Page 6 of F*cking Shattered

* * *

Hours later, I’m lying on the floor, tears still streaming down my face. The crash is still playing, and I can do nothing but watch it.

Over, and over, and over.

It’s like I feel the need to punish myself because it was her who’d been stolen from this world and not me.

It should have been me.

She makes the world a better place. She’s kind and loving. She’s outgoing and would do anything within her power to help anyone in need.

I do nothing but stay shut up in my apartment, avoiding almost everything.

I’m still clutching my phone to my chest, unable to move. It’s rung several times now, but I haven’t even attempted to answer it. I can’t. I’m in shock. My best friend was on that plane. She’s gone. I won’t see her at the end of the summer. I won’t see her ever again.

The pain hits me like a powerful wave, crippling me. It’s like I’m floating in the middle of the ocean and the waves are unrelenting, beating me up and pulling me under until I almost pass out. It only releases me just to do it all over again. My heart pounds in my chest erratically. My breathing is shallow, all but stopping. My headache has only gotten worse with the crying, and my lungs burn for much needed oxygen. Oxygen I can’t seem to breathe in because my lungs feel deflated. It’s like everything around me is in slow motion as I’m wracked with grief.

My whole body is numb with pain. It’s all I can feel.

Loss.

Loneliness.

Pain.

Why did this happen? She should be having the time of her life right now. She should be lounging on a beach, being handed mixed drinks by sexy waiters. She should be sending me Snapchats of the fantastic view. She should be texting me to play screw, marry, kill, with every guy that passes her. But instead, she’s gone. Taken out in a fucking plane crash.

She would have to go out dramatically. That thought makes me giggle just a little. She was always dramatic. A sudden fit of hysterical laughter washes over me and it makes it even harder to catch my breath.

I barely hear the knock on my door over my laughter before my mother rushes to my side. I see her above me and I see her lips moving, but can’t hear what she’s saying. All I hear is the ringing in my ears while the blood rushes through them.

She drops to her knees and pulls me against her chest. Suddenly, the laughing stops as everything speeds back up.

“She’s in shock. Help me get her to bed,” she tells someone.

The fit of laughter has now turned to full on tears. They quickly overfill my swollen, puffy eyes and run down my hot cheeks.

My dad picks me up and places me softly on my bed. My mom pulls the blankets off the floor and covers my shaking body. I don’t know why I’m shaking. Am I cold? I don’t know, I can’t feel anything but heartbreak.

Once again, I see my mom move above me, but my eyes are flooded, causing everything to look blurry.

I curl into a ball and close my eyes that sting with the threat of more tears. She lays down next to me and curls herself around me, rubbing my back and brushing away the hair that is stuck to my wet cheeks.

Finally, feeling a bit of comfort, I fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

I wake in the morning and look around my room. Something is different but nothing has moved. There’s this pressure in my chest that feels like it’s going to crush me, like my heart is in a vice that just keeps getting tighter.

With a sharp pain in my chest and a dull ache in my stomach, I force myself from bed. I haven’t had anything to drink in over twenty-four hours, yet somehow, I need to use the bathroom.

After washing my hands, I debate on getting in the shower, but decide against it. Instead, I head towards the kitchen for a glass of water.

As I’m walking down the hallway I hear my mom and dad talking from inside the kitchen. I pause to listen to what they are saying.

“Should I call a doctor? She slept like a rock all night long, but every time I would wake to check on her, she was still crying. I didn’t even know you could cry in your sleep,” my mother says, worry evident in her normally soothing voice.

“She’ll be fine. She lost her best friend. She’s going to hurt. She just needs time to adjust,” my dad replies.