Page 90 of Pretty Black

Why wasn’t this fucking Xanax working?

I walked past the place we used to live. The old four-flat looked like it needed to be condemned. I kicked a rock, sending it skittering down the sidewalk. The urge to run away was stronger than ever.

“Do you remember when you demanded I let you read what I was always writing? I told you it was nothing. Just the way I worked out my feelings. How I passed the time. But you wouldn’t stop harassing me until I handed over the little dollar store notebook. The pages were curled from shoving it in my back pocket.”

You’ve already claimed my heart with your knife.

Does each twist give you new life?

If I never withdraw the blade?

I’ll play along with your facade

Will I plead for your love while I bleed out?

As life leaves my eyes, remember

Your refusal to compromise.

Will you cherish the ghost of me?

Or even care about my memory.

I found my toes at the edge of the cemetery. I hadn’t been back since we’d put him in the ground. I took the case out of my pocket again. Did I dare step foot on this hallowed ground? The Catholic church stood haunting in the background. A pillar to remind me of the funeral mass we’d sat through while they called his death a tragic mistake, not a product of the life they’d created.

I took a step onto the grass, then another, making my way to the stone I’d paid for after my mother told me she’d picked one out. The other guys were spending their money on cars and houses, and I’d bought a burial plot and a gravestone.

I ran my fingers over the stone. I’d never seen in it person. There were fresh flowers. My mother came here often.

I laid on my side next to him, like we used to on my twin sized mattress.

“You were right about Caspian. I wanted to tell you that night. I wanted to tell you how happy he made me.” I pulled a clover from the grass. “I wish I could hug you one more time.”

I rolled onto my back and closed my eyes. Why did I feel less alone surrounded by dead bodies? How fucked up was it that I related to the dead?

“I used to think I’d give anything to bring you back, but maybe that’s wrong. If you really wanted to go, is it wrong of me to stop you? But how do I accept this? How do I move on? Will I ever be okay with it?”

Maybe I should have been asking Dr. Kahn these questions instead of someone who couldn’t answer me.

“How do I accept your last words broadcast to the world?”

Every minute felt like a ticking time bomb of Alexander.

I almost wanted him to release it to get it over with.

I felt guilty for continuing to breathe. Would everyone around me have their life ruined so my heart could keep beating? Kingsley’s and Lowe’s were already stained. How much more could we all endure?

“Is it wrong of me to keep doing the drugs that killed my father?”

I’d barely known him when he died, but I never would have had my brother if he’d survived his habit. I opened the cigarette case and pulled out a joint, knowing it wouldn’t help, but it was better than giving in to what I craved to clear my mind.

“I miss you every day.”

“You can’t be in here.” A flashlight shined in my direction.

I held up my hand to make out the guy attached to it. “I’m sorry. I was trying to see my brother.”

“You’re too young to have a brother in the ground,” the cop said as he came closer.

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