He looked like a haunted shell. A shell of a boy, nearly a man. If I narrowed my eyes I could again see the blood splatters that had soaked into his shirt. His favourite shirt. He looked up, his grey eyes distant. He reminded me of a lost lover, one who had grasped his dear heart before she slipped from his grip. Taking his soul with her. That's what she had done. Now he looked sunken and boney. He was once so bubbly and bouncy. It hurt to look at the husk that was left behind. No one could believe he had done it. He had been the last to see her dancing, the last to see her alive. And now. Well. She was not the only thing gone.
Her parents sat as far as they could from him. I bet in their hearts, they knew he didn't do it. A love that together they had held over her couldn't snap that quickly. But then. Hadn't Anakin killed his master when he was broken? I never knew if she loved him the way he loved her. But did it matter? By the way he sat, seeming to be held up by a string tied to the rafters of the church. So straight. I spent the service watching him. Watching as the string slowly lowed him, until he was curled up on the seat. Quivering.
I drifted back to the day. I remembered feeling something was wrong. So wrong I ran. I kicked the locked door out of my way and sprinted to her room. To find him; stripes bleached scarlet. He didn't confess to being innocent or guilty. He didn't even look up at my heavy breathing. Just starred at her, hands gripping wrists tightly. Her curling tattoo just visible through his hands. He knelt next to her, swaying to a beat out of time to the blaring music. She had said she couldn't sleep. Said she didn't feel like she was needed, wanted or cherished. I remembered looking into the corner of a dark corner and seeing her best friend. She was white, eyes like dark holes drilled into her face. I remembered looking at her hands slick with blood before the realisation hit me in full force. Blood. The last I saw, was the wooden floor as I passed out.
That had been three weeks ago. Now she was all cleaned up, hands peacefully folded on her chest. Angelic like. She was to be buried with a big chunk of her best friend and lover's soul. For that I could never forgive her. Taking my Laura from me. Laura loved her. Loved her so completely that I sometimes felt jealous. Laura was taken from hell and back again for her, while being expected to smile. This girl couldn't do anything totally wrong that she would lose my Laura. Even to the grave. Laura would fret over this small girl, this girl endowed with persistence, comely shapes and eyes that could turn cold or warm with her ever changing feelings. Laura would never regret a moment of her time with the her. She said so herself. But Laura thought she had failed, failed to her very essence. Leaving me to pick up the pieces and hold her in my arms. How could this one girl, thought to be so useless be enough to destroy three lives? Mum said Laura would get over it. She would relight that fire and strive for higher things. I looked at her, at her white face, sunken cheeks and dead eyes. I hoped so. I hoped more then anything she would come back. She had helped me through. Maybe. Just maybe. I could pull her out of this hole. Teach her to let go. As she had taught me.
I walked over at the open coffin. I looked up at her shinning, beaming picture on the projector.
The girl in the box was like a syron on the seas. So beautiful and charming with her now flawless face. She would open her mouth and let the sirens call sound out. Once heard, the sailor was forever hooked.
But when the call was cut short. When the musics flow was jerked from its notes. What then?