of friendship. I desperately wanted--desperately needed--someone to understand that I was still a good person and wasn't marked by my family's actions. Nate understood, but I needed someone that wasn't family. Milo was it. Milo accepted my past, present, and future. He accepted that, and he loved me.

"I'm really sorry, Milo," I said to the sky. "I know Sam was your best friend. If you want to end it all with me, I'm fine with that." I wasn't going to be fine with it if Milo left me. I wanted him to be happy, but I didn't want him gone forever.

Milo looked at me as if I were crazy. At first, his eyes flashed with anger, but then it was gone and he was back to his tenderness. "I would never leave you for someone that hurt you," he said softly. I smiled, content with the answer.

*****

How could she dare even think that? Kelly knew that Milo loved her. Had she been pretending last night? Had his beautiful, kind Kelly told him she loved him and not really have meant it?

This had happened before. Milo had been taken advantage of down in Florida. A girl named Marie had told him she loved--if only once--and hadn't meant it. She'd done it just to get a kiss. And Milo had been stupid enough to believe her.

But Kelly was different. If anything, she was nearly the polar opposite of Marie. Kelly wouldn't lie. She wouldn't.

But then Milo wondered. What if she already had?

*****

The emotions flickered over Milo's face--anger, fear, wonder; anything that wasn't positive. I watched as he battled with his thoughts, wondering if it would be a good idea to touch him or not. I decided not. Let him figure it out on his own without me interfering.

I sat up, my eyes immediately finding Sam's. He looked really pissed. He must have been wondering what we were talking about over here. Oliver and Peter were glaring at us, too, though they didn't look as angry or heartbroken as Sam did. Sam looked like he was on the verge of rage filled tears even with the masking of the bandages on his nose. I almost laughed, seeing them and remembering that I didn't have to break his nose anymore because Milo had done it for me. He had done it for me. He'd done it to save me, too.
-------
I was leaning on Milo's electric blue sedan, waiting for him to get out of class. When he came up to the car, I almost believed he was going to tell me to get off and walk home. He looked like he was concentrating very hard on something. His brow was pinched in thought.

I watched him maneuver around the car to get in on the driver's side. Lurching from the car, I got in.

But before I could close my door, I heard Sam bellowing Milo's name. I paused, and so did Milo. We got out of the car as Sam came stomping up to us, his arms stiff with anger.

"Get away from my friend," he growled at me when he was close enough. I glared at him, face squished into a sort of pout that I'd never had on. It felt strange, like I was a little girl again pouting over why Mom couldn't come and bake cookies with me. At that time, I hadn't known that when you die, you don't come back. I had thought that Mom was coming home again and that I could see her and bake cookies with her. But she never came back. Her body stayed in that same grave, right next to my dad's.

*****

Milo stepped in front of Kelly, protecting her from Sam. Sam glared at him, but his eyes were softer now. He was glaring at his friend, over a girl that Sam hated.

"I'm sorry, Sam," was all Milo said. Sam spun and stomped away. Milo turned back to Kelly, seeing her dismissing what had just happened so easily. She hated Sam, so it was easy for her to turn away. But would it be that easy for Milo?

*****

The ride home was silent. The fact that Milo was spinning thoughts inside his head like a cobweb was almost tangible. I sat almost sulkily, hands over my chest as I slumped in my seat. Milo's car was comfortable. The interior was black leather. Very nice.

I kept my eyes off of Milo. I knew that it was uncomfortable for the person if you watched them think.

Finally, Milo spoke. "I wish Sam could understand," he said almost to himself. I reached across the console and let my hand cover his on the steering wheel. He didn't look away from the road, but it was only because he didn't want to be in an accident.

I didn't know what I could say. There wasn't anything that I could say. I was lost in feelings--hate for Sam, love for Milo, confusion for myself. There was nothing I could say. There was nothing I could do.





[the feelings are a little more intense here. just wanted to warn you]

7. Holding Back

We went to Milo's house to do our homework. I called Nate from there and left a message on the answering machine telling him where I was. Milo led me up to his room and I hurried along behind him. We talked for an hour and a half about random stuff. It felt a little awkward, and then there was the feeling of guilt and sadness that had me weighed down.

The two days before I hadn't done my homework. But now that I was here with Milo (who did his homework) I guessed that I should do mine.

