My other half was gone forever.
Belle and I had been an inseparable pair for eighteen whole years. She was there through every season, every emotion, every tear, every laughter. Heck, she convinced me to get my first and only tattoo when we were only sixteen.
Now, she was six feet away from me. This was the farthest six feet could ever be.
I stood over her headstone, cursing the drunk driver who had taken her away from me. Twenty-five years were not enough for him to be in jail, but that was what the judge had sentenced.
The rain pouring against my back felt like little gravels. The wind made it all worse, tossing the drops aggressively toward me, but I didn’t bother.
“I’m sorry this happened to you.” I muttered. She probably couldn’t hear me through the intensity of the rain. My salty tears mixed with the drops from the sky, beating up the single pink carnation I had kept on the concrete.
“I wish I could stay for much longer, but the weather has other plans. I’ll come back tomorrow, I promise.” I went on my knees and placed a lingering kiss on her headstone.
“I love you.” I whispered, standing up and leaving the cemetery.
It had been four months.
Just four months ago, hours ago, I was holding on to her hand tightly. We were on our way to the mall. I recalled how I had playfully picked on her because she had put her hair in two pigtails. I had called her a five-year-old trust fund kid throughout the walk to the mall.
The mall was right in front of us. All that was left was for us to make it past the parking lot.
I had always been the one to make rash decisions, so that day was no different.
Sometimes I wondered what would have happened if I had pulled her along with me instead of letting go of her hand to run toward the entrance of the mall. She would have been with me. She would have been sitting on my bed, invading my private space like she always did, shoving her toes in my face because she was not big on socks.
I would never have heard her nightmarish, blood-curdling scream right before she was hit.
As soon as I made it out of the gates of the cemetery, I found Mom’s familiar white Lexus. Someone was about to get scolded.
I sighed, walking toward the car and taking shotgun—a decision my mother would regret having me take. The water from my clothes seeped into the seat.
I kept looking through the windshield, avoiding her burning gaze. “It’s raining, Cleo. It’s been raining for over fifteen minutes.” She stated.
“I know.” I nodded as she turned the heater on, not yet driving off; a clear sign that she wanted to talk, here and now.
“You really have been standing under the rain in a cemetery? At night? I was worried. And you snuck out of the house?” She queried. There was no disbelief in her voice, just a need for confirmation. She knew what I would and wouldn’t do.
“I’m sorry.” I sighed.
“That’s not going to end this conversation.” She shifted in her seat, so she was now facing me. I turned to look at her, but I could only last with her bright hazel eyes for half a second. Her eyes reminded me of Belle, and it made everything that my heart was made of hurt.
“Tell me.”
I frowned, refusing to look at her. “Tell you what, Mom?”
“Are you still having those nightmares?” She questioned.
“No.” I shook my head. Truth.
“Are you still afraid of crossing the road?”
“No.” Lie.
“Cleo—”
“I’m cold.” I told her, hoping she would get the hint. I was not going to see a therapist.
“I still think you need to see someone.” She went on, not making a single attempt at driving us home.
“Can we talk about this at home, please?” I laced my fingers together and placed them on my thighs. I bit the inside of my cheek as unshed tears blurred my vision.
Mom sighed and finally drove us away from my best friend, my twin sister.
“I miss her.” I admitted as we got to a red stoplight. “God, I miss her so much. I also feel this unending guilt. I shouldn’t have left her alone at the parking lot. I should have run with her hand in mine, forcing her to come along with me. Your marriage to Dad—our entire family—is broken all because of me.”
“No, Cleo. You’ve got your facts wrong. You didn’t know there was a drunk driver on a rampage at the mall. If he hadn’t been callous, Belle would be here. That part is not your fault.” She revved the engine and continued to drive as the red light turned green.
“Your father…He broke this family up, not you. While we were busy mourning over the loss of your sister, he was busy with other things.” She gripped the steering wheel tighter, her lips pursed.
I always wondered how hard her heart had shattered the day she found Dad sharing an intimate kiss with a much younger lady on the day before Belle’s funeral.
Staring at her now, I realized just how much stronger than me my mother was. She had lost her child and her husband in a span of about one month. The one daughter she had left was a trainwreck.
