Chapter 3

"We avoid the topics. We make the kids have secrets, but when they are exposed and everyone else knows, we'll say we never knew it, that they had a problem. 'Cause if we would've known, we surely would've solved it, but we can't. It's too late."

---

How do you tell someone their friend had committed suicide?

How do you tell someone that anyone had committed suicide?

Do you glorify who they used to be, give a long speech about how much they meant to the dead, how much the dead had loved them, even to their final moments?

Do you play the villain, apologising again and again for not being able to stop the dead, for not trying hard enough?

Do you deliver the cold, hard truth, tell them how stupid and selfish the dead were, how little they meant to the dead that they decided to go ahead and die anyway?

I don't know.

Three months ago, I just waited for mom to find the body and report it.

"Why would he do such a thing?"

"I don't understand."

"He was always so happy."

Pathetic.

All of them were pathetic.

There is a logic people hold: when someone you know of dies, you automatically have the right to speak as a close friend, as someone who knew the deceased.

They didn't know shit about Chris.

They didn't see the son who had to take care of the house to relieve some of his mother's burden, didn't see the brother who had to be strong for a boy so foolish and naive he believed his older brother could do anything, could fight the monsters under the bed and in his mind and win.

They didn't see the fragile boy at his breaking point, the boy who shouldered too much on his own, the boy who never stopped waiting for his dad to come home, who was truly understood by nobody but himself.

I didn't know shit about Chris.

I didn't know shit about depression, either. Nobody ever talks about it, and mom was never home long enough to realise that Chris was not okay.

Chris didn't have friends besides Aiden, just acquaintances who treated me as nothing but a brat, and treated Chris as someone who would motivate them to study.

I could say it was my fault for not noticing his pain, his scars, for making him feel the need to stay strong for weak, vulnerable little me.

I could blame his acquaintances, who would only hang around Chris when he was in a good mood, and would tell him to "man up" whenever he got the least bit upset.

I could blame mom, who worked two jobs and was never home to tuck us into bed, to read us bedtime stories, who only struggled to make sure we had all we needed to survive: food and shelter.

Honestly, I could blame a lot of people, but it doesn't matter, does it?

Chris is dead, and nothing can change that.

Aiden looks at me questioningly, but I remain silent. I do not need the pity, the sadness of someone who loves so easily, or the condolences the dead will never hear.

I stand up, turning away.

"I have homework to do."

He stands up too, walking towards me the same way one would walk up to a scared kitten. Aiden is curious, but he knows not to push. He hands me a phone and bows.

"May I have your number, beautiful?"

I roll my eyes, hating that I so easily show emotion around him. It's a constant reminder of the way we used to be, the way I used to be. I have no intention of going back into my pathetic world of naivety.

I punch in my number and hand the phone back to him. Aiden tucks it away into his pocket and smiles at me. I used to smile that easily, at the smallest things.

"Shall I walk you home?"

Home. Another word that doesn't exist. A word created for people to feel a sense of belonging in a place so common. People need to make something out of nothing, shapes out of clouds, impossible feelings out of the mundane.

If they really belonged at home, dad and Chris would still be here.

Some say home is where the heart is, be it a place or a person. I say it's a load of bullshit. Home is a place they change conveniently to suit their purposes. What was home one day can suddenly become someone else, somewhere else.

I don't belong anywhere in this world, and I don't intend to fool myself with meaningless words.

I shake my head, but he follows me anyway.

"It would be rude of me to leave a beauty like you to walk home all by yourself. Allow me to be your protection."

I snort.

"Yeah, you'd scare anyone away with that face of yours."

He holds a hand to his chest in a gesture of mock hurt.

"Oh, how you wound me." He walks in front of me, leading the way to my house, directions still in his memory. I don't know how he remembers his stuff.

"I'm telling Chris how mean you are!"

Good luck with that.

"Chris wouldn't care."

---

"I'd stay over to sleep with you, but my family needs me to finish the unpacking and stuff."

I nod. He looks over my shoulder as I enter the house.

"Where's Chris?"

I stop, turning around to look him in the eye.

"Nick? Where's your brother?"

"Chris isn't here."

Aiden furrows his brows in confusion.

"Really? Huh, he must really be busy if he isn't waiting for you at home. He's already graduated, hasn't he? Does he have a job?"

I shrug and close the door, muttering a goodbye. The house is once again silent, leaving me alone to my thoughts, and the constant echoes of gunshots and cries that never stop bouncing off the walls.

Chris's room remains locked as I walk up the stairs to my room.