Time passed slowly as we sat in the silence, undisturbed by the soft song purring out of the stereo. Did Milo always do his homework by the sound of violins? Maybe it just reflected his mood. Maybe he was sad and so listened to violin music. Either way, it was making want blaze through my system. I didn't know how long I'd be able to hold back from him.

I've never been in love. Milo was the first. I'd only been on play dates with kids my age and then when I was ten, my mom introduced me to this guy. He was scared of me after my mom died, thinking I had killed her or some such nonsense. But all the same, Milo was the first. I would take what I could get out of this love, and in doing so, I'd give him everything, probably hurting myself more.

"Milo," I said into the silence, the syllables hanging in the air. He looked up from the textbook in his lap and our eyes clicked. I could almost see his chest beneath the thin cotton shirt, calling for me; pleading for me. I sucked in air to clear my head, but the desire wouldn't leave. "Milo," I whispered again, letting out the air. Just the taste of his name on my tongue filled the desire.

Milo looked confused as he tried to figure out what I was doing. Not even I knew what I was doing. The earth had crumbled beneath me and now all that held me up was Milo.

"You okay, Kelly?" His voice sounded anxious, but I smiled as he said my name. That fueled my desire as well. "Are you okay?" he said again. I couldn't tell him how much I yearned for him. Him, and him alone. Only he could cure me of my disease. They were right. Everyone in this little town was right. I do have a disease. The disease of never being loved.

*****

He watched her, anticipating that Kelly would faint. The expression on her face was pleasant and content, but there was something scorching her beneath it. Milo watched, wondering what he could do. Kelly looked like she was in a dream, floating somewhere.

Homework forgotten, Milo stared. He didn't know what to do. She had never acted like this. She had never acted like she was intoxicated by something. Milo couldn't blink; couldn't draw his eyes away from her.

As always, her hair was loose and tangled down her bare shoulders. The black tank top was too tight, and it matched the Bohemian-style black skirt. Her eyes were lightened with blue eye shadow above black eyeliner. This must be a dream. Kelly has never looked so... Milo struggled to find the right word. Desirable.

*****

I knew he was watching me. Watching me spin down into happiness and want. Those blue-gray eyes on me as if I were the only thing in the world. For now, Sam was forgotten; in the past. Sam would be dealt with later. Now, Milo only had me to worry about.

I don't know how long we sat like that, but I was warring with myself the whole time. I had to hold back. If he made the first move, then I could lead him. I was a leader, not a follower. He knew more than I did, surely, but that wouldn't stop me from leading.

I held my desires at bay, but the walls wouldn't last for long. They'd break down somehow, either if Milo kissed me or if I kissed him. One way or the other, they'd fall, crumbling to the bottom of my mind and my desire for Milo would be unleashed. Or is it only acceptance and understanding that you crave? a wiser voice asked.

I couldn't end the waves and waves of lust and need and want. Milo could do it, but judging by the way he watched me, I don't think he wanted to. "Milo," I managed to breathe, almost inaudible.

He didn't answer. I was lost, spinning in the spirals of intoxication. Not alcohol, but craving. I closed my eyes, seeing my imaginary Milo. I studied him and reached out to stroke his face. It was soft and kind and filled with its own desire.

I jumped and my eyes opened when his hand touched my arm, realizing that I was caressing the real Milo's face. His blue-gray eyes swam with want--and I couldn't help but think that want was for me.

When Milo's mom called from downstairs, we both jumped, nearly falling off the bed. "Guys, dinner!" But it's only six, the voice complained. I was totally unaware of Milo's hand that had been trailing up my arm before his mom ruined it. The delicious sensation beneath my skin bubbled to the surface, and I smiled as I slid off the bed. I'd defeated the desire--until it showed itself again.

Wow! I love this! I just can't wait to read more. I thinks its a really sensitive subject that you have written about, something that i think most people come across though out their lives. Your style is amazing. I hope there is more of this to come! Well Done!

8. Awkward Silence/Touch

It's been three days since my lust for Milo went a little overboard (and I think the same thing happened to him). He still walks me to all my classes and we do homework every night together (either at my house or his). The need has yet to show itself again, and I have mixed feelings about that. We usually sit in an awkward silence, having nothing to talk about besides something we're confused about on a homework question.

