You tell yourself you don't care. You tell him you don't care. So when he collapses to the ground, it's not your fault. When the last thing he says is "Why won't you call nine-one-one, Jade? I'm dying, Jade." as he slowly dies from the overdose, you don't care; you sit there and watch him. If he was going to be a drunkard and not care what you said, you didn't need him. That's what you told yourself.
You collapse. Drink yourself into oblivion, you recall the words she bitterly spat out on webcam, See if I care. She didn't. At least, you thought she didn't. The camera had been on the floor, she didn't know if you drank it or not. But you did, and the beer had spilled, and the next thing you knew you were lying there in a puddle of alcohol. You beg her to call nine-one-one, even going so far as to taking off your shades to convince her. She isn't swayed. "Why won't you call nine-one-one, Jade? I'm dying, Jade." You slur the words and stare at her face. She's crying, although she doesn't know it. Your last words are clear as day despite being whispered and cracked, and you're sure she can hear them: "You were lying."
"You were lying." You wipe your eyes, realizing he had seen the tears you were trying so desperately to ignore. You watch the life drain out of his eyes and hope he has a good time being dead. You'll join him when you can. You begin sobbing silently, wishing you had been right there with him. He had taken his shades off for you, and you wouldn't help him. He would've survived; instead, you ensured his death. So you continue, try to stop loving him, and watch everyone else grieve. You don't grieve. You wait. You wait for the day you and him will be together.
He's gone. Your best friend and lover (although neither one of you admitted the latter). Gone, just like that, and you know it had something to do with your sister. She's been acting cold lately. You think you'll just break ties with her. After all, why keep around a murderer? It would make you feel so guilty and bad that your stomach starts hurting at the thought of it. But it's for the best.
Your brother is gone now. You found out just last week, right after Bro discovered the body. You know it was Jade. She's been cold and distant, and you wonder if it could get any more obvious. She had gotten drunk at one point afterwards and told you all about it, even if she had done nothing but spoken of the evidence. It was the tone in her voice. Like a thirteen year old after caving in to peer pressure for the first time. You'll tell everyone else tomorrow. They deserve to know.
You stand there over your dead little brother's body, the beautiful coffin accenting his facial features. "It's my fault. The beer in the cabinet was mine." You whisper, trying not to cry as you place the red and orange flowers into the coffin, You'd be together one day. Just not this one. It's been two weeks and Jade's in juvi, Rose is sad and writing fanfictions of wizards. John is dead inside and horribly sad, so much more so than the rest. You're the only one sadder than him. Or so you think. But when you see the faces of the trolls at the funeral, there by computer robots you built them because they can't get to you, you realize they're just as sad as you are. Everyone. No one's more sad than others, everyone's crushed. Even your robots you built in your free time. Emotions or not, animate or not, even dead or not, everyone is missing the one you raised. And you're proud. So proud that when you tear up a few minutes later, it's because you raised a boy who had people who loved him. And that was something special in its own way.