A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed! You guys are awesome!
Chapter Three: One Thing
Keith felt like someone was taking a hammer and hitting his head repeatedly with it. All he felt was pain; it surrounded him like a vice.
He tried to move his hand to feel why his head was hurting so much, but something—or someone—was holding it down.
Frantic, he tried to move it again, but he didn't have enough strength and gave up. "Keith?" A tired voice called. The voice was familiar, and Keith tried to place it, but with the pain he was in he couldn't think straight. All he could tell was it was a woman. He opened his eyes, hoping he'd be able to recognize the person by sight, but it hurt his head to keep them open and he closed them after a few seconds, never getting a good look.
Instead, he let out a low, painful sounding moan for an answer. "Oh thank god," breathed the same voice. "Are you in pain?" Keith tried to say yes, but he couldn't get his mouth to form any words. Thankfully, the woman understood, and said, "I'll get the nurse, okay? Hang on a second."
And then she was gone, and so was the pressure on his hand. She had been holding his hand. He wasn't sure how long he was alone, but then there were voices and he heard them talking about medicine and no more pain.
The relief was almost immediate. Warmth filled him up and he let out a sigh of relief. "Better?" the familiar voice asked.
He cleared his throat. "Better," he croaked out. "Can I—water?"
Seconds later, he felt something against his lips and the familiar voice said, "Drink," so he did.
The water was cool against his throat and he drank greedily. When he was done he asked, "W-where am I?"
"The hospital."
He took a few seconds to process this. "What happened?"
"Don't worry about that right now." The voice seemed nervous, and if he hadn't been so tired and confused he would've asked why. "You should go back to sleep."
He wanted to, so he allowed himself to fall back into blissful darkness.
The next time Keith woke, he felt a little better. The only reminder he had been in pain was dull throb that was persistent throughout his whole body. This time he could open his eyes and keep them open. He took in the white walls and wires attached to his left arm before he glanced to his right. Sitting in a chair a few feet away and reading a book was his aunt. She was tall and skinny and her hair, which fell past her shoulders, was the same color as Keith's.
"Aunt Melissa?" called Keith hesitantly.
At the sound of his voice, his aunt jumped and looked straight at him. "Oh, Keith, you're awake." She got up, placing the book she was reading on her chair before walking the short distance to him. "Are you feeling okay? You look like you're feeling better."
"Yeah, I feel a little better. W-what happened? Why am I in the hospital? How long have I been here?"
She seemed nervous, and it took her a few seconds to speak. "You were in a car accident. Do you remember?" she asked.
He thought for a moment, but everything was foggy. "Maybe a little, not much though." As soon as he said this, though, he did remember something. His parents. They had been with him. "My parents. Where are they? Are they okay?" He jolted up so fast he got dizzy and had to close his eyes for a few seconds.
When he opened his eyes, he felt his heart sink when he looked into his aunt's face: full of despair, pain, and immense sadness. When she spoke, her voice was tight. "Shh. Calm down. First, you've been here about a day—it's Saturday night. You came in around ten on Friday."
He didn't want to hear the answer to his previous questions anymore; he just wanted to know where his parents were. "Where are my parents?" His heart was beating so fast he thought he was going to pass out.
His aunt grabbed his hand and this time he didn't find it at all comforting. His aunt was quiet for a while, like she had to prepare herself for something. Finally, she spoke, "Sweetie, your parents they-they passed away in the accident. I'm so sorry. The police said they were hit head on and—"
"No," Keith whispered, voice sounding far away, like it wasn't even coming from him. "No, they're not dead. I just saw them yesterday. That guy…there was a guy…he saved me. He went to save my parents; he saved them. Just ask him." He looked at his aunt desperately, but when she didn't say anything, he felt himself start shaking.
"I'm so sorry, Keith." A quiet sob ripped through her before, "I know you don't want to believe me, but—"
"STOP LYING TO ME!" Keith screamed, surprising himself with the fierce amount of anger pouring out of him. He screamed so loudly and so forcefully his throat, head, and ears hurt. "Stop lying to me," he demanded, voice weaker this time; he was close to crying.
His parents were dead.
Gone.
He was never going to see them again.
"Keith. Please, please tell me what you need."
I need my parents. "I need to be alone right now."