In other news: Sam has stopped bothering us! All he does is glare at us during lunch, half listening to whatever Peter and Oliver are talking to him about. They seem to have forgiven Milo for being friends with me, but every once in a while I get a dirty look from one of them.

Every student at Hero High School glares at us when we pass them in the halls. It gets agitating. But they don't do anymore than that. Not after they saw what Milo could do to a person (e.g. Sam's nose).

It was lunch and Milo and I were sitting in my--our?--usual spot in the grass. He was nibbling on a pb-and-j sandwich and I was gulping down a juice box. Once again, we were silent as we watched the other students eating their lunch and laughing, paying no attention to us.

It was Friday, so the whole weekend awaited us. Maybe the silence would end in the next two days; maybe it wouldn't. I'm not rushing, and I'm not believing that it will happen. I'm just observing the future.

*****

Why did I have to turn this into a disaster?

Milo was sitting next to her, trying hard not to steal glances out of the corner of his eye at Kelly. You made a move, he kept telling himself. You made a move, and now Kelly won't talk to you.

Milo longed to hear Kelly's voice; he needed to hear her laugh again. Milo wished they could get a re-do on what happened the other night. He wished that Kelly would talk to him about it, or just talk about something else altogether. Milo wished to feel her inexperienced lips over his again, just once, but he knew that would never happen. Kelly didn't want to have anything to do with him. Then why was she still sitting next to me?

*****

We were in my room, eating an after school snack of granola bars and doing our homework. I was on the floor, Milo on the bed. He looked like a living, breathing (eating, haha) statue, bowed over his book and reading intently. I couldn't help but watch him read; watch his eyes dart across the page; watch his hair shift lightly with the breeze gliding in through my open window.

I bit off a piece of the strawberry granola bar and went back to studying for my history test. But my mind kept drifting back to Milo like a breeze. It felt like he was calling me, calling my name. Kelly, my love, come to me. Yeah, that sounds really cheesy, but that's how it felt.

Stuffing the rest of my bar in my mouth and spilling crumbs over the book's pages, I flipped to the next page even though I hadn't read one bit of the first. History is boring. That's what I know. The tests are boring, the work is boring, the class is just plain boring. I don't know how I stood it, but I did.

I know I've never been in any kind of relationship outside of family whatsoever, but Milo accepted my family's past and for that I loved him. Milo and I were inseperable, even in this awkward time. I was obsessed with him. I drew (horrible) pictures of Milo during all classes--except for the one that he was also in. In Spanish, I just stared at him.

I looked up again, finding that Milo was watching me. Our eyes locked and held. I stared into the cloudy blue. It was so deep, so wonderful, and I got lost.

*****

Milo stared into her icy blue eyes, finding that they were calm and beautiful as she drowned in his eyes. He kept eye contact with her as she stood from the floor and walked around the bed to him, moving dreamily like a goddess. That was what Kelly was to Milo: a goddess.

Their eyes never disconnected from the other's gaze. Both blues held love. Overwhelming, overpowering, unreasonable love. But isn't all love unreasonable?

Kelly crawled onto the bed, over Milo. Milo fell back on the mattress. Their eyes were locked in a passionate, loving gaze, embracing without touching. When Kelly was directly above him, she fell forward, catching herself on her arms, and covered Milo's mouth with hers. She tasted of strawberries, from the granola bar.

Milo sent his hands to her waist, holding her their. He could feel her baby-soft skin underneath his fingertips, taunting. The light breeze was the only sound, playing in with the outside sounds of kids playing and summer birds. Kelly was what he was focusing on, not the birds or the kids. The wind sent a shiver down his spine, whispering like the ice of Kelly's blue eyes, urging him on.

*****

I hadn't evne realized that I'd stood up and was now on top of Milo. I hadn't realized that my need for him had overpowered me as our eyes met and I was now kissing him, probing with my tongue and finding that he was more insistent with his.

There was still that oat-and-strawberry taste in his mouth, luring me to him, keeping me there. My eyes had closed and I was very faintly aware of his hands resting on my hips, pressing into my skin; skin against skin.

His arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me farther down over him. Milo sent his hands under my tank top, breaking our kiss as it brushed my nose and came over my head. Milo's shirt scratched against my stomach. His shirt, was all I could think.

