[TRIGGER/CONTENT WARNING] Scene of self harm. Reader discretion is advised.

Having to think about and talk about what Stacy had done to me (or rather, what I allowed her to do) made my stupid brain dig up the most horrible period of my life; the death of Stacy. My brain was up to its tried and true antics, making me relive the worst of things. How I didn't see it coming I don't know. But as I walked back to my room that night, exhausted from all my therapy, feeling physically sick, I was reduced to tears, lost within the confines of my memory.

My cell had rang that day. I was confused; it was really early on a school day. In fact, I had barely woken up. Frantically I looked for my phone in the blankets of my bed, fearful my dad wasn't awake yet and I'd get an ear full for my phone waking him up. I felt a bit fuzzy when I see Jake's name on the screen, but answer it anyway.

"Yo Jake, you butt dial me? It's early, you fuck; you're lucky I was up."

"This isn't Jake."

My heart skipped a beat. "O-Oh. Mrs. Larson. S-sorry about that."

"Are you sitting?"

Something felt wrong-really wrong. Not only was my best friend's mom calling me at six-thirty in the morning, but she was crying. Bracing myself, I sank onto my bed. "I am now."

"I have some horrible news."

I nearly was flung into a full-blown panic attack. "Is it Jake? What happened, is he alright?"

"It's not Jake," she said, and it broke my heart and made me panic even more when she started to cry harder. "I'm so sorry to tell you this, but Stacy died."

I literally stopped breathing for a few moments. Any panic I had was swiftly washed away with a profound and utter numbness. Dead? I certainly had heard her wrong.

"W-what?"

"Stacy passed away early this morning. I'm so sorry, Orion."

"H-how?" I managed to croak out.

There was a long pause, much longer than I would have liked. "We're not sure."

I literally couldn't speak. My brain was trying to process the fact that the mother of my unborn child was dead.

"Are you alright, Orion?"

"Y-yeah. I mean no. Er, I d'no?"

"I'm sorry," Mrs. Larson told me with a sniff, "that was a really stupid question. I didn't get much sleep last night. She was like another child to me; I can't think straight."

Dead? "It's okay. I-I understand."

"Jake asked me to tell you," she continued. "He's upstairs in tears. He couldn't bring himself to tell you."

I nod, which, looking back on it was stupid because it's not like Mrs. Larson could see me.

"He's taking some time off from school," the parent of my best friend said sadly, "A week or two. Probably two, they were so close. I mean, not that you two weren't close."

I nod.

"Orion, it-it's not really my place, but if you can, you should take some time off, too."

I start to bounce my leg up and down, and I gnaw on my thumb cuticle to the point where I broke skin immediately, ripping it off in my mouth and quietly spitting it out. Even though I'm bleeding, I go right back to chewing. I don't reply, the weight of everything starting to sink in slowly. Mrs. Larson doesn't say anything for a while, either.

"Orion; are you still there?"

"Yes Mrs. Larson," I reply as the first tears spring to my eyes and immediately streak down my face.

"Can I-can I do anything?"

I'm starting to cry a bit harder, and I shake my head. When I speak my voice sounds like I'm going through puberty again. "No, I don't-I don't think so."

"Oh sweetie, I am so sorry."

I can't do this. I can't be on the phone anymore or I'm going to have a complete mental breakdown. "J-just l-let me k-know about the arrangements, o-okay?"

"Of course, Orion."

I close my eyes. "T-thank you, Mrs. Larson."

"Orion..." She hesitates.

"Yeah?"

"If you need anything, anything at all, we're only a phone call away, got it? That includes if you want to come over at any point."

"G-got it."

An uncertain pause, and then, "I mean it, Orion."

"I-I know. Thank you."

And before she answers I have to get off the phone, so I hang up.

Stacy was dead. Stacy was dead? How? Why? I couldn't understand. I knew she had taken the abortion badly, but was it enough to give her a brain aneurysm or a heart attack? Did she have some undiagnosed