Page 7 of F*cking Shattered

Hearing his words makes my heart ache. I take a deep breath and push myself forward. I don’t acknowledge them as I walk straight to the sink. I take a glass from the cabinet and fill it to the brim with water, all the while, feeling their eyes on me.

I chug the glass like I can’t get it in fast enough. When I turn around, breathless, they are both watching me, frozen like statues.

“How are you feeling, Jovi?” my mom asks.

I shrug and fill the glass again. This time, instead of devouring it all at the sink, I take it to the table and sit down. “My head hurts.” No doubt from all the crying from the day before.

“I’ll get you some Tylenol,” Dad says as he pushes away from the table.

My mom sits down beside me, placing her hand over mine and rubbing slightly. “I know you don’t want to hear this right now, but Katie’s body has been recovered and—”

“No! I don’t want to hear it.” I jerk my hand away and lean back in my seat, crossing my arms over my chest like a spoiled child that’s in trouble.

My mom flinches from my harsh tone. She places her hand over her heart and closes her brown eyes like the stressful situation is just too much for her to handle. How does she think I feel?

“Here you go, sweetheart.” Dad hands me the pills and I wash them down with a long drink.

“I’m sorry for yelling, Mom.” I stand with my glass of water. “It really means a lot to me that both of you are here.” I turn away before they can reply, and walk to the couch. I sit down and look around the room.

The mess I made looking for my phone has been cleaned up. Even the spilt cereal that I shoved off the table has been scrubbed from the carpet. The glass coffee table is completely clean, all but that damn notebook.

“I’m serious, Jo. While I’m gone, I want you to live. Live like I’m here with you. No, live like I am dead and you’re living for the both of us. You know how much I expect from life so you better fulfill each and every one of these things.”

I lean forward and pick up the list. I start flipping through the pages. There are three whole pages of things to do. How could she even write this quickly?

I don’t bother reading over them. Leave it to her to guilt me into this list. If I didn’t know better, I’d think this was her plan all along: force me to be uncomfortable, to come out of my shell, force me to live.

Tears sting my eyes again.

I have to live while she’s gone.

I have to live for the both of us now.

And without a doubt, I have to do this damn list.

* * *

It’s been three days since Katie’s plane crash, and I haven’t left my apartment since. I’m not living. I’m doing the opposite. I have watched Dirty Dancing continuously, eaten nothing but dirt cake, and read the list over and over.

I only leave my bed to use the bathroom. It’s like all the energy has been sucked from my body. I can’t force myself to live on without her. There is a constant pain in my chest that makes me wish I could quit breathing, but because life is the bitch it is, it allows me to live in constant pain.

My parents have gone home, but they come by to check on me every day because they know I won’t answer my phone.

I can’t.

I don’t want to talk to the many people that have been calling to tell me how sorry they are. I can’t deal with my reality right now. So in an attempt to ignore it all, I pull down the shoebox in my closet that is filled with pictures and trinkets of our favorite memories.

I set the box on my bed and look at the lid. We made this box when we were in eighth grade. The pink construction paper glued to the top reads “Jovi and Kate’s B.F.F. Memory Box,” written with silver glitter paint. It’s old and tears fraying the edges makes it look worn.

I take a deep breath and pull off the lid. I pick up the stack of pictures resting on the top. I look at the first picture of us. It’s from last summer when we took a cruise. We’re looking directly into the camera, wearing big smiles that highlight our sunburnt cheeks. I flip to the next one to see a picture of Katie from the same trip. But in this one, she’s leaning over the side of the ship, puking into the ocean from being seasick.

I giggle and set the pictures aside. I pick up a piece of folded up paper and open it up. It’s a note from grade school. It reads,

Jovi, thanks for sitting by me at lunch today. If you wouldn’t have sat there, Tony Matthews would have. And as we all know, he eats like a starving hyena, and I wouldn’t have been able to keep my lunch down. My stomach thanks you. Have fun in gym!

Your BFF always,

Katie