"I can't do that," said Melissa. "I can't just leave you alone. Not after what I just told you."
"Yes, you can," he said. "I don't want you here right now."
But she didn't leave.
"LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!" he screamed, not caring it hurt his already raw throat. The physical kind of pain was better than the pain he was feeling inside. "GET OUT OF HERE!"
"Keith, please calm down. I—"
He took a deep breath. "Fine. If you won't leave, I will."
When she didn't move, he shoved the sheets off of himself and got out of bed. Pain erupted in his left leg when his feet touched the floor, staggering him. But it didn't stop him from grabbing the chair his aunt had been sitting in and throwing it against the wall. The violent act didn't do anything to help his pain, the grief he was feeling, only caused him to put more pressure on his leg and he fell forward, not being able to hold himself up anymore.
Someone caught him before he could fall to the ground; strong arms wrapped around him and held on tight. "Shh," was all his aunt said. And for some reason, it helped him calm down. She moved him onto his bed, and he did nothing to stop her.
It wasn't until he was lying down and his aunt grabbed a hold of his hand again did he notice the wetness on his cheeks. He was crying.
Fifteen hours.
Fifteen hours had passed since he had been told his parents were dead.
When he first awakened, for a few blissful seconds, he thought everything was normal—he was at home, in his bed, and his parents were just down the hall.
But then he remembered.
Remembering felt like a punch to the gut; the only difference was, he never stopped hurting.
His doctor only visited once since Keith had regained consciousness. His visit had been brief, consisting of him going over Keith's injuries: mild concussion (his memory should return completely in a few days) and a deep cut in the calf of his left leg (stitches would come out in a few weeks).
Now, it was lunchtime on Sunday and all he had to do before he could leave the hospital was eat lunch, but the problem was: "I'm not hungry." His stomach felt strange, like he might be sick. But it had felt like that for hours and he hadn't been sick yet, so he thought it was just sadness; it was everywhere—surrounding him, engulfing him.
"Keith," said Melissa who hadn't left his side but once to go get him some clothes earlier in the morning.
"Please eat. The doctor said—"
"I know what he said," hissed Keith. "I was here, wasn't I? And I didn't say I wasn't going to eat, just that I'm not hungry."
"Okay."
It took him almost an hour to eat his soup and salad. As soon as he had taken the last bite he asked, "Can we leave now?"
"Let me go ask the nurse, Kate, okay? I know she wants to do one final checkup."
"Whatever. Can I at least change into my clothes you brought?"
She looked like she wanted to object, but relented anyway. She picked up the bag next her chair and handed it to him. "Do you need help getting to the bathroom?"
"No. I'm not five." He grabbed the bag from her.
"I meant because of the crutches." She handed him the pair of crutches that had been leaning against the wall near his bed.
His mind had been so occupied with other things he had forgot he had to use crutches until the stitches in his leg came out, since they were in a location where walking could cause them to rip out. "I think I can handle it," he said sarcastically. As gracefully as he could, he hobbled into the bathroom, slamming the door for added affect behind him.
He purposefully avoided the mirror, not fully ready to see how different he looked. He had to look different, right? He changed into his clothes (jeans, t-shirt, and hoodie). His aunt had also packed some toiletries for him, but he didn't have the energy to do more than brush his teeth. After that, he gained the courage to look in the mirror.
He did look different. And it wasn't because he had deep, angry bruises covering the left side of his face from where he had hit his head, or that his skin was paler than usual. It was because he didn't recognize the person staring back. He didn't look like Keith Zetterstrom anymore; he was gone. Or, at least for now, he had disappeared.
He wasn't sure how long he had been staring into the mirror when he heard someone knock on the bathroom door. "Keith? Are you okay?"
"I'm—" His voice cracked and he cleared his throat before finishing, "I'm fine. I-I'll be out in a second."
Wanting to get away from the hospital, he placed the hood from his sweater on his head (it made him feel safe for some reason) before walking out. Nurse Kate was there; she gave him a small smile as he walked over to her.
"Hey, Keith. How're you feeling?" He stared at her blankly. "Okay, I'm just going to check your stats and then you'll be free to go." She gestured to the bed and he sat down. He sat there numbly as she took his blood pressure and made notes on his chart. "Everything looks good. Just make sure to stay hydrated and get a good night's sleep. Remember, you may have headaches for a while, and your memory should come back in the next few days." She stepped away from him and stared at him for a few seconds before shaking her head in disbelief and saying, "You were extremely lucky to not have more serious injuries."