I sent my arms under him to get his shirt off. He sat up a little, arms still around me, lips still on mine.

I pulled at the hem of his shirt, dragging it up his back and making him shudder. My hands were at his shoulder blades when I felt something puffy and smooth. A scar?

9. Memorizing

As I kissed Milo, I bumped my fingers over the flesh, trying to figure out if it really was a scar. Milo must have sensed my concentration, because he broke our kiss and looked away. I kept my fingers on his back, still making it bump over the scar.

I swung my leg across him so that I was now lying on my side, and I turned him over on my bed, seeing that it was a scar. I gasped.

It was smooth and soft, just a long bump like a skinny mountain range on a map. It stretched from his left shoulder blade and across to the middle of his back. Someone had hurt Milo. Something had made a scratch in his skin. It was only maybe a month old.

I turned Milo back around; he didn't resist me. He kept his eyes averted from mine as he lay on his side, staring down the bed. I wasn't exactly aware that I was only wearing a black bra and a pair of too tight jeans.

"Where did you get that scar?" I all but whispered. Milo still didn't look into my eyes. "Look at me!" My voice was pleading, yet still quite loud. Milo's eyes locked on my face, gaging my gaging my reaction.

"Where did you get that scar?" I asked, lowering my voice.

Milo took a breath, recalling the bad memory. "That's why my mom and I moved back." His voice was small and quiet, lost in a bad memory. "One day, when my mom's ex had had too much to drink, he and my mom got in a fight.

"He...He hit her. Then he charged into my room. I was doing my homework, and I glanced up. He was fuming; I could almost see the smoke coming out of his ears. He left--for a few minutes. When he came back, he was holding a cake knife in one hand, glaring at me as my mom tried to stop him." Milo paused, sucked in breath. His eyes had gone back to the edge of the bed, away from me.

He continued. "He came at me, holding the knife in one hand. He grabbed me by my shoulder and hurled me at the wall. He growled, 'It's time to learn your lesson, boy,' but I had no idea what he was talking about. And while I was in shock from what was happening, he swiped the knife across my back, tearing my shirt. It was a shallow cut. My mom yelled at him to get out of the house. Then she rushed me to the hospital, pressing washcloths and towels against my back to slow the bleeding as she cried." I saw a tear leak out, and felt my own coming. How could someone have done this to Milo? How could someone have hurt him?

*****

Milo was crying, now, remembering the bastard that had caused his mom more misery in the past three years than in her whole life. They were tears of hatred. How could she have been so blind?

But he continued through the silent tears. "I was sent to the emergency room, and they took care of me right away." He felt a hand brush against his cheek, wiping away the tears. Kelly's hand. His hand went over hers, holding it to his moistened skin. Her hand was warm, comforting. He kissed her fingers as he looked up, finding that Kelly was crying, too.

Milo raised his arm and wrapped it around Kelly, pulling her into him so that he could feel her warmth. She cried in his arms, weeping over what his mom's ex-boyfriend did only two months ago.

Kelly clung to him, holding his shoulders and shaking with her sobs.

"How could he do that to you, Milo?" she whispered through her tears.

Milo stroked her hair, pressing her head into his chest. "He went to prison for assault." Milo's tears were still streaming, but his were silent as he hushed Kelly. She curled up against him, shaking with cries and sniffling. She had had so much bad in her life--her mom and dad's suicides; no friends--she didn't need to hear about Milo's problems. But he'd told her, and she cried.

Then Milo wondered, Has Kelly ever cried over her parents, or did she just forget them? Surely a soul couldn't be able to carry that much sadness and loss on it.

*****

Half an hour later, I was still lying beside Milo, wrapped in his arms, protected. I'd never felt protected. I'd never felt happy and sad at the same time.

My sobs subsided and my tears dried on my cheeks. Now I was just lying on my bed in Milo's arms, feeling his hand stroke my hair. I lifted my head a little, feeling his hand stop and cradle my head as I leaned forward and kissed him gingerly. There wasn't any need to go farther, only the touch of his lips.
-------
We were all sitting around the table, eating the pizza Nate had ordered. It was just past seven-thirty, but Milo and I planned on going back upstairs to finish our homework (since we'd been too distracted by our, ah, passions and then his scar; of course I'd put my top back on before we came down to dinner). Nate was fine with that, and we'd called Milo's mom to tell her that Milo might be coming home around nine.

