psa: basically all of this story is going to be a trigger warning
piper is dead.
"piper is dead."
"my older sister, piper, is dead."
she jumped off a bridge two weeks ago- or maybe three- i don't know. i stopped counting around the same time i stopped eating, and sleeping, and showering, and when the fun family dinners turned into an indefinite silence with us just staring at our laps. hell i haven't even left the house since she did it. and somehow the school decided the best solution would be for me to start with
the ASSG: after school support group.
but honestly? i'm over it.
not the support group in question, but the "it'll be okay"s and the sympathetic smiles and the pitiful side hugs that mean absolutely nothing.
they didn't decorate her locker with pictures of her or posters saying "rest in peace," or "gone but never forgotten." they didn't have an assembly for suicide awareness, or even an announcement over the intercom. they pretended like nothing happened.
and my parents- oh my god don't even get me started on my fucking parents.
my mother hasn't left the spot on the couch, where the police sat her down and told her that piper had jumped off a bridge and died. she won't speak to me, or look at me. she just sits there and stares at the wall.
i understand that she's hurting, we all are but she can't neglect me. i'm her child too.
and my father. he's there. more so than mom is, but not often. he's worried about her, and he wants her to get better. so he feeds her soup and takes care of her and pretends like nothing is wrong in the Tozier household.
so here i am. and i'll sit here, and enjoy the free chocolate chip cookies and lemonade, and i'll sit in this circle and spill my bloody, helpless guts all over these floor, for you other other high schoolers and i'll pretend like everything is peachy for three months. then the school counselor will sign me off and i can continue on with my sad, sad, pathetic life.
cool.
the awkward silence that falls over the room is a clear warning sign that the sentences i had thought i'd said in my mind; to myself, for no one else to hear, i'd actually said aloud; in the support circle, to everyone else, for them to hear.
the social worker pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose and gives me one of those lovely, beautiful, fake smiles that i know all too well at this point. "well richard, that was quite a lot. but we are glad you're here to figure things out." she nods her head and continues on with that awful smile.
and then she pushes her gaze towards the kids around me, and they get the memo.
they all groan in unison, "we support you, richard."