Lucky? He was lucky? He lost both of his parents. He wouldn't call that lucky. "Can I leave now?"
"Yeah, in just a minute," said Kate. "There's something I wanted to talk to you and your aunt about."
Keith was silent, so Melissa spoke up, "Sure. What is it?"
"Keith, you've been through a terrible trauma. You lost both of your parents and—"
"Do we have to talk about this?" he asked rudely, standing up. Why did everyone have to remind him of the one thing he was trying to forget?
"Just hear what she's trying to say, Keith," said Melissa, giving him a pleading look.
"Fine." He sat back down. He only agreed because he figured he would be forced to stay and listen anyway.
"I was just going to say it might be a good idea for you to attend some counseling sessions. It'll be good to talk about what you've been through. It's not healthy to keep things in, and talking to someone could really help. I've seen many patients do extremely well after a few sessions; it's a great outlet to figure out how to deal with your grief."
"I'm not crazy."
"Keith, counseling doesn't mean you're crazy. It just means you need someone to talk to, someone to express your feelings and help you through this trying time. We have some great references we can give you."
He stood up. "That's great advice and all, but I think I'll be fine. Thanks, though." And with that he left his room, not checking to see if his aunt was following him.
As soon as they got home, Keith immediately told his aunt he had a headache and was going to take a nap. Being in his house, without his parents, made everything more real. He slept the rest of the day, and woke to noise coming from the kitchen. He went downstairs to see what his aunt was doing.
"Hey," she said, turning to look at him, "are you feeling all right?" He shrugged. "Great. I hope you're hungry. I got some take-out. At that Chinese place down the street? Have you been there?"
Keith sat down at the table, which was already set with half a dozen white containers of food. "Yeah, it's good."
Melissa seemed relieved. "Good. I don't know what you like, so I got a few things for you to pick from."
Dinner was silent and almost a little awkward. It wasn't until they were almost done eating when Keith asked, "How long are you going to be here?" As soon as he asked this, though, a thought struck him: Where was he supposed to go once she left?
"However long I need to."
Keith took a bite of his sesame chicken, and before he could prevent himself he asked, "Where am I supposed to go once you leave?"
She took a sip of her drink before saying, "Keith, your parents they wanted you...you're going to come live with me. Your mom wanted—"
"Oh, okay." He didn't know why he was so surprised, but he was. He should've suspected she would. It wasn't like he had any other family that could take him in. "Um, where do you live again?"
"Illinois. Few hours from Chicago. I-I know this will be hard for you. There will be a lot of adjusting. But I promise to make you as comfortable as possible and you won't be alone, okay?"
He nodded, even though he was pretty sure he was going to feel alone for a long, long time.
On Monday, Keith slept.
On Tuesday, the calls started. Most of them were from distant family members and his parents' friends. The calls consisted of people saying things like: We're so sorry (the last thing he wanted to hear), or It'll get better soon (doubtful), and We're here for you, we'll give you anything you need (all he needed was his parents).
After the tenth call, he unplugged the phone.
On Wednesday, he remembered.
The memories came back to him during sleep, and he woke drenched in sweat and shaking. His chest hurt and his throat tightened and he couldn't breathe, because now he knew. He had killed his parents. Now, he was not only full of pain and sadness, but guilt, too. And the guilt?
It was worse.
On Thursday, he attended his parents' funeral. He didn't remember anything else about the day.
On Friday, he had a visitor.
Keith had been lying on his bed, listening to music when someone walked into his room. "I told you, I'm not hungry," he said ripping out an ear bud and glancing to his right. When he saw it was his friend Bret he sat up in bed and asked accusingly "Who let you in?"
"Hi to you, too. And your aunt did."
"Oh." He watched as Bret sat down in his computer chair a few feet away from him.
"Dude, why have you been ignoring my calls? E-mails? Do you know how fucking worried I've been? I had to find out from people at school what happened."
Keith shrugged. "Sorry."
"Keith," started Bret, running his fingers through his hair nervously, "I'm so fucking sorry, man. I-I don't know what to say."
"Saying nothing is good."
