Once in my room, the aloneness hits me harder than ever. It's always been that way. It's here that I got the call that my parents were gone. It's here that I cried for hours and hated them for leaving me alone. And it's here that I finally realized that it wasn't their fault and that I had to move on; at least a little bit. And now, almost one year later, that's exactly what I've done. Moved on. A little bit.
With a start, I realize that tomorrow marks the first anniversary of this tragedy. 365 days of living without parents. That's 8,760 hours, or 525,600 minutes, or 31,536,000 seconds. All spent without a mother's touch, without a day spent outside playing catch. Without anybody at all.
By the time I went back to school after it happened, all my friends had forgotten about me, and I was in no shape to try to rekindle the relationships. Then Roderich came along and convinced me I was special. For months I believed him, until I caught him kissing someone else behind the school one day. Now, I don't have anything or anyone to hold onto.
That night, I cry myself to sleep, terrified of tomorrow and traumatized from today.
oOo
The next morning is worse than I thought. I'm so overwhelmed with grief and loss I can hardly even stand. In the end, I don't even try. No kids will care, and my teachers will understand, I think. It's hard to come to school when you can hardly even drag yourself downstairs.
Finally, I just decide to sit on the white leather couch in our living room and stare blankly at the wall. That's how I spend my day: staring at a deep brown wall. I think. Somewhere in the middle, I may have fallen asleep and dreamt I was still staring at the wall. Either way, it feels the same.
After what feels like about an hour, the doorbell rings. I cringe at the sound. Shouldn't people be at work or school? I look at the giant black clock. Is it already 5:00? Although I don't really want to, I go to get the door.
It's Gilbert. "You weren't at school today," he says. There's concern in his eyes, and I falter. Was he worried about me?
Suddenly I no longer have the strength to keep of this façade of courage up anymore. "I wasn't," I say, bursting into tears. After a few seconds of him standing awkwardly in the doorway, I pull him inside and shut the door.
Once I manage to stop bawling, I explain to him everything that's happened in the past year: my dad's death, mom killing herself over it, my friends abandoning me, everything. By the end, I can't help but start to cry again.
He doesn't say anything while I cry, just puts a hand on my back. Is he comforting me? I've needed comfort for so long. "It's gonna be okay," he says awkwardly.
I laugh and shake my head. "It's never going to be okay. It's just going to be better. That's all I can hope for."
He nods understandingly, even though he doesn't understand. He can't. Still, it helps. Wiping my eyes, I smile weakly. "Thanks. For staying with me, I mean. Most guys would have ran away."
He scoffs indignantly. "I am not most guys. I'm awesome, remember," he teases, holding open his arms for a hug. I oblige willingly, remembering all the times I did the same for him when he lost his grandma as a kid. For a while, we stay there, just like that, until he has to leave.
"'Bye," he says. But he doesn't leave, he just stares at me. Then, leaning forward, gives me a kiss. On the mouth. It can't be more than a second before he's gone out the door, leaving me feeling much warmer inside.
Hi! It's applechan53! This is the ending of my one-shot-turned-two-shot, so I hope you enjoyed! If this suddenly gets tons of likes or something, I might think about a sequel, but I'm not expecting it. I'm still an amateur- this is the first story I've finished! What do you think about a Norway/Iceland brotherly fluff? Kawaii, ne? We'll see...
Thanks for reading the rest of the story, I hope you liked it!
