“But regardless of all that, it’s you who’s flipped my world upside down.” I lower my mouth to less than an inch away from hers. “You who I never stop thinking about.” Our lips touch. “You who fucking owns me. The first girl who has ever owned me.”

Words aren’t necessary after that as we quickly become a tangled mess of naked body parts, melding together in a desperate and feverish act of forgiveness and understanding. I’m hers. She’s mine. And stupid fucks like Tasha and Beckham aren’t taking that from us.

Three hours later, I leave Hudson’s house in a much better mood than when I arrived. After a couple rounds of make up sex, which made our first argument well worth every minute of it, she walks me out to my car on her way to her morning greenhouse duties. A small part of me feels a little guilty about keeping her up all night, knowing she has to work and then go to class while I get to go home and crash in my bed, but she promises me with one last kiss before I climb in my car that she’ll be fine and she’ll join me in my bed this afternoon.

Struggling to stay awake on the drive home, I tap my fingers on the steering wheel, drumming out the beat to the latest Sunset Sons’ song, Medicine, blaring through the speakers. Finally, I pull up in front of the apartment and kill the engine, noticing first thing that my mom’s car isn’t here. Worried, I pull my phone out of my pocket to find a missed text from her a little over an hour ago, sent to both mine and Caleb’s phone.

Mom: Sorry! I fell asleep over at Luke’s watching a movie and just woke up. I’ll be home in the morning to shower and change for work. Love you guys.

I smile to myself as I hurry up to the front door, happy my mom seems to be thriving with making friends and adjusting to our new life here. Ever since my dad bailed on us, she’s done nothing but take care of us kids, and it’s about time for her to live her life too, especially with Caleb’s health improving so rapidly. And it’s not like I can really say anything about her spending the night with someone, seeing as how I basically just did the same thing. My mom’s a sharp lady and a good judge of character, so I trust she’ll be smart about who she gets involved with, even if it is her boss.

Quietly, I let myself in, not wanting to wake Caleb in the process. Removing my outer layer of clothing, I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and toe down the hallway, stopping to check on him on my way to my bed.

The second I step foot into his room, I freeze at the sight of Caleb’s pale body on the ground next to his bed, his head engulfed in a never-ending pool of deep red blood, greeting me in the most devastating way possible. Time splinters, and I can only catch fragments. The plastic bottle falls from my hand, dropping to the floor, water mixing with blood.  I struggle to breathe as a pungent metallic odor fills my nostrils and mouth. Choking back vomit, my knees buckle in pure disbelief.  His eyes are open. His chest is still.

His chest is still.

His chest is still.

I crawl over to my little brother, suffocating with him, and pull him into my arms. He’s cold. Stiff. I pick him up awkwardly, holding and rocking him against my chest as his dead eyes stare up at me. Silently asking me where I was.

What was more important?

I don’t let go of him when Mom shows up. I can’t stop apologizing to him. The paramedics rip his body out of my arms, leaving me cold and numb.

And time stops. Forever.

I don’t let go of him when Mom shows up.

I can’t stop apologizing to him.

The paramedics rip his body out of my arms, leaving me cold and numb.

Cold, like the Colorado snow outside.

Frozen from feeling anyore.

I've never known anyone who died. Not one single person.

To me, death has always been something I've seen on TV or read about online, never a part of my real life. A surreal concept I can't quite wrap my head around.

Finality.

Gone.

Not ever seeing someone again.

A permanent goodbye.

Never…until now.

Wedged in-between a sniffling Brighton and a distant, detached Crew at Caleb's funeral, I realize there isn't a word in the English language that exists to fully express the depth of my sorrow. Sad. Heartbroken. Grief-stricken. Devastated. None of them seem to do this feeling justice, this feeling that's imbedded itself in every fiber of my being.

I twist my neck slightly, glancing over at Crew, and then Mary on the other side of him, and I can no longer ward off the onslaught of tears I've been desperately trying to hold back. A flood of warm, salty drops splash down my cheeks, some trickling into my mouth, while others roll under the collar of my black sweater-dress, as I witness a woman I've grown very fond of over the past month say goodbye to her baby boy.

I may not know much about death, but I know there's something intrinsically wrong about a parent burying their child. It should never happen. Especially not to people I care about.

More gut-wrenching than I ever imagined a funeral could be, the service is thankfully short. The chapel, though plenty large enough for the couple dozen people in attendance, feels as if the walls grow closer together with each passing minute, the air of false hopefulness evaporating rapidly. After reading scripture about God's promise of everlasting life in Heaven, the officiant encourages us all to rejoice over Caleb's life, rather than to mourn his death, and ends his message with a closing prayer.

Through it all, Crew sits silently, stonily staring straight ahead. His eyes stay dry and I’m not sure he’s heard a word that’s been said. I can’t tell if he’s trying to be strong for his mom, or if he’s still in shock. Maybe he’s still mentally on the bedroom floor with his brother, holding him tight. Mary told me the emergency personnel had to pry his arms away from Caleb, that he refused to let go.

Silently, we file out of the sanctuary into the brisk early-December afternoon. The picturesque, cloudless sky is the perfect contrast to our bleak, dreary moods, and as we drive away from the funeral—Crew and me in the backseat of Mary's SUV—I silently curse the bright afternoon sun that cheerfully shines down on the snow-covered mountains, mocking me through the window. Fuck being happy.

Once we're all back at the lodge, where Mel and Doug insisted everyone come, we share a somber dinner, despite Mary and her family's attempts to share funny and heartwarming Caleb stories. I smile politely and laugh softly where I'm supposed to, as does everyone else, but it's all an act. An act to hide the pain, confusion, and anger every last one of us feels.

Crew keeps a death grip on my hand the entire time, refusing to engage in conversation with anyone, not his aunts, uncles, cousins, or his grandparents...not my parents or siblings...not his mom or her boyfriend...not even me. Actually, I'm not sure I've heard him say more than four or five words since I arrived at their apartment four days ago, that dreadful Monday morning I received the heartbreaking phone call from Mary while on my way to school.

He's completely closed himself off to everyone—denial and isolation my mom calls it—and though it hurts when he cringes under my consoling touch, or turns away from me when I try to talk to him, I don't begrudge him. Everyone copes in their own way, and right now, his defense mechanism is to put up a stone-clad wall. If all he can handle right now is holding my hand, I'll take it.

Pushing the food around on my plate, I pretend to eat, though my appetite is non-existent. All I really want right now is to curl up in my bed with a joint and Crew, and hopefully wake up from a long nap to find out this is all a terrible nightmare.