The feeling of falling is both a very terrifying and very heavenly emotion. It's the feeling you get when you're young and going over a hill in the car, finding your insides so floaty and it almost tickles; but then there's the crash, and suddenly that floaty feeling goes away and it's all pain and blood and lacerations covering your skin, cut down to the milk white of your bones. They're whiter than pearls, those bones, never tarnished by the winds of the outside world, always protected by flesh and skin. And, for the seconds that feel like minutes after the crash, all you can sense is the pain. All you can see is red and every single fiber and nerve of your being is screaming bloody murder—but just as suddenly as it comes, it goes. The pain's gone and you're numb; numb like a child's fingers after spending the day playing in the snow, numb like it felt on Prozac, numb like you've been sitting cross-legged too long, numb like you just don't want to feel anymore.
As I found myself being lifted onto a stretcher, my thoughts were tangled and cluttered and messy but it was all working out into a way that this still felt like I was falling; I was still tumbling through the sky and my crash landing hadn't even occurred yet, even as the lacerations burned and bruises formed.
The EMT told me not to fall asleep as he strapped a brace around my throat. Sleep called for me; I put up a weak fight. I tried and tried but let my eyes flutter closed and fell into the abyss of slumber. Perhaps it was unconsciousness, rather than slumber. Regardless, I allowed every sense of awareness to fade and for my eyes shut completely.
When I came to it was twelve minutes past noon in the middle of December. I'd been asleep for twelve days and was still in ICU. My doctor, a tall, blond man who told me to call him Ansem, informed me of this before my visitors were paraded into my room: Mom, Naminé, Cloud, and Aerith. Mom gushed over me, touching my face and my hair and kissing my forehead too many times. She crooned over her "sweet, sweet baby," and pulled Cloud and Naminé over. Cloud, phlegmatic as ever, held little emotion in his expression, but buckets of it in his eyes. Naminé, akin to our mother, was crying. I didn't understand why Aerith was there. She was my brother's girlfriend and best friend's sister, but she and I were never especially close. When I noticed tears glistening in Aerith's eyes, I began to question what exactly was going on and what events had occurred while I was away from reality.
"Mom…?" I trailed off uncertainly, tugging at the sleeves of my starched hospital gown. There were two IVs stuck in the inside of my elbow, one with a clear substance and the other with blood. I could feel tight bandages around my torso, arms and head. "Mom, where's Riku?"
Mom bit her lip, her gaze downcast. Naminé pressed her palm against her mouth, choking back sobs whilst Aerith began to cry. She didn't make a single sound; no shaky gasps, no sobs, just tears. Cloud didn't notice her tears, not taking his eyes off me as I stared at his girlfriend, needing to know what was going on. I finally looked back to my mother, awaiting an answer.
"Riku died, honey," she murmured. My eyes widened and I shot upward abruptly; the room spun and stopped at the same time. I couldn't breathe, couldn't think. "He's been dead for eleven days now, sweetheart. His funeral is tomorrow."
I only had a matter of hours to comprehend that my best friend was dead. He had died and I hadn't. I should've died, too, shouldn't have I? My head ached and my wounds burned as I dressed for the funeral. I wasn't supposed to be out of the hospital yet, but a little bit of crying and a whole lot of begging had gotten Ansem to allow me authorization to be out of the hospital for Riku's ceremony. I had new bandages wrapped around my torso, biceps and head. I hadn't acknowledged the nasty head wound I'd earned when I was launched from the car; cuts and bruises were scattered across my left cheek and a gash on my forehead had required stitches. Ansem said that I had a concussion; that I was lucky my skull wasn't fractured. I thought I was lucky I wasn't dead. Why had Riku died and not me? I didn't understand what made me any better than Riku. He was a better person than I was—he didn't cheat on his Physics final last year and he took care of his siblings better than I ever could and he had Sora to worry about.
