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He was murdered by my mom.
He was my best friend, and more than that, I loved him. And his last words?
God, he didn’t even get a chance to say a single word. Not a fucking word.
But they never cared enough to ask.
So, I wore a mask.
For weeks, I wished someone had warned me of the impact grief would have on my memory because I couldn’t remember the last time I smiled.
* * *
It was Monday.
Aunt Yeong-ja was in the kitchen, waiting for me to finish dressing up for school.
By the time I was ready, peanut stew was served on the table. Mom must have told her that it was my favorite—until the day she betrayed my trust. My heart still twisted every time I thought of her, every time Aunt Yeong-ja used her recipe.
I took a seat, sighing and struggling to hold the spoonful of stew in my hand, only to drop it all over the table. I stared at the puddle, my mind afloat.
“You made a mess,” Aunt Yeong-ja said, promptly cleaning up the top with a towel. My ears strained to hear the rest of her words, but my mind was filled with a phantom echo I couldn’t shut up.
I made a mess.
I was a mess.
I messed everything up.
That was all I could hear in my head.
Stomach churning, I rushed toward the sink, bent over it, and vomited.
* * *
At school,I passed the row of lockers as everyone’s attention shifted to me—like I was a living ghost, a show to behold. I resisted the urge to bare my teeth at them, to poke the eyes out of anyone who dared stare. But all the energy I had in me was now completely sucked from my body and soul as if someone had it vacuumed up.
Toward the library entrance, I saw three girls whose names had completely left my mind, but they seemed to recognize me.
“I heard you’re dating Keith now,” said one of them, a hint of a smile creeping up on the corners of her glossed, ruby lips.
The other two beside her snickered, and one spoke up, “You truly have no loyalty to the dead.”
“What a hypocrite,” the other whispered, loud enough for me to hear. Loud enough to be deliberate. My hands shook, trembling again.
Not from anger, not from sadness … but fromfearof what I would do if I let those hands leave my side—the damage they could do if I let my fingers wrap tightly around one of those girls’ little necks. If there was anything my visions had taught me … it’s that everyone must have died because of me.
I wanted to scream at them. Gray died to savetheirlives, and yet I would prefer their death over his any day. Or mine over his.
But I could never tell them that.
I opened my mouth, but I had no plan. I didn’t know what to say, only that Ihadto say something.
A body blocked my vision of them. It was Keith; he had his cap off, exposing his buzz cut and the moles behind his ears.
He let out a protective, feisty snarl, “Do we have a problem here?”
The girls backed away, but the brunette with the braided hairstyle still seemed to hold a little courage. Letting out a nervous laugh, she said, “Well, if it isn’t your boyfriend coming to save you.”