"Are you serious?" At this, Bret stood up, throwing his arms up. "Talk to me, man. I mean we're supposed to be friends and you didn't even call me. Just—" He stopped, making his voice softer, "talk to me."
"There's nothing to talk about. They're dead. It's over. I'm moving on."
"Oh, right. Moving on. Is that why you look so tired you're about to pass out? And what is with that damn hood?"
Keith touched the hood on his head. He had been wearing it like this since he left the hospital. "I dunno."
His response seemed to anger Bret more. "That all you have to say? 'I dunno'?"
"Sorry."
Bret sighed. "Look, I just stopped by to see how you were holding up and to tell you how sorry I am. And, you know," he started voice soft, "you don't need to be moving on already. You're allowed time to grieve."
"Okay. You did that, so you can leave now."
Bret looked defeated. "Fine. Whatever. See ya."
Keith watched Bret leave the room, door slamming behind him.
Not five minutes later, Melissa walked into his room. "Bret seems nice," she said. "Have you been friends long?"
Instead of answering her, he said, "I wanna leave. We're leaving tomorrow." He knew it was a crazy request, and unfair for his aunt as well, but he couldn't help it. He had to get out. He had to leave the place where everything and everyone reminded him of his parents.
"What? Keith, you can't just—"
He took a deep breath. "I want to leave tomorrow." His voice cracked and he knew his aunt noticed. I can't do this anymore, he wanted to add.
"Okay. Tomorrow it is."
He didn't realize the actual packing was going to be so painful, which was why by that night Keith had yet to pack one box.
He tried, but everything he owned reminded him of what he had lost and what more he was losing. He started throwing things in the middle of his room—book, CDs, clothes—but it didn't help.
"Keith? What are you—oh."
Breathing heavily, Keith glanced towards his door to see his aunt's eyes frantically taking in the room; her face turned from shocked to worried in a matter or seconds. "What?" he spat. He turned back to his desk he had been tossing notebooks out of.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Packing. What does it look like?"
"It looks like a tornado hit," she stated, trying to lighten the mood.
"This is how I pack. Do you have a problem with it?"
"No, of course not." She walked over, moved some stuff of Keith's bed, and sat down. "Look, honey, if you're changing your mind about leaving tomorrow you can tell me. I won't get mad. We could stay a few more days. It would give us more time. We could even get an actual moving truck so we could pack some of your furniture if that would make you more comfortable."
"No. I don't want to bring all of that crap. I want to leave tomorrow, okay? I don't want," his voice lowered to a whisper and he wasn't sure his aunt even heard him say, "to be here anymore."
"Okay. If you want to leave tomorrow, we'll leave tomorrow." She stood up and grabbed one of the empty boxes and bent down to grab a book that was tossed carelessly on the floor.
Suddenly, Keith stood up and without grabbing his crutches, painfully limped over to her and snatched the book from her. "Don't touch my stuff. I-I can pack myself, okay?"
Melissa dropped the box on the floor, before she rested her hand on Keith's arm. He thought it was supposed to be a comforting gesture; however, it wasn't and he couldn't help but flinch. "Keith, I can't begin to imagine how much pain you're in, and I will do anything to help you through this. I know packing everything has got to be hard, please just let me help you. It'll go by so much faster."
At this, he took a step away from her touch. "No," he mumbled. All the fight seemed to be leaving him. "I want to pack everything myself, all right?"
Melissa didn't look surprised at his declaration. "Just promise me you won't be up too late? At least get a good night's sleep. We can finish any packing in the morning." She waited for Keith to say something, but after a few seconds she left his room, closing the door behind her.
It was six a.m. when Keith finally went to sleep.
"Why didn't you wake me up?" mumbled Keith. He was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, trying to wake himself up.
"Morning, Keith." Melissa was sitting at the kitchen table; there were papers everywhere. "What can I make you for breakfast?" She got up and walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge. "We don't have much. Just a few eggs and cheese left."
"I'm not hungry." He stepped farther into the kitchen and asked again, "Why didn't you wake me up? You were supposed to wake me up at eight. We're supposed to be on the road already."
Melissa turned around from to face him. "Because I know you didn't go to bed until six a.m. I wanted you to at least get some sleep. I thought we talked about you getting a decent night's sleep."
