I've always found it strange that the statements that hurt the most to hear all have four letter words in them. 'I hate you, ' 'I love you,' 'Fuck you,' and the one I'm hearing now-- "Matt's dead, Mello."

I'm not sure which four letter word I hate hearing more. Dead. Or Matt. Maybe it's the combination of the two, the way the words seem to compliment each other, the way they form a comprehensive sentence, when I want nothing more than for 'dead' and 'Matt' to go back to being two completely unrelated things.

I realize I should thank the voice on the other end of the line for telling me, but my jaw won't unlock. My throat screams in protest against coherent sentences. The only thought I have is This can't be happening, not my Matt, not my Matt, not my Matt. I respond with an Mmmm that sounds disinterested even to my ears, and hang up on the man.

Matt deserves so much more than a guttural noise, but I'm not sure I can manage. Even as I walk out of the room, down the hall, to where Matt slept, I am completely numb.

And then I am consumed by blinding rage. I begin tearing Matt's room apart, thoughts whirling in my head, hitting my heart every time something breaks.

Crash

He didn't deserve to die.

Thump

Matt was so incredibly fucking perfect, what could possibly have killed him?

Whack

This can't be happening.

Bam

I loved him so fucking much.

Riiiiip

How could he leave me alone like this?

How could he leave me alone like this.

Now I'm sitting on the floor next to Matt's bed. My chest is heaving. I still can't open my mouth. My head hits Matt's striped comforter with a soft whump as I slump backward in defeat. The movement creates a soft breeze. Matt's scent wafts off of his bed and assaults my nose.

And the dam bursts.

I sob and choke and curse any and everybody.

I curse gods. Demons. The man who drove into the side of Matt's car. The makers of the alcohol the man had been drinking. My dead mother for not being here to comfort me.

I cry until I can't cry anymore, until all that is left is whimpers. Then I climb in to Matt's bed. I wrap myself up in the comforter, burrowing my face in it, searching for his smell.

I fall asleep in the fetal position on Matt's bed. I dream of him. I dream he's here, telling me he changed his mind about going to the store, telling me he loves me and to stop crying.

I'm not going anywhere, Mel.

I wake up to rain. A gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Matt's absence seems to be even larger than his presence. I go back to sleep in the hopes that next time, waking up without him will be easier.

Do not ever tell me that it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. I will not believe you.


A/N: It's horrible, and much sadder than my other stuff, but I had to write it. It just kept gnawing at me till I agreed to type it out . The whole time I was writing this little one-shot, I was listening to the song Are You There by Klint. That's where the title came from. It's absolutely gorgeous, but very eerie sounding. It's instrumental, but if you're alright with bass guitar and no words, give it a listen.