“If I’m being honest, I blame myself for everything sometimes, too.” She chuckled bitterly. “We’ll go through it together, Cleo. One step at a time.”
“One step at a time.” I repeated. It sounded like we had a long way to go.
When we finally got home, I rushed up to my room and took a cold shower, even though it was raining. Due to how much of a bookworm Belle was, I got to live with the information that cold showers helped prevent cold.
I stood, now fully clothed and warm, in the middle of my room. It was quiet. I knew I would never get used to the silence.
There had always been a sound. It could be a yelp from Belle because I had pushed her off my bed, squeals and giggles as she talked about how much she liked Jeremy, a guy she took Physics with, or screams because we were in the middle of one of our inevitable, ugly fights. Whatever it was, it was never this quiet.
A knock on my door startled me and brought me out of the distant universe in my head.
“I got you orange juice. It might help in preventing a cold.” Mom smiled, handing me a glass of orange juice. I gulped it down at once and returned the glass to her with a mumble of appreciation.
She lingered by the door, and I didn’t want to appear rude by shutting the door. “Want to come in?”
“Yes, please.” She accepted the invitation, almost like she had been waiting a long time for it. Then again, I hadn’t fancied the idea of anyone coming into my room for four months now.
She sat on my bed, which made my heart twitch. The view was all too familiar. I laid on the bed and covered myself up. She leaned on her side and started to stroke my hair.
My eyes watered for the umpteenth time that night as I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath.
In my head, the form beside me was my twin. She was stroking my hair and very much alive. Even though a part of me knew that was just a conjured image, I was willing to trade that sanity for the dream I would give anything up to make a reality.
•
“Hey, Cleo.” A familiar chirp came from behind me as I sat in class for History.
“Good morning, Sarah.” I turned with a smile.
Her smile dropped as she saw me. “Are you okay? No offence, but you look sick.”
At that moment, I stopped myself from sniffling. I had, in fact, caught a cold. So much for taking a cold shower.
“Don’t worry about me.” I waved her off. Sarah was a mutual friend of Belle and I, although she was Belle’s best friend. She didn’t look great, herself, but I wouldn’t let her know just yet. We were both in a rough place.
“How are you?” She asked, leaning closer. I knew she wasn’t asking the casual one which required a clipped reply. She wanted to know how I was, really.
“Not too great, if I’m telling you the truth.” I smiled.
“You’ll heal.” She assured, placing a hand on my head with a warm smile.
“So will you.” Her eyes widened for a second, like she was surprised that I knew she wasn’t doing great. “Oh, please. You look just as bad as I do.” I said, and she laughed.
Just then, the warning bell rang and everyone that had been lingering in the hallway rushed in. As soon as the seat in front of me was occupied, I flinched.
Another thing I would never be used to was someone sitting where Belle used to sit. She was always in front of me in every class we had together.
I recognized the guy who had taken over her seat, but I didn’t exactly know him. I had partnered with him for a baking class project in our sophomore year, and that was about it. Aside that, we only ever shared constant closed-off greetings in the hallway. I didn’t even remember his name.
History came and went as people argued about the origin of the Taj Mahal. I wasn’t always involved in class, never had been. That was always Belle’s job, and I let her do what she knew how to do best—be a nerd so I could tease her after school.
After History, I walked out of the class and decided to skip English. I hadn’t done the assignment and if I knew anything about the teacher, it was that her love language was being condescending toward students for the smallest of mistakes. Not today.
After much deliberation, I decided that the library would be my hideout. Unfortunately for me, the library was shut. Apparently, it was “under maintenance” and wouldn’t be open to the public for the rest of the week. What kind of a maintenance did a library need, anyway?
My next stop and another quiet place aside the library was the art studio. I’d heard people talk about how comforting the art studio was. I wasn’t a big fan of art, but I could handle it since it was quiet.
For the first time ever, I was in the art studio of Lawrencium High. If you asked me why my school was named after an element, I’d shrug. It confused me, too, honestly.
The paintings which were hung above the walls made my head hurt. Maybe my life was bleak or maybe my taste was different, but I couldn’t stand paintings. Belle loved them, not me. There was something about them that freaked me out.
I sat under a desk in the studio and took a sandwich out of my backpack. I found it easier to stare at the office chair in front of me and the plain green wall behind it than at all those creepy paintings everywhere. I’d give it credit for being quiet, though.
