Three Cheers for Sweethearts [Frerard AU]

PART III: Chapter 24

CHAPTER 24 – THE ONLY DIFFERENCE BETWEEN ACCIDENTS AND SUICIDE IS PRESS COVERAGE

How do people manage to function properly after someone dies? My legs were still able to carry me from one class to the next. My eyelids still blinked. The corners of my mouth still curled up when I heard a joke. My fingers could still grip a pencil for just long enough to write a sentence or the answer to a math problem. What was wrong with me? My anatomy was able to act like nothing was wrong, when, really, nothing could be more deceiving.

It's crazy how fast things can change.

It was another day of silence and distraction for me. Everyone had found out about him by then. The teachers informed us all that he was "in critical condition," but you could tell by their faces all they were waiting for was a confirmation from his parents that he was really gone.

I was checking my phone more frequently the more time that passed without a word from him. Even the group chat was dormant; it had died right along with him. I threw in a i dont think i can be a tutor anymore sorry, knowing that even though Frank hadn't been there for weeks, I wouldn't be able to deal with the memories anymore.

Once 24 hours exactly had elapsed, my hope was lost. I could feel my heart break – a physical ache in my chest. There must have been some hope left in me somewhere for it to all leave now. It dawned on me how foolish it had been to ever have hoped; it was a lethal chemical. How could he have logically survived drinking that?

If he was any kind of decent person, he'd reply as soon as he got the chance. Maybe somewhere deep down I'd assumed he'd lost his phone or had no access to it. But a day was enough.

Sure, Frank's mere existence had been terrifying to me at times, but that didn't mean I didn't care about him. It wasn't him that had ever scared me. Now that I thought about it, it was hard for me to understand exactly what it was that made me feel the way I did when I was around him. Even if he didn't consider us friends anymore, there were still times in the past when we were. Both of us still had the memories. At least, I hadn't forgotten that.

Now, I was getting my wish, I suppose. I didn't have to see Frank every day anymore. Now all I'd have were the memories anytime they resurfaced, anytime he graced my thoughts with his presence. Only now that he truly wasn't here anymore, and irreversibly so, I knew I'd never wanted that at all.

At school, I didn't talk to anyone and no one talked to me. Even those teachers who liked to call on the kids who didn't raise their hands much (meaning me) must have sensed how out of it I was. They showed a little more mercy than usual.

The second day that Frank was gone, Hunter and I kept making awkward eye contact and looking away. He wasn't being horrible to me, just a backhanded comment now and then. I think in the back of his mind he didn't want to push me too far, either.

And that was just it. On the third day Frank was missing, Hunter and I had this kind of silent agreement that this was our fault. We were the ones who killed him, no matter what anyone else believed. We were on opposite sides of Frank's life. Hunter was an enemy, I was a friend, and both of us had hurt him, leaving him with no other options in his mind. Right?

I could hardly handle the weight of that realization. It was my fault. How selfish had it been of me to believe that his behavior was about me, or something I'd done? I'd taken this way too personally. He wasn't always thinking about me. Not everything he did was in consciousness of me. It was depression that pulled him away, not me that pushed him away. I hated myself for not considering that. I should have seen it. I should have done something.

But it was too late now. There was really nothing I could do. Maybe that was the most painful part.