"We did talk about it," said Keith, walking over to pour himself a cup of coffee, the only substance he thought he could stomach. "But we only talked about it; I never agreed to it."
Melissa grabbed the rest of the eggs from the fridge and walked over to the stove. "Keith, you're recovering from a concussion, you're suppose to be sleeping a lot and recovering. I'll tell you right now, even though you're doctor cleared you to drive since your injury is only on your left leg, there's no way I'm letting you with only a few hours' of sleep. You can sleep more in the car, then maybe I'll consider it."
"Fine. Whatever. I don't care." He pointed to the bowl that his aunt was mixing the eggs and cheese in. "Oh, and I'm not eating those." And with that, he left, leaving his aunt standing there, speechless.
They didn't get all of Keith's stuff packed until close to three. With his crutches, Keith was unable to help his aunt load his boxes and bags into the car. Even though he didn't have much, it still took his aunt half the day. While Melissa did the final check of the house, Keith stood in the living room.
"Hey," he heard Melissa softly call as she descended the stairs a few minutes later. "Are you—" She stopped when she saw him. "Why don't I give you a minute? I'll just be in the car." She dropped the house keys into his limp hand.
He made his way through his entire house, trying to say goodbye, but no amount of time was enough. He felt like he was leaving a part of himself here, in his house. When he got to his room, he sat on his bed, trying to calm himself down. But he couldn't. No matter how hard he tried, the prickling behind his eyes and the tightness of his throat wouldn't go away. And then there were tears on his cheeks and he couldn't stop crying.
He hated it.
He hated crying because it meant pain. It meant he wasn't in control and he hated being out of control. He felt like he had been out of control since he lost control of the truck only a week ago.
He was crying harder now, sobs overtaking him. His chest was heaving with the effort to stop crying so he could catch his breath. It didn't work. He couldn't breathe. He felt like he had during the accident, when the water had pulled him under, but this time it was different and so much worse. And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't break the surface.
No one was here to save him this time.
"Are you all right?" Melissa asked as soon as Keith got into his truck. They were driving Keith's truck back to Illinois with them so he would have a car to drive.
No. "I don't know." He knew she could see his red-rimmed eyes, and knew if he had said he was 'fine' she would've made him talk.
Melissa seemed satisfied with the answer and without saying a word, began driving. Keith watched his house through the rearview mirror until they turned a corner and it was gone. "Where are you going?" asked Keith, when his focus on his house was broken. "The highway is that way." He pointed to their left.
"We're going to Starbucks. And you're getting something to eat."
He got a venti coffee and some coffee cake. It had raspberries and blueberries in it. It was actually pretty good, and didn't make him feel like he was going to throw up.
As soon as they got on the highway, his aunt started talking. "So. What grade are you in again?"
"I'm a junior."
"Wow. That's crazy."
"Why?"
"You're just growing up so fast." Keith couldn't argue with that. He felt like he had aged twenty years in the last week. "I just remember when your…I remember when you were born. It seems like yesterday. I'm just so glad you're okay. I was so close to losing you, too."
"Can we not talk about that night? I don't want to have this conversation."
"Okay. I'm sorry." His aunt took a sip of her coffee before saying, "Do you have a favorite subject?"
He shrugged. "I dunno. I like math and science stuff."
"Just like your dad." Keith froze and Melissa must have noticed because she hastily added, "So, what do you do for fun?"
"Um…stuff. Work on cars. Play video games. Why?"
"Just wondering. What kind of video games?"
"What is this? 'Twenty questions'?"
"No, Keith. I'm just trying to make conversation. We don't know each other very well, so I just thought…since we'll be living together I should get to know you more."
And whose fault is that, he wanted to say. Keith could count the number of times his aunt had visited him and his parents on one hand. "Well, there's nothing to know, so I don't think we need to be having this conversation anymore." He took three long gulps of his coffee; he didn't care it was still hot and burned his tongue; he wanted to finish it quickly so he could take a nap and stop talking.
"I doubt that."
He took another gulp of his coffee before he said, "Look, my life is really not that interesting, okay? So can we please not do this anymore? I'm tired."
"Okay, Keith, but if you ever want to just talk—"
"I won't. I'm going to take a nap now."
When he woke, three hours later, it was dark out and his back and neck were aching from the uncomfortable position he had fallen asleep in. He sat up and glanced out of the window. They were stuck in traffic. "Where are we?" He rubbed his face to try and wake himself up.