Sora was the same age as me, with blue eyes and chestnut hair. He was a sweet kid, always smiling wide but never really that happy. His parents had gotten a divorce last year, and from what I knew it was quite messy. Sora and I weren't the best of friends—I'm sure that the only reason we had ever interacted was because he was dating Riku and Riku was my best friend. I had no desire to face Sora—I knew he would be a wreck, having another thing snatched from him in such a sort amount of time. I sighed as I buttoned all but the top button of the buttons on my dress shirt. I didn't want to know if Sora blamed me for what happened; I was already aware that it was my fault.
"Uh-uh-uh," Mom scolded when I reached for my favorite hoodie. I tilted my head, letting out a groan when she handed me a blazer. Riku wouldn't have wanted this. He would have wanted everyone dressing how they liked and celebrating his life, not crying over his death. I sighed and shrugged the jacket on, refusing to wear the navy tie Mom handed me. She exhaled loudly and exasperatedly, crossing her arms.
"No, Mom," I stated. "I'm not wearing a tie."
She pursed her lips, but agreed to let me go without the tie. Cloud was dressed similarly to me, black shirt, dark tie and blazer. Naminé and Mom wore simple black dresses; Naminé wore charcoal colored tights and an open peacoat, her eyes sad. Twelve days until Christmas and we were attending a funeral. I was going to my best friend's funeral; a funeral I shouldn't have been attending—I should've been in a casket along with him, dead as can be.
The ceremony was agonizing. I didn't speak, and neither did Sora, but Riku's parents did. I touched the outline of my stitches through the bandage around my head. I pressed the pads of my fingers against the small bumps of stitches until tears pricked my eyes and a dull throb erupted from the laceration. Riku's dad, two uncles and who I assumed was a cousin carried the coffin out of the church and into the cemetery, following the crowd of those invited to the service. My lip quivered when I caught sight of Sora. He walked alone, arms crossed tightly and tears falling off his chin. Biting the tender flesh of my lower lip, I fought to keep from crying.
I felt horrible for not shedding even a tear at my best friend's funeral; for even being at my best friend's funeral. I didn't want to accept the fact that Riku was gone—gone for good and never coming back. We'd never have those Friday night movie nights or hang out by the docks or graduate together, tossing our caps into the sky and escaping this small town in favor for a university down south.
The burial was worse than the ceremony. As the silver coffin was lowered into the ground, something inside me finally broke. Naminé held me as I ducked into her embrace, burying against the curve of her neck and wetting her peacoat with salty tears. Naminé began to sob as well; her tears seeped through the spikes of my hair and I held tightly onto her, just as she did onto me. I almost expected Cloud or Mom to come over and hold us, stop our tears, but neither did. Naminé and I didn't move, didn't do anything but cry and sob and weep until either she or I lost strength in our shaking, quaking knees to meet the snow-littered ground.
My hearing muffled; nothing except the quiet sounds of our heavy breathing and choked sobs even registered in my brain as noise. I didn't hear Cloud's heavy boots crunch along through the thickening layer of snow and I didn't hear what he said—only watched his lips move as Naminé released me and we looked to our brother. Cloud stopped talking and Naminé started to; I heard her voice, faintly, but stared blankly. I couldn't understand what she was saying; my brain couldn't comprehend the sound waves being sent to it through my eardrums.
Naminé's gaze grew to that of a concerned mother as I continued to be unresponsive. It was Lilliputian to me—it didn't matter that Cloud and Naminé wanted me to acknowledge them, wanted me to speak and look at them as if I was aware of my surroundings. Naminé shook my shoulders, her lips and expression broadcasting to me that she was shouting, desperate for an answer or some form of movement to assure her of my consciousness.
"Roxas!" my sister exclaimed, her voice finally piercing through the haze surrounding me and reverberating us both halfway back to tears. I winced involuntarily as her exclamation rang through my ears, prickling upward into the highest of octaves. Cloud was obviously becoming alarmed over my impassiveness as he knelt by my side, hand over Naminé's. My eyes jumped from my brother to my sister and back, irises—mine and theirs—overflowing with uncertainty and tears.
