Disclaimer- I do not own the Clique or any brands mentioned.
(A/N) This takes place right where the last chapter left off.
Conscious in mind, not in body…
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You stand by the doorway, hearing ragged breathing, mixed in with sharp inhales. Could it be that the once star soccer goalie was just out of breath from…exercising? Unaware of how long you waited behind the door- five minutes, fifteen minutes, thirty minutes?- until his breathing slowed to a calmer pace, you slowly turn the gold doorknob and enter the room, forgetting why you were here in the first place.
Stepping towards his bedside, you see him curled up on his side, his face pale, yet streaked with red and sweat. You study the face in terror, but unexpectedly his eyes flew open- red rimmed and bloodshot. He spoke nothing and simply stares at you in sheer horror; as if you were the one whole just had the anxiety attack. Pointing at a bottle of pills on his sliver, metal desk, urges you to give them to him. Hesitantly, you reach for it and pass it into his quaking hands. There was no label- only a smooth white bottle. Shakily, he takes two pills, shoving them into his mouth.
"Medicine?" You mutter, looking away.
"I'm still seventeen- No Prozac."
You stare at the white bottle.
"Tylenol." He concludes for you.
"Why?" You whisper.
His head snaps up. "It doesn't, and will never matter to you." He insists forcefully.
You take a step back and rush out the door, not needing, nor wanting any further explanation. You insist he must have been going through treatment, so you kept quiet.
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Time followed, eight months to be exact, and only you silently watched your friend dig a deeper hole. Except for Massie, his girlfriend, she must have picked up on it.
Maybe she knew?
Yes, Massie Block knew, of course she knew. Of course she knew you inadvertently killed your best friend.
And acid flowed from your eyes, burning your cheeks.