"Almost to Muskegon. We've been stuck in traffic for the last half hour. How'd you sleep?"
"Fine. Look, can we stop somewhere?"
"Sure. What for? Are you hungry?" She sound too excited about this possibility. "I think I saw a McDonald's sign a few miles back."
"No. I need to go to the bathroom."
"Okay. I think there's a rest stop soon."
Twenty minutes later, they were pulling into a rest stop. When he walked out of the bathroom a few minutes later, his aunt was standing by his truck. When he neared her she said, "Since you took that long nap, I'll let you drive now." She handed him the car keys, which felt like lead in his palm. He wasn't sure why his hands were shaking.
Keith stood there breathing deeply, trying to calm himself down before he got into his truck. He felt lightheaded and his hands were shaking so badly it took him a few seconds to get the keys in the ignition. When the engine started, he felt like he was going to be sick.
He could do this. He loved driving. He didn't want to lose that, too. But as soon as he started backing out, memories flooded him and they were all he could see. He slammed on the brakes, causing the car to jerk forward.
"Keith?" Melissa said, worry hidden behind her words. "What's going on?"
He couldn't answer; he was taking deep gulps of air, trying to get himself to breathe so he could calm down. "I-I can't—" He was shaking so much he felt like he was going to be sick, but he couldn't get himself to move in case he was.
His aunt must've noticed. "Are you going to be sick?"
"I-I don't know. Maybe. Yes. I don't know," he moaned. He wasn't aware of what was going on; the door to his truck opened, someone was taking his seatbelt off, and gently pulling him out of the car. As soon as his feet stood on steady ground, he started dry heaving, as there wasn't much in his stomach. He felt his aunt rubbing comforting circles on his back. When he was sure he was done being sick, he stood up and said, "I-I need to sit down."
His aunt helped him to the sidewalk; he leaned against her as he didn't have his crutches to help fully support him. When he sat down, he started taking in deep gulps of air. He didn't realize he had been alone, until his aunt handed him a bottle of water. "Here. Drink," she said. "It should help."
He drank, and it did help him stop shaking so much; he was slowing calming down. "I'm sorry," he spoke up, voice shaking. "I-I can't drive. I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize," she demanded. "I can't believe I had you drive. I don't know what I was thinking. After everything you've been through, I can't believe I didn't even think…"
"It's okay, I'm fine now. I think we can go. I want to go."
Melissa stared at him for a few seconds, as if trying to read his face to see if he was lying. Once satisfied she said, "Okay. We can go. But we're going to find a hotel. We've done enough driving for today."
No matter how much Keith pleaded with his aunt he was okay and they didn't have to stop, they ended up at a hotel, the Shoreline Inn, thirty minutes later.
Keith chose the bed closest to the window. He watched his aunt set up her laptop on the tiny table at the foot of his bed. It wasn't until she had all her paperwork on the table and sat down, did she notice Keith was watching her.
"Everything all right?" she asked.
Keith shrugged. "What are you doing?"
"Just checking my work e-mail. Then I'm going to finish up some paper work and tie up some loose ends."
"Loose ends for what?" The way she said 'loose ends' made Keith think it wasn't work related.
"Just paperwork regarding guardianship of you and getting together the last stuff I need to put your house out for sale." The last part was said in a whisper, like she didn't really want Keith to hear it.
"You're selling my house?" It made sense now, why his aunt had spent the whole week cleaning the house and packing most of the personal items in boxes. At the time, it hadn't occurred to him why she was doing the work.
"I'm sorry. I should've talked to you more about it, Keith. I tried to bring it up, but you, understandably, didn't want to talk. It's the most reasonable thing to do. I promise all of the boxes I packed up we'll come back and get. And anything else you want, like furniture we'll get, okay?" She stopped talking, waiting for Keith to say something. When he didn't she said, "If you want, I can put this on hold. We don't have to do it right away."
"No," said Keith, shaking his head. "It's fine. I mean, they're dead, right? It's stupid to keep it."
"Keith, I didn't mean to upset you."
"I'm not upset." He stood up. "I'm going to go look around."
"Sure," said his aunt quickly, as Keith was already by the door. "Try and think of what you'd like to do for dinner while you're out."
