I'm not going to say goodbye. I refuse it.

I refuse it when I see his body in the hospital. His once so alive form straight and still. If I didn't no any better, I'd say he was asleep; but I do know better. Normally, he would sleep with one arm lazily covering his beautiful face, but it was clearly seen now.

I refuse it at home when my mom informs me of Jack's mom's phone call earlier that night. She comes into my dark room and tries to turn on a light that had long been unplugged. She tells me that I was wanted to think of the writing for Jack's headstone.

I refuse it on the way to the funeral. I'm wearing a flowing black dress to hide my baby bump. I didn't do my hair because I felt no point in looking pretty on such a horrible day.

I refuse it staring down at his body before the funeral starts. He's laying in a half open coffin inside the dusty funeral home. His black suit is pressed and fits his body well, but not his personality. He should be wearing his skater gear in bright colors.

I refuse it even after his body is no longer in sight. Lowered in the ground and covered in a thick layer of dirt, I still can't believe he's gone.

I'm the only one standing at his grave now. Everyone had gone inside the funeral home again to have snacks and wine delicately prepared for everyone after Jack had been buried.

Drew had actually shown up. The court decided that she was required to attend the funeral of the person she killed. Sitting awkwardly off to the side, away from everyone else, sat a guilty Drew in orange and two men holding a set of chains leading to her shackles. She tried to tell me she was sorry and that she hadn't meant to kill anyone. She hadn't believed the poison she had gotten could actually kill anyone.

Back at the restaurant, investigators found the instructions and warnings in the kitchen trash. Apparently, the poison wasn't made to kill. It was like a sort of chloroform, but excessive amounts of it could cause death. Drew hadn't bothered to read that warning before pouring all of the solution into Jack's coke. My coke. It was supposed to have been me that died. Me supposed to be buried under this dirt. Me in that coffin to never come up again.

Wiping my eyes, I stand there a little while longer. I've read before that people say talking to a grave of a loved one makes them feel better. They can let out anger they hold against someone who won't get angry back. They can ask questions that have been on their minds even if they won't receive any answers. They can let out all the tears they've been holding with no one around to judge or give pity.

I don't say anything. Walking back inside the funeral home, I wish I would've.

Forgive me for the nearly year and a half gap between the last chapter and this one. I wrote the next chapter now while I was in the mood to write. I'll post it next week. I'm a terrible person.