Untitled: Chapter 1

A/N: Try reading the Prologue First :)

I was an orphan. My breathing got faster, speeding in and out of my lungs as I realized that the two people on Earth I was supposed to trust the most are simply… gone. What was I supposed to do? Who would I confide in? I was only sixteen, I couldn’t take care of myself. So who would help me?

I vaguely heard the woman in front of me speak. Her words blurred together and seemed to twist in on eachother. I heard my sister’s name, and I snapped out of it.

“-Haylie until the funeral. Got it?” Her chocolate brown eyes searched mine as my brain waded out of the green jello it seemed to have gotten stuck in. The most intelligent response I can muster is:

“Huh?” Instead of the annoyed look I would usually get from my teachers or-I swallow- my parents, she looked at me with patience and concern. Not pity, but like she actually cared.

“Wyatt, honey, I have children of my own. I know this must be quite an ordeal for you and I can’t imagine what you must be going through, but I really need you to pay attention. I promise you can zone out after I’ve told you all of the details, okay?” She tapped her coffee colored fingers on the table, her silky voice took on the tone of a concerned mother, and I just wanted to hug her. I wanted to cling on to this woman I’d just met and cry. I wanted to let her hold me, the way my own mother would never do again. But instead of doing all this, I forced my head to nod.

“You will stay with your older sister, Haylie, until the funeral. Your Aunt Rose will pick you up from there and take you to stay with her in Washington. I know Haylie is your next of kin but since she’s eighteen and in college, she isn’t stable enough to take care of you.” I stared at her and shook my head vigorously, not caring about the brown curls that flew into my face and stuck to my salty tears.

“You mean I can’t stay with my sister?” I barely managed to choke the words out. How was I supposed to be away from my best friend, the only person in the world who knew me as well-if not better- as I know myself? Not to mention going to live in a new place with an Aunt I barely knew and no friends whatsoever. I’d have no one.

“Everything is going to be okay. I’m so sorry to do this to you. We have a team right now talking to your Aunt and making sure she’ll be a suitable person for you to live with. According to my reports, she has a nice home and is a loving person by nature. Social Services is confident you will be-” She paused “-okay there.” Okay. Not happy. I liked this woman, I liked that she didn’t expect me to happy. She expected me to be okay. Of all the cops I’d spoken to that day and all the officials I’d had to go through just to get ahold of my sister, this woman, who’s name I didn’t even know, was by far the most understanding and compassion person I had encountered. I know it’s not always like that with social workers. I got lucky.

“When is the funeral?” The words came out like broken pieces of glass. My throat was sore from screaming and crying. I felt so guilty, I should’ve been there. But stupid me had to spend the night at Marissa’s house. I didn’t even like Marissa, Momma just wanted to keep me away so I wouldn’t catch pneumonia.

“It’s in three weeks. The school semester ends in two days which you’ll be exempt from. Winter break is about three weeks long. Your mother’s funeral will be on January 3rd, you will be back at your Aunt’s by the 5th and school starts on the 4th however, so you’ll have to miss one or two days.” I was confused.

“What’s today?”

“December 12th. Your sister will be here to pick you up in a few moments, can I get you anything?” The thought of food or water nauseated me when the only things I wanted were my parents.

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The funeral was on a cold and dreary day, it was raining… yada yada yada. These people were mourning, their grief fresh. I saw people cry for the deaths of my parents. People we received Christmas cards from, but barely knew us. People who were “so close” with my parents, but couldn’t be bothered to call. I wanted to scream at them. I wanted to take the pistol my Dad took his life with and threaten them with it until they stepped away from the caskets and let me see my Momma. Daddy’s casket was closed. That’s what’ happens when you blow your brains out.

Everybody was so sorry for my loss. They all wanted to know if there was anything they could do for me. What do you do for the girl who’s lost everything? I lost my home, my family, my friends. They had all told me to keep in touch but I could see it in their eyes, the way they glanced around when I walked by in the halls, as if checking who would see them talking to me.

Rumors flew around my school, would I be next? Would I inherit my Dad’s pistol and gun myself down because of my grief? Desperate girls made up “information” on my parent’s alleged murders. It was pretty even between people who thought Daddy killed my Mom and then killed himself out of guilt and pondered the notion that maybe it was me who killed my parents.

I swear, people can be so stupid.

So as the chill swept through my bones, I pulled my black peacoat around me. The one Momma picked out for me. I walked up to the caskets of my parents for the millionth time. I saw my Mom’s closed eyes, her made up face and the wavy curls of her hair that fell just so around her shoulders. My eyes traveled down to her plain gray dress, the way her paper white hands stood against the fabric of the dress she thought was scratchy.

She didn’t look like Mom. She looked like the woman they thought she should have been. I still saw her as the woman who walked barefoot around the house, pregnant until her miscarriage. I saw the mother who held me when I cried and loved running barefoot through meadows. I saw a person who loved the adventure of the city, but also made sure I knew the importance of nature. And most of all, I saw the woman who taught me to draw. I remembered her smiling down at my scribbles when I was five, then the way that smile grew wider and wider over the years as those scribbles turned into coloring books that were colored outside the lines, then gradually to stick figures that developed into round smiling faces. Those round, unrealistic faces eventually grew into something more recognizable, but not quite right. That’s where I am now.

People got up to speak. When the minister looked at me questioningly I shook my head no, I did not want to get up and say a few words. My Mom didn’t look like my Mom and I couldn’t see my Dad. I could mourn for them in private. Until then, no need to make a spectacle of my grief. They never would’ve wanted that.

Aunt Rose sat down behind me then, putting her warm hand on my shoulder. She looked so much like Mom, it was both comforting and unsettling. We stayed there until the service ended and then she spoke, trying to give me a smile that ended up being twisted with grief into something that resembled a grimace.

“We’re going to stop at Haylie’s on our way to the airport. Do you have all your things?” As she asked this I wasn’t sure how to feel. I was sick of complaining, sick of worrying about leaving and all cried out. I was just exhausted. I wanted to lay down and take off these god forsaken shoes before going straight to sleep.

“No. But I don’t want to go home.” I know she understood what I meant. I didn’t care about going to Haylie’s where I have most of my clothes and photographs. I didn’t want to go home to get the comforter for my bed, or to get my stuffed animals. I didn’t want to see the blood stains that may or may not still be there. I didn’t want to have to look on the couch to see the place my mother died. The house would be there tomorrow, it would certainly be there in a few years. After all, it’s been the family for centuries.

“Okay. Let’s go.” So after hearing about a million more ‘I’m sorry for your loss”-es and trying to move around people flocking to the food, we got in the car. As we drove to Haylie’s apartment, Aunt Rose opened her mouth to speak.

“I’m sending you to boarding school.”

“What!?” As I shouted this, she slammed on the brakes, throwing her arm across my body the way Mom used to do, trying to keep me safe. Yet another drunk driver had run a red light.

“I’m sending you to the same boarding school your Mom and I went to. It’s in Seattle, about two hours from where I live. You can come home for holidays if you want.” I looked at her with fury in my eyes and my mouth wide open. How was I supposed to survive with dead parents, my sister across the country with someone I barely knew. Let alone going to live at school where I knew nobody. Literally. At least if I went to public school I would have Aunt Rose.

“I’m sorry Wyatt. You really have no choice in the matter.” Tears rolled down her cheeks and the expression on her face crumpled. I knew she felt bad about sending me to boarding school, but I didn’t care. I didn’t care what she felt. I cared that she didn’t seem to care about me.