His response was the slam of the door.
He wandered around the small hotel gift shop, walked by the pool, the restaurant. It was only when he was about to go back up to his room did he notice the computer room. He took the computer farthest away from everyone. He stared at the computer screen for a while and before he realized what he was doing, he was logging onto Facebook.
He didn't know why he did it, but he went to his parents' profiles, clicking through pictures, through memories. In any other circumstances, Keith would've laughed out how ridiculous it was that his parents loved—had loved—the site so much. He was about to log off, the memories too much when he noticed the messages on his Wall.
He wasn't friends with many people on Facebook, why would he be? He only had—or had—one real friend. The rest of the people he was friends with were people from high school but he never talked to them. It wasn't until he saw the amount of messages on his Wall did he wish he would have never created a profile in the first place. He took a deep breath before he began reading them. The messages all read about the same:
So sorry for your loss. Let me know if you need anything.
Sux man. Sorry.
You're in my prayers.
If you ever need to talk, message me.
Hey, man. I know we didn't talk much in school, but if you ever need to talk, hit me up.
Let me know if you need anything.
Just remember this: time heals all wounds.
They went on and on. The messages never ended. They made him feel sick. These people had no idea what he was going through. No idea. And why were they talking to him? Why did they suddenly care? Is this how it worked? Did something terrible have to happen in his life for people to start talking to him, like they cared, like they were friends?
He hated them. He hated every single one of them. All they had to do was type a stupid message that only reminded him of what he had lost while they went on with their lives.
Before he even realized what he was doing, he was in his Account Settings and not thinking twice he clicked Deactivate.
He needed to disappear for a while.
That night, they ordered pizza. Keith could barely finish one piece. He went to sleep at nine.
Keith stared at the plates of food in front of him. For a hotel, they had a good variety, but nothing looked appetizing.
Once a woman starting huffing impatiently, he chose a chocolate chip muffin. He made himself a cup of coffee before he walked to his table.
When he sat down, his aunt was already halfway through her first cup of coffee. He hadn't even taken one bite of his muffin before Melissa cleared her throat; he looked up at her. "Keith, you really need to eat more than that."
"I'm not hungry."
He was surprised when instead of arguing with him, Melissa stood up and made her way over to the food. A few minutes later, she placed a plate with a spoonful of eggs and a few pieces of bacon on it. "You're going to eat all of that."
"No," said Keith, sitting back in his chair. "I can't. I told you: I'm. Not. Hungry."
"Yes, you are. You're just too…too upset to feel anything else. We will sit here until you eat all of that food on your plate. I'm not having you get sick or pass out from lack of food."
He glanced at her, but couldn't come up with an excuse. What could he say? She was all he had. He couldn't threaten to leave. Where was he going to go? He had no home anymore. "Fine," he finally spat out. "But I might throw up."
It took him almost forty-five minutes to finish his food.
"Feel better?" she asked. He shrugged. He wouldn't admit that he did feel better. Not as lightheaded anymore. "Keith, we need to talk about something."
"No we don't."
She rubbed her forehead with the palm of her hand. "Look, Keith, I really think we need to talk about setting up an appointment with a grief counselor. I really think we should make an appointment for you next week. You're not doing well and that's expected. I think you would really benefit from talking with someone. I don't want to wait too long, before—"
"Did you have to bring this up in a hotel during breakfast?"
"Keith, you're scaring me. I don't know what to do."
"Well, I'm not going. I don't need to go. I just need a few more days. Why did you have to bring this up so early after…everything. It still hasn't been that long. It's like you expect me to get over this, and I will. Soon. So I don't need to go to a counselor."
"I don't expect you to 'get over this' soon. I'm just worried. You're angry and you're not eating. You don't know how to deal with this grief and if you hide it and wait to talk to someone, it's only going to get worse. The longer you hold the grief in, the worse it's going to get."
"No," Keith growled. He stood up so fast he hit his leg on the table and his coffee almost spilled. "I don't need some fucking counselor who will just make me talk about my parents' death every session. Talking about it is not going to help me, okay? So stop bringing it up; it's pissing me off."
His aunt looked so sad, sad for him. For some reason, it made him want to cry. He needed to get away. Without telling his aunt where he was going, Keith stormed out of the room, and went outside.