"You okay, kiddo?" Cloud whispered.
I looked him straight in the eye. "N… No," I replied, a sob's quiver breaking the syllable.
Naminé held me again, relieved to have a response. The wetness of the snow, melting from my body heat pressed against it, began to seep into the fabric of my dress pants and I was suddenly subjected to the coldness of the air. I felt the tears on my cheeks and nose and chin chill and their paths freeze over my skin. The snow's austere frigidness bled through the thin layers of my clothing and sent shivers through my bone, through my marrow.
"C'mon, let's get him in the church." Cloud said, lifting me onto my feet. The moment his hands left my underarms, I collapsed, falling straight back into the snow. The brief impact made the lacerations across my back sting, but the immediate cold from the snow relieved the pain. Cloud lifted me again, hooking my arm around his neck and his around my waist. Naminé trailed after us, opening the church door and closing it behind us.
Mom rushed over when we came in; instantly, she began to fuss over me. She ran her fingers through my hair, pushing the spikes out of my eyes, and asked too many questions of how I felt, if I was cold, why I was crying. I pulled away from her harshly, folding my arms over my stomach. Hurt flashed in her eyes and I allowed my shoulder blades to knock against Cloud's arm. I kept my gaze downward, apprehensive in my stance.
"I… I've gotta go to the bathroom." I lied and took haste in backing off and trailing towards the men's room. Sora was there, standing at the last sink, holding onto the basin so tightly the very tips of his knuckles were white. I cleared my throat as quietly as I could and spoke up, "S-Sora?"
He turned to me suddenly, dropping his hold the sink and slumping against the wall behind him. He looked scared; his eyes wide as tears left shiny streaks down his cheeks and his shoulders shook with gentle sobs. Sora was, in short, a train wreck. It was obvious he hadn't been taking good care of himself, judging by the dark, purple bags that hung under his eyes and his disheveled, greasy hair.
"Roxas," he whimpered, straightening up. I'd never seen Sora like this before. He'd always been rather depressed whenever reminded of his parents' issues, but never once had I seen him cry. It was almost scary—in my subconscious, I supposed I viewed Sora as unbreakable. He pulled through the destruction of his family with his head held high and a smile, no matter its validity, wide on his lips. When I looked again to Sora, he'd pulled himself together; no longer were there tears in his eyes or glistening streaks on his cheeks. I nodded slightly, motioning for him to continue what he had begun to say.
Instead of speaking, Sora decided upon a completely different chain of events that I never expected. It felt as if it were only milliseconds after I nodded that Sora kissed me, hard and on my lips. It wasn't tentative or apprehensive, but harsh and desperate—desperate enough to have teeth clash and lips bruise. I kissed back with just as much feverish impetuosity before coming to the realization of what was occurring; of what I was doing and what Sora was doing. Gripping his shoulders as his arms snaked around my waist, I pushed Sora from me, detaching our lips abruptly and earning a glare. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand roughly, staring at Sora—halfway questioning, the other half bemused. His hands grabbed at the bruises on my sides and I fought the wince away.
"S-Sora," I mumbled, regaining my breath. "We can't. I can't—you can't."
"Don't tell me what I can and can't do, Roxas." Sora spat; his eyes were angry, livid, but his voice was calm as water and blank as snow. He stepped towards me, continuing forward until his mouth was dangerously close to mine and his fingertips were at the small of my back; I couldn't think—my mind was frazzled, only able to focus on Sora's lips. There were no thoughts of the funeral and emotional turmoil rattling in my brain, but of Sora's lips and what it felt like to have them pressed to mine. "'Cause I'm gonna do what I want."
