Lucy I wonder if they’ll remember me like I was… or like I became. That thought keeps circling my mind as I sit on my bedroom floor, knees to my chest, breathing slow like they taught me in group therapy. In through the nose, hold, out through the mouth. Over and over. The way they say it calms the storm. But this storm isn’t made of wind and rain. It’s heavier than that. It’s made of silence. The kind of silence you can scream into and still feel unheard. I scroll through my messages again. None from Caroline. I try to tell myself she’s just busy. Or tired. Or still mad. But the ache in my chest says otherwise.
through me, like I was something she’d outgrown. Or maybe like I reminded her of a part of herself she didn’t want to see anymore. I don’t blame her. Not really. I know I’ve been hard to be around lately. I know I don’t laugh the way I used to. My phone buzzes once. It’s not her. Of course it’s not. I lock it and toss it onto the bed like it burns. I wanted to be better. I really, really did. I tried. But sometimes wanting isn’t enough. Sometimes the weight wins. I walk to the window. My breath fogs up the glass. Outside, the world looks so normal. Like nothing’s ending. Like tomorrows still promised. I write my name on the fogged glass with one finger, then erase it with the palm of my hand. It’s quiet in here. Too quiet.
I’m sorry I couldn’t be better. I’m sorry I didn’t say more. You were the best part of my life, even when I didn’t show it. There’s so much more I want to say. But I don’t know how. And I’m tired of trying. I lie down and pull my hoodie over my face. Not because I’m cold. Just because it’s easier not to see anything anymore. A part of me hopes someone will knock on the door. Call. Text. Anything. But I already know they won’t. I already know I’m gone before I’m even gone. The stairs creak under my feet as I walk down to the kitchen. It’s dim—just the faint blue glow of the microwave clock blinking 3:12. I move quietly. Not because anyone’s awake, but because the quiet feels sacred now. I open the drawer slowly. The sound of it sliding out makes me flinch. I reach inside and curl my fingers around the handle. The knife is cold, but steady. Heavy in a way that feels final. I close the drawer and stand there for a moment. The house is so still. No wind. No rain. Just stillness.
I go back upstairs, leaving the lights off. I step over the creaky board on the landing, like always. My room is waiting. I shut the door behind me. Set the knife on the blanket beside the letter. And sit. This is the last time I’ll sit like this. Last time I’ll feel this room. Last time I’ll breathe in this body. A part of me still wants someone to knock. Call. Yell. Catch me. But no one will. I’m sorry, Caroline. I love you. I wish I knew how to stay.
Caroline The world didn’t stop when Lucy died. That was the first thing I hated. The sun still rose. The birds still chirped. My alarm still went off like it didn’t know everything had changed. And I was still here. I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the message on my phone. Not the one that told me she was gone — I deleted that one after reading it too many times. I couldn’t look at it anymore. I couldn’t see her name paired with those words. It felt wrong. Like it was supposed to be a joke, or a mistake, or a dream I’d wake up from. But the last message she ever sent me? I couldn’t delete that. I’m sorry I couldn’t be better.
short and broken and final. And I never answered. I didn’t even see it until after. Now it’s all I see. Dad knocked on my door twice before pushing it open. “Caroline?” he said gently, like the name might shatter if he said it too loud. I didn’t look up. “You need to eat something.” I didn’t answer. I don’t remember the last thing I ate. I don’t remember eating at all yesterday. Or maybe the day before. It’s all one long blur of silence and static, like the inside of my head has been stuffed with cotton and nothing can get through. Dad sighed, walked over, and sat beside me. I flinched when his hand landed on my back. He noticed, but didn’t pull away. “I know this is hard.” No. He didn’t.
all the signs. To scroll through old texts and convince yourself that you could’ve changed everything if you’d just… said something. Done something. Been someone else. “I’m here when you want to talk,” he said. Then he left. Just like everyone does eventually. The funeral is tomorrow. I haven’t told anyone I’m not going. They expect me to. People are going to be looking. Lucy’s parents probably want me there — or maybe they don’t. Maybe they blame me. I wouldn’t blame them. Theo texted me. So did a few people from school. I haven’t answered anyone. It’s like everything inside me is frozen, and I don’t want to thaw. I finally get up late in the afternoon. My legs ache from how long I’ve been sitting in the same spot, and my head hurts, but I don’t care. I drag myself to the mirror, and I don’t recognize the girl staring back. Pale. Empty. Hair messy. Eyes like glass.
She always used to say the sky was good for us — that cloudy or not, it made you feel less small. Less buried. But now even the sky feels wrong. I go outside anyway. I don’t know why. The air bites my skin. The sidewalk feels unfamiliar beneath my feet. It’s quiet in my neighbourhood, the kind of quiet that makes your ears ring. I sit on the curb in front of my house and stare at the street. And for the first time since everything, I say it out loud. “She’s really gone.” The words hurt. They cut through the fog like knives. My throat tightens. My lips tremble. But no tears come. I want to cry, but I can’t. I want to scream, but my voice is gone. I want to go back and change everything. But I can’t even remember how to move forward. Lucy’s gone. And I’m still here. And I have no idea what to do with that.
Everyone looked at me like I was glass. Not the pretty kind. The breakable kind. At school, whispers followed me like shadows. Teachers called my name softly, like it might spook me. Even the girls who used to hate me wore the same tight-lipped expression—sympathy barely covering curiosity. I wanted to scream at them. I wanted to tell them they didn’t know her. Not really. Not like I did. But I said nothing. Theo didn’t talk to me either. He saw me. Our eyes met across the hallway before first period, and for one second, I thought he might come over. I waited. I held my breath. But he turned away. Just like that. Something inside me cracked.
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