The bitter cold stung his face and cleared his head a bit. He still had to stay outside for almost thirty minutes to down enough to find his aunt so they could leave.
Keith slept the entire way home (only waking up at rest stops and when his aunt made him eat lunch). They arrived at his aunt's house close to five. Just from looking at the outside, Keith knew the house was at least twice the size his had been.
The first thing Keith noticed when they walked in (or really heard) was a high-pitched noise that sounded like a bark, and the sound of something running down the stairs. He saw a black and tan blur run past him and into his aunt's arms. "Oh, Bailey, Mommy's home now. Did Natalie take good care of you?" The dog licked Melissa's face. "Want to meet Keith? He's going to live with us from now on." Melissa turned her body so Bailey was facing him.
"Uh, hi Bailey." Bailey's tongue was hanging out and he looked like he couldn't be happier.
Lucky dog, thought Keith.
"You can pet him," said Melissa, moving Bailey closer to Keith.
Keith did, patting Bailey lightly on the head. He was so small Keith thought he might break him. "So…this is really a dog? Not a rat in disguise?"
Melissa laughed. "Yes, Keith. It's a Yorkshire Terrier to be exact."
"He looks like a rat. And his eyes look too big for his face." Bailey's eyes were huge. Keith couldn't decide if they just looked like that because his face was small or what. His eyes made him look like a bug.
Melissa laughed again, and then set Bailey on the floor. She stood back up and faced Keith. "You want a tour?"
Keith shrugged. "Sure."
She started with the main floor (there was a bathroom to the right of the kitchen, a dining room, and a good sized living room). She took Keith upstairs, where she showed him her office and bedroom. Then, she took him to the basement.
As they walked down the stairs to the basement, Keith noticed the huge television and entertainment center. "Wow, that's awesome," he said, not being able to help himself. His parents had not been rich, and had never been able to afford nice equipment like his aunt had.
Melissa looked happy he seemed interested. "Yeah, I don't know what I was thinking. I never use it."
"Why not?"
"I'm not sure. You're welcome to use it whenever, it'll be good to get more use out of it." She then opened the door that was to the right of them. "Now, don't worry about the mess. I'll clean it up."
The room was full of boxes, but even with it full of them, Keith could tell it was a fairly large room. "It's cool," said Keith. "Why do you have all of these boxes, though?"
Melissa looked embarrassed. "Let's just say I haven't had time to unpack yet."
"Unpack?" asked Keith. "Did you just move here?"
"Yeah, about five months ago." She walked into the room and Keith followed her. "This room does have its own bathroom." She pointed to a door on the left side of the room.
"It's nice."
"Great! I'll unpack the boxes tomorrow morning and then we can go shopping in the afternoon for everything so you can sleep in your own bed by tomorrow night."
Keith felt guilty. He had thought his aunt would have a guest room he could use. If he would've known she was going to have to buy him all new furniture he wouldn't have insisted on leaving so quickly and let her get the rental truck she had suggested. "I can just sleep on a mattress. I'm not picky."
"You're not sleeping on a mattress," she said sternly. She started opening random boxes and looking through them. "Jake will be happy I'm finally finishing my unpacking."
"Who's Jake?"
"Oh, my boyfriend." She took out a pair of green tights and scrunched her nose at them, before tossing them into a trashcan that was in the middle of the room.
"Oh." He couldn't believe how much he didn't know about his aunt: she had a new house, a dog, and a boyfriend.
Melissa stopped rummaging through the boxes and looked at him. "How about dinner? I'm starving. While I cook you can watch TV or go on my computer."
"Okay," said Keith, following her upstairs.
He had never felt more like a stranger in someone's house.
His aunt set him up on the pullout couch that night. She went to bed around ten, but Keith didn't turn the TV off until after midnight. He lay there for hours, no matter what he did he couldn't fall asleep. Everything just felt wrong; he didn't feel like he belonged here.
He wanted to be at his house with his parents. Sadness enveloped him and he couldn't escape. This was what his life was going to be like. Nothing was ever going to be the same. No matter how hard he tried the memories wouldn't stop coming. His mind kept reeling and it almost hurt with all the memories running through, and then it hit him.
His parents were gone and that meant only one thing.
He was an orphan.
A/N: Thanks for reading; I hope you enjoyed it!
