Trigger warning: suicide


ll

Six months later

After my very dramatic run in with the law, we became pariahs in the town. The Rodriguez' left shortly after. They didn't allow me to attend Josè' funeral, holding me responsible for a lot of what happened, when in reality they were to blame instead. For their lack of love, unacceptance and obsession with putting on a front. Jose Rodriguez Sr, was running for Mayor. Scandal isn't a good look for a campaign, especially in a very conservative leaning town.

José and I weren't exactly popular in school but we weren't outcasts either. Sure, we didn't belong in the cool crowd but we did just fine on our own; however, when you're finally declared an outcast by the powers that be, then everyone forgets your name and blocks your number.

A week after sitting at home, Dad came to me and pitched the idea that we should probably move to Olympia or farther out and closer to Seattle. The thought of spending another year in highschool, while transferring in the middle of the school year felt like a prison sentence. I agreed that we should move and start over too but that I wasn't going back to school. Instead, I looked into getting my GED and meeting the application deadline for University of Washington. Whatever little Dad saved up for my college expenses for New York could be used to make up for the price difference given that real estate was a bit more expensive when close to a city center. He refused at first saying that money was for me but I had no use for it. New York without José was never going to be right. And UDub held a particular appeal to me, especially after recent life events.

So I got to work. There were still 3 weeks left in the application deadline for next fall. Thankfully, I had one person on my side in the school's administration; my guidance counselor, Michelle Rapino. She got me the necessary documentation that proved I was no longer in school and wrote me a stellar recommendation letter. While she didn't agree with my methods, she knew deep down in her heart how wrong everything was and how much I was aching from the aftermath. When I walked through the halls, I held my head high up in defiance while people looked on and whispered. Some yelled out obscenities and questioned my mental health… none of it bothered me. I was too numb. And moreover, I was getting out of this hellhole.

Now, we're here in Renton, WA. We bought a modest 2 bedroom townhome that has a small backyard with a deck and two garages. Dad's turned them into a working studio to do more of his carpentry in his off time while he works two jobs to catch up with the financial strain this move has put us under. Thankfully, I got my acceptance letter in the mail from UDub three days ago while qualifying for financial aid and scholarships which means all my expenses will be taken care of for the most part.

Right now, I work two jobs, only because there is nothing else for me to do. Whatever I make through this year off can hopefully provide a good safety net for the first year at school till I get another job I can work at in between classes or on the weekend. While Dad wasn't happy with the idea of me not going to school, he also didn't fight it as hard as I thought he would.

In my off time, I read anything I can find and watch a shit ton of movies. What I really miss is having someone to talk to. Dad, bless his heart, isn't much of a conversationalist. He likes his usual action packed entertainment or sports related programming. Talking to him about the merits of Jessica Chastain's acting chops in Miss Sloane isn't exactly his cup of Joe.

I miss José; his smile, his hugs, his snark and his endless commentary. His brain and the way he could understand things. I miss it all.

As of recent, I work at the neighborhood library and a coffee shop. It's decent money and the library allows me to indulge in my favorite pastime while I get paid for it. However, my new favorite pastime is watching stay at home mom's and dad's, bring their babies in for story time every day. I never knew I liked babies till I was surrounded by them.

There's one father and daughter duo in particular that's my favorite. Mr. Toscano and his daughter Arabella. Arabella has down syndrome but Mr. Toscano is fully committed to show his daughter the wonders of the world around them. He reads to her, has her sit and play with toys he brings. I notice that many of the other parents tend to avoid them. I was curious one day and walked over on my break, asking if I could join them. Arabella is responsive and smiles with abandon. It melted my heart and for the first time in a long time, I felt lighter. My only hope is that world becomes a kinder place for her. After a few weeks of interactions, Mr. Toscano offered me a babysitting gig for a few nights a month while he and his wife went for a night out. After a successful trial, I was hired.

"Thanks for tonight, Ana. Was she good?" Mrs. Toscano asks me, while taking off her heels. It was her birthday this week and both of them went out for a fancy dinner.

"She's never bad. Honestly, sometimes I wish she was. I think we will make quite the troublesome duo." I reply, "can you imagine Ana and Ara, the midnight diner bandits?"