His breath was hot on my lips and I backed away from him, out of his grasp and colliding with a hand dryer. I gasped as sharp, electric pain rushed through my bruised body and stumbled, colliding with the wall. I didn't know this Sora—this Sora was sexy, blasé and cool. The Sora I knew was carefully particular and apprehensive; deathly shy but still an extrovert. This Sora left me leaning against the wall and clutching my throbbing ribcage. I couldn't fathom what had just happened; Sora had kissed me at his boyfriend's funeral—at my best friend's funeral. My lower lip quivered, though I wasn't quite sure why, and I eventually strolled out of the bathroom as if nothing had transpired.
My stay in the hospital extended until a week after the funeral. I'd learned that my car was broken beyond repair and it was reiterated that I was lucky to be alive. I didn't feel lucky, but felt immensely guilty. The horrible feeling of remorse was eroding my core to the point where I couldn't eat without the consumed food promptly exiting. Mom was worried sick about me. Whenever I threw up, she called Ansem and my mother wouldn't be satisfied until he performed a thorough examination. I fought with Cloud more than ever as well. We'd always had our bitter arguments, as brothers are expected to, but never as frequently or as harsh as they had been during my stay in the hospital.
The immense feeling of guilt refused to vanish, even after I was discharged from the hospital. I must have lost at least ten pounds in addition to what I had lost whilst in my previous comatose state because of my inability to hold down food. I didn't go to school; I wouldn't have wanted to, either; the guilt was draining me physically and emotionally. It literally took all of my strength to get up and get dressed in the mornings, let alone go to school to deal with questioning and sympathetic stars.
"Hey Roxas," the familiarity of his voice was soothing, though unexpected; Demyx was a longtime and mutual friend of Riku and I. He was laidback and happy-go-lucky, impossible to hate; Demyx was Demyx, and he was one of the few people I could count on. I hadn't seen him at the funeral, but it hadn't crossed my mind until he had visited me.
"Demyx," I responded, perking up. A smile ghosted over my lips and Demyx threw back a soft half-smile.
"How've you been?" Demyx asked, strolling over and sitting gingerly beside me. Biting my lip, remorse clouded over once more. I shrugged.
"I don't know, Dem," I answered sincerely. "I really don't know."
Demyx sighed and put an arm over my shoulders; we sat on the couch in my basement for so long, his arm over me and hand holding mine. I leant into his embrace over time, indulging in the familiar comfort. Demyx was there—something I desperately needed. I hadn't had stability since the accident; my siblings walked on eggshells around me, as did my mother, and I hadn't seen Sora since the incident after the funeral. I whined in protest when Dem abruptly moved his hand from mine to tangle it in my hair, breaking my relaxed trance.
"I have to go to work, Roxy," he said, already moving to leave. My childish needs caused me to grab his shirt, ceasing his movement. He sighed softly, but not angrily. "Look, Roxas, I promise I'll be back after my shift. Okay?" he worked on loosening my grip and backed off. "I'll be back at six thirty, Roxy."
I looked at him, pleading, and searched his eyes. Demyx was a kindhearted, empathetic creature; as our eyes remained locked, I hoped he would stay. My hands were finally detangled from Demyx's shirt, but Dem kept his hands over mine, cupping my fingers. He knelt to my eye level and gave that small half smile again.
"Look, Roxy," he said, playing with my fingers as he spoke. "It won't be that long, promise. I can't stay—I wish I could, but I can't. But, hey, I have Friday off. That can be an us day, okay?"
I knew and he knew that he was just trying to please me. For his sake, I nodded and forced a smile. His smile widened and he slipped away, ruffling my hair as he strolled gracefully towards the staircase. I bit my lip and slumped against the couch cushions once Demyx was gone. My lower lip quivered against my teeth and I bit harder, sniffling and forcing away the tears. My stability was gone.
A/N: I've had this plot bunny chewing at my brain's wires for a long while now and finally got it onto paper. (Microsoft Word, whatever.) I'm quite proud of it thus far, but would like to have a beta reader to check over grammar and maybe some of the flow (feel free to point anything out if you see it!)
Anyway, thank you for reading, and I hope you'll stick around for more or to review or something :)