I froze as I heard the door open and close. Footsteps followed. A creak, more footsteps which were distant now but I could tell that the person was still inside the studio. Loud clutters, series of curse words, more footsteps, a door slamming shut.
Silence.
The footsteps continued, followed by the scraping of wood against the floor which made me cringe. More chaotic clutters, more curse words, and a sigh.
Another round of silence.
Piano.
It was an instrumental cover of Someone Like You by Adele.
I didn’t realize I was humming along until the song was stopped abruptly and I gasped, choking on my sandwich. Well, that would be a horrible way to go.
A pair of Chuck Taylors were in front of me as someone bent and pulled me from under the desk. I coughed loudly as I was being groped like a criminal, but I knew it was help.
Finally, the bread, along with the vegetables, found its way out of my mouth and onto the floor. I panted and leaned over the desk.
“Thank you.” I told whoever it was that had just saved my life.
“You’re welcome.” The voice was oddly familiar. I looked up to find light brown eyes staring at me, confusion in them. “Why were you hiding under the desk?”
“The paintings…I find them creepy.” I explained.
His frown deepened, like he was one of the paintings and had taken offence. “Then why are you in here? It’s an art studio.”
“Library’s closed.” I shrugged, taking a wipe out of my backpack and using it to pick up the gooey mess I had spat up earlier. I threw it into the trash can and turned to find that he was seated in front of an easel, mixing paint.
“I know you. We made cheesecake together, back in sophomore year.” I started a conversation, wanting the mortifying image of me spitting out food out of his head.
“Mm.”
“I never got to thank you for saving me. I’m pretty sure if I had been paired with someone else, I wouldn’t have passed the class.” I said. It was the truth. I couldn’t bake to save my life.
“We got a B minus.” He droned monotonously as he turned away from the easel to face me.
“That’s a pass to me.” I shrugged.
“If you didn’t know what you were doing, why did you take the class?” He asked, looking confused again.
“It was an impulsive decision, really. Plus, my sister was taking the class and I thought we would be paired. She was an amazing pastry chef.” My heart ached at the memory of Belle and I trash-talking each other once we found out we were on different teams.
“That’s…stupid.” He scoffed.
“You would do the same!” I defended.
“No, I wouldn’t. That’s why I said it’s stupid.” He argued coolly. Who did he think he was?
“Whatever.” I rolled my eyes for lack of any substantial comeback.
“I heard about your sister. I hope you take care of yourself and get past it, no matter how slow the process is.” He turned to the easel and started to make careless strokes on it.
“Do you want to major in art? Because if you don’t, I don’t see why you’re doing this.” I crossed my arms and walked up to him, looking out the window.
“Unlike you, I make cool-headed decisions. I am doing this because I want to major in art.” He smugly stated.
“I can make cool-headed decisions.” I narrowed my eyes at him.
“Sure, you can.” He scoffed again, filling me with the urge to prove him wrong and wipe the smugness off his personality.
“I want to be an English major.” I told him.
“One, that’s not exactly a cool-headed decision. Two, I’m pretty sure you should be in your English class by now, Ms. English major.” He snorted, his eyes never leaving the easel.
I hated how he was winning every basic argument. Screw him and his smart responses.
“How did you know I have an English class right now?” I narrowed my eyes at him. I knew he would win this one, too, because even I knew the answer to that.
Now, his eyes met mine. The sun seeping from outside the window made his light brown eyes brighten up even more, giving it an almost yellow glow. It was a magnificent view from where I was standing.
“Because, Cleo Michaels, I’m supposed to be in the English class too. Only thing is, you’re skipping for a sandwich while I’m skipping for something I want to major in. You’re not exactly in control of your life, but I am in absolute control of mine.” He stated.
Guilt filled me up at the fact that he remembered my name, but I didn’t remember his. The guilt vanished as quickly as it came as what he had just said sank into my brain.
“You’re annoying, and I’m leaving. I’d rather be in that awful English class than be in here with you.” I muttered, packing up my things and leaving.
“Close the door on your way out. The name’s Lucas, by the way. I’m pretty sure you don’t remember it.” I heard a chuckle, which made me slam the door hard.
Yes, that was it.
Lucas.