::
Cora was right.
You really are just a bunch of stupid kids who keep finding the dead bodies.
You never thought Allison would be one of them.
::
The funeral is dark and depressing and she would have hated it. You watch her father with his straight face and rigid posture and if you couldn't hear his heartbeat, you'd think he was totally fine.
{he's not}
Lydia squeezes your fingers until you can't feel them, but you don't tell her to stop because you don't want to feel anything anymore.
You drive her home and the silence is almost as painful as the empty seat between you.
::
I'm so sorry, Allison. I'm so freaking sorry.
::
Maybe it's because she was her best friend.
Maybe it's because she loved her too.
Maybe it's because if you close your eyes, you can imagine it's Allison.
Or maybe it's some twisted combination of all three.
Her nails dig into your skin deep enough to draw blood and her teeth clash against yours, but the pain makes you forget and that's the whole reason you're doing this, isn't it?
The next morning there are bruises on your neck and scratches on your back and if you weren't so numb, you'd probably regret it.
{you don't}
::
It feels like a fairytale gone wrong.
The banshee lost her hunter and you lost your love.
The alcohol burnsburnsburns as it goes down your throat.
But not enough for you to stop drinking it.
Lydia wanders around with redrimmed eyes and Alyson's clothes on. It's kind of tragic that you never really noticed how beautiful she is when she cries. She stumbles around in heels that aren't her own and cusses like a sailor.
You lean your head against her shoulder and take another shot as she puts a cigarette to her lips.
::
"I miss her."
"Me too."
"I loved her."
"Me too."
::
The walls you've so cleverly built up around yourself come crumbling down in a second.
She's slamming her fists into your chest and you take it as she screams at you.
"It's all your fault! Why couldn't you protect her? You were supposed to protect her! I hate you, I hate you, I hate you."
And then she's sobbing and you're falling back onto the bed, pulling her on top of you and wrapping your arms around the only person who understands. She buries her face in your neck and you can feel her breath on your collarbone.
Your shirt is tangled in her fingers and her hair smells like strawberries and oh god.
And you both cry.
::
You drink too much and sleep too little.
She spends her money on marlboro packs and throws away her textbooks.
It doesn't matter that she tastes like smoke and sadness or that you smell like cheep booze and desperation.
Because she kisses you until you can't remember your own name or that you ever loved a girl named Allison.
::