They both laugh at my lame attempt at humor. Once they pay me, I bid them farewell for the night and get started on my walk home. It's a nice ten minute exercise that I've come to enjoy. When I round the corner out of their street, the lights of an ambulance flashing come into my view. I find myself staring as the EMT personnel wheel out a person on the stretcher who's wearing an oxygen mask. I'm rooted in my place, fully aware of everything happening, the late spring breeze and the rustling of the leaves around me but my body is too slow to respond.

I wake up from my nap a little disoriented. It's been an exhausting few days since everything happened. Emotions are on high alert and school has been a nightmare with the staring and whisperings. Gossip is currency in a small town. The better and more spicy it is, the more friends you have, provided you are not at the center of it.

I keep checking my phone to see if José has messaged. He's gone radio silent but I know he's still reading them. I'm here, he knows I am, so I continue to send wellness checks. I reach over to my nightstand to grab my phone and I finally see a message from José that was sent two hours ago. Shit! Was I out that long? I quickly swipe it open and everything slows down as my heart goes into overdrive and my body is overcome with panic.

I jump out of bed and grab whatever shoes I find and run as fast as my body physically can, down the two streets to José' house. I frantically bang on the door, till his mother opens it, horrified, prompting his father to rush out of the living area.

"What the hell are you doing here? He's not allowed to see anyone!" He yells at me, but I ignore him and run up the stairs, yelling José' name. I burst into his room and he's not there. I stupidly look through his closet and under his bed. I look out his open window into the backyard but nothing. By this time his parents have come up.

"What the hell are you doing?" José Sr. growls at me. "I told you tha–"

"Where is José?" I cry.

"He was here, just a little while ago." His mother Teresa, replies in a panic. I push past them and run down the hall to the bathroom. The light is on, I can see from the space underneath the door and I bang on it.

"José open the fucking door. RIGHT NOW!" I scream. I hear no answer and start to slam my body against it, over and over till his father joins in. When it finally opens, the whole world crashes and burns.

I see his lifeless body in a sea of red.

I scream and I don't stop. I don't even know if it's my voice. My body is drenched against his as I beg him to wake up. I pull my phone out of my pocket to call emergency services, barely able to communicate to them what's happened.

The rest is a blur. I vaguely remember the EMT's checking my pulse and asking me questions. Dad's voice floated in at some point and I felt the warmth of his hands trying to carry my body out of the bathroom. The police tried asking me questions. I have no idea what I said. All I remember is red. Bright, burning, blinding red.

In addition to slitting his wrists, José had overdosed on his mother's vicodin pills that she was prescribed for her post surgery care last month. By the time the EMT's had come, his pulse was barely registering. He was gone. He didn't want to stay and he made sure there would be no real way that we could bring him back.

His body lay in the hospital but his spirit was free. As much as I wanted to visit him, I wasn't allowed. His father made sure of it.

And so I turned my grief into the only outlet I could find.

A small dog jumping on to my leg and barking at me, snaps me out of my trance and the owner apologizes. I assure her it's alright. The ambulance begins to drive away and sooner the lights disappear into the distance. I wipe my face and continue walking home.

My phone beeps with an alert and I check it.

Instagram: Michael Doyle has posted a new picture.

I follow him and keep track of his life. I have a plan. Just because I left Montesano doesn't mean I forgot everything. I'm never going to forget what he did. And I'm going to make sure he never does either. But I have to strike when the time is right. Precision is key when you want maximum damage.

When I get home, I message Dad and let him know that I'm safe and sound. He works the weekend night security shift at Renton Municipal airport. When I exit out of the message chain with him, José' name is still in the top five of my active chat windows. I don't have friends here so my texting game isn't exciting. I tap on his name and read the last message he sent me, I've memorized every word yet every time I read it, it feels like the first time.

My eyes well and my throat closes up. I curl into a ball in my bed and pray for a night filled with restful sleep that I know will not come.

José: I love you, Annie. You're always going to be my person but you know me, I'm not as strong as you are. With everything that's happened, I don't have it in me to wait a whole year till we get out of here. Years of suffocation and lying have consumed me. The pain is just too much and I'm not strong enough to fight the look in everyone's eyes now. It's a burden that I will not allow you to carry with me. It's for the best. Get out of this fucking town and conquer the world as you should. Maybe I'm better suited to be a hipster guardian angel or a sexy devil but I will always cheer you on from wherever I am. I love you, okay? Never forget that.


A/N: The next chapter will be longer but we can see that six months later, Ana's still in a haze of grief and anger. Thank you for reading.