Nate had a devilish grin on his face. I knew that look; it meant something that was either trouble or going to embarrass me.

"So, Milo," Nate drawled, "you never answered that one question I asked you last Monday." His eyes glinted, and I became wary.

"What question was that?" Milo asked around a mouthful of pepperoni pizza.

"On a scale of one to ten how much do you like my sister?" Milo paused in shock, his mouth stopped chewing. His eyes widened in surprise.

"Why do you ask?" Milo hedged, resuming chewing.

Nate's grin almost vanished, and he suddenly became the cautious brother. "Kelly needs a good friend. You're the only one who's come along since our uncle died nine years ago. I want to know--on a scale of one to ten--how much you're going to commit into being her friend." I was utterly surprised. Nate worried about me not having friends?

Milo answered it warmly, swallowing the bite of pizza as his blue gaze went to me. His eyes were filled with kindness and loving. "Ten," he said, still staring at me.

Dinner continued on, and my thoughts forever stayed on Milo's answer. Ten, he'd said! He liked me as ten! I stifled the impulse to hug myself.

The pizza disappeared from its box, and Milo and I got two bowls of ice cream before we headed upstairs, laughing and knocking each other as we raced to my room. Milo let me get there first.

I plopped myself on the carpet and took out a cigarette. I lit it and took a long drag. I could see Milo wrinkling his face in disgust, but he said nothing. I crunched the cigarette into the ash tray and studied on the book in front of me.

Once again, I couldn't get Milo out of my mind. His scar seemed to be imprinted on my brain. So I studied him in my imagination, merely staring at the book, but not reading it.

I memorized the way the breeze had shifted his hair, and still was; the way his cheek lifted when he smiled; the way his eyes sparked when he gazed into mine.
-------
It turned out that I didn't get my homework done; I was too busy studying my imaginary Milo. I never looked up from the book, just randomly turned a page now and then and when I thought I should be done studying for the test, I picked up a different book and stared at it, not quite seeing the words on the pages.

So, for an hour and a half, I thought about Milo. I thought about his lips, the way they felt on mine. I thought about how "I love you" rolled off his tongue, the words directed only for me.

I was standing at the door, seeing Milo to his car. He was right behind me. The sun was almost gone, the moon out.

"I love you," he said. Then he pressed his lips to mine. It ended all too quickly, and Milo left me standing there with a giddy smile on my face. I leaned against the door frame and watched him saunter to his car. He swung in, pausing and blowing me a kiss. Then he slammed the car door shut and I watched him pull out of the driveway. The driver's side window was open, and I could hear his pounding music from where I stood.

It happened too suddenly, then.




10. Impact

Milo shoved his hands in his pockets, aware of Kelly's eyes on him as he slouched to the electric blue car. He opened the door and turned around, finding that Kelly was smiling at him in the threshold of her house. He smiled back and blew her a kiss. Her smile widened.

Milo slid into the car and put the keys in the ignition. He turned them, and the car started to life. The radio blared out of the stereo, the loud music pulsing through him. He bobbed his head, closed his eyes, felt for the stick shift. He put the car in gear and backed out of the driveway, stupidly not checking to see if any cars were coming.

The car was nearly out of the driveway, then Milo opened his eyes. But it was too late.

It happened in less than a second.

Seeing Kelly in the door, a look of horror and fright on her face, Milo paused. Then another car slammed into the side of Milo's car, crushing the driver's side door. The electric blue car skidded on the road, the tires screeching in protest. The car had bent at the middle, the crunch of metal grinding and loud in the solitude of Kelly's street.

Milo's air whooshed out of him and he slumped over the steering wheel. He was paralyzed. A slight tremor shot through him, carrying pain, but then he was numb. His eyes were glazed and open, but he only saw blurs. Milo's chest had crushed in on itself with the impact of the crash.

All Milo could think was, I love you, Kelly. I love you.




11. Gone

I rushed out of the house, horrified at the sight I'd just seen. Some shithead had crashed into Milo's little blue car. I was calling for Nate to call 911, but my voice sounded a million miles away compared to the streaming tears that now covered my face.

I ran across the lawn to the two cars. I found Milo slumped over the wheel. I scrambled onto the hood of the green Jeep, trying to get to Milo who seemed to never get closer. I glimpsed the man in his car, and he looked like he would live. I didn't care about him. I cared about Milo.

I reached out, brushing my hand against Milo's. He didn't move. His head was turned on its side, staring straight at me but not seeing me. I heard my sobs very faintly. Milo's voice sounded like the hallelujah chorus when he mumbled.

"Kelly..." he mumbled, blood dribbling down the side of his face. "Kelly...I love you." His breath eased out. His last breath.

"NO! NO! Milo come back! Stay!" I screamed. I pounded a fist into the hood of the Jeep. "FUCK! Milo come back! Come back to me!" I couldn't think; couldn't breathe. Milo wasn't gone. This was a cruel joke. Any second now, he'd pop up and laugh. "MILO!" I was sure everyone on the block could hear me.

Time passed. I wasn't sure how long I was lying on the hood of the Jeep, holding Milo's hand, but I remembered Nate trying to pull me away. I screamed at him, angry at Milo for not being alive anymore. Nate left me alone, standing off to the side as more and more voices piled on top of my head, drowning me in their yells and concern.

"Someone call 911," I heard someone say. I felt numb, too numb to feel anything but sadness and anger. There was no room for happiness; it wouldn't fill up my chest.

I started beating at the Jeep, pounding my anger-filled fists on the hood. Milo wasn't gone. Milo was not fucking gone!

I heard sirens. The police and the ambulance were here. I ended up in Nate's arms as the ambulance got the man in the Jeep and Milo out. I watched. Milo was limp and there was only that one bit of blood that had dribbled out of his mouth. His blue eyes, the color of rainclouds, were dull and dead. Dead.

The tears started again and I buried my face in Nate's chest. He stroked my head, shushed me. I think Milo's mom was called, and she was there to cry over her son.
-------
Without knowing how I'd gotten there or how long I'd been without Milo, I was lying in my bed, my tears sinking into the pillowcases. It seemed that Nate had undressed me and helped me into my pajamas. I was too numb to know.

I was now without Milo. I couldn't go to school tomorrow. I couldn't bear to see the ugly faces that would greet me, thinking that Milo's death had been a curse that I'd put on him. I hadn't done anything. I'd only loved Milo with the depths of my heart. And Milo loved me back. He still loved me. He said so.

12. Recovery

One day. I've spent a whole day without Milo. I've stayed in my room, smoking, sad. My tears still streamed down my face. I could barely breathe. It felt like the air was choking me.

I don't know what day it is; I've lost track of all time. It just blurs past me. Nothing means anything anymore. Only the clouded air of my room. My own house is trying to suffocate me.

Nate's been through all this before; he knows what to do. But this time, I don't think it'll help. Nate brings me food, goes on with his life; goes to work, comes home, brings more food to me. I'm not eating it. I don't want to eat. I'm too full of longing. I will never be able to spend the day away with Milo again. I will never be able to sleep. I can't sleep.

The world goes on. Just another death. Every ten seconds someone dies. Milo was just one of a million. Milo's mom is mourning him, but she's still going to work. She's still living.

I feel even more lonely than when I didn't have any friends. When I didn't have friends, I still had Nate. Now, it feels that my brother has abandoned me. I'm all alone in my room, suffocating in the cigarette smoke.

My eyes were dull; I'd seen them

[I knew why only several people had come to my dad's funeral. It had happened at my mom's, aunt's, and uncle's before. Everyone looked at Nathan and me like we were diseased. Maybe we were, destined to fall into the pit of depression and follow our forefathers so far into the darkness that we'd have to commit suicide in order to end our suffering. Whenever I went to the store, the cashiers and customers would glare at me like I had The Black Plague and if they touched me, they'd get it and kill themselves. Hell, everyone looked at me like that. I'd spent the summer in my room with a cigarette in one hand and leaning against the wall drowsily. I'd spy on my dad in his room, staring at old pictures of mom and muttering "I love you" or "I'll be home for dinner," something like that. Nathan knew it was going to happen and so did I. We both knew that our dad was going to kill himself someday, and we had done nothing to stop it.] this para graph is kind of weird and needs more simplified detail but as for that everything seems good..... keep it up!!!!