Sanity
Disclaimer: I don't own LWD or any other type of show or book or movie. That's why I'm writing this. Cause for a while, while writing a simple fanfiction, I can pretend.
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It feels like I'm going crazy.
I wake up in the morning and go downstairs, but she's not there. She isn't anywhere in the house. She's gone and it kills me. Lizzie seems like she's moving on. She has Edwin and Dad has Nora. Marti seems to be everyone's savior, telling jokes that make no sense or making up cheerful songs to try and bring up everyone's spirits. It helps sometimes, but mostly it just makes it worse. Casey would love it. She would laugh and encourage Marti, but she's not here to do that. She's not anywhere. She's gone.
It's horrible at night. I can't blast my music because I know that she won't be barging into my room to scream and yell at me. She won't turn up her music louder than mine, trying to retaliate. She won't do anything. So I just lie on my bed and think. I get lost in my own head sometimes, and at those times I actually start to worry about my sanity. Especially when I daydream about her showing up and telling us that she's not really dead. How could we possibly think I would outlive her? I eat the unhealthiest foods and sit around all day. If anyone was going to get cancer it would be me, not Casey.
And then reality crashes back down around me and it almost feels like I've lost her all over again.
Sometimes, if I close my eyes in the silence, I can almost hear her yell my name. It usually happens when I'm in bed. I'm about to fall into a blissful sleep where I can relax and stop hurting when I hear it, almost as if she called me from her room. I always have to go check. Always. I'm scared that if I don't, it will be the night she was actually there and she'll think I don't care. So, when I hear my name, I get up and slowly walk over next door to her room. The door is closed. I don't know why. I always leave it open, but I guess Lizzie or Nora close the door, so they don't look into her room, bringing up painful memories. But I open it. I turn the knob and slowly push the door open, glancing into the darkness. I can't ever see anything, but I know it's empty. There's just that feeling to it, a sad feeling, almost like her bed knows it will never be slept in again, or her mirror knows that it will never show her beautiful face. Thinking about it too much makes the empty feeling in my stomach get worse until I feel like screaming.
I can picture her room as I stare at the darkness. We hadn't moved anything, mutually deciding that we wouldn't touch it. The bed was still in the same place, the dresser, her dance posters, her bookshelves. The pink curtains were gathering dust. The CD she had last listened to would still be sitting in her CD player. Her computer was off, sitting on the desk with all her work saved on it. But none of us have turned it on. Nobody wants to invade her privacy.
But something that I haven't told anybody is that I made her bed. I don't know if anyone noticed. Maybe they just didn't say anything. The morning she woke up in pain she was rushed to the hospital without time to straighten out her blankets like she normally would. And she never came home to do it. So, when she died, I snuck into her room and fixed it. She would have wanted her bed to look neat and tidy, because that's how she was.
Every night, after I check her room, I go back to bed, suddenly feeling wide awake.
It happens every night.
I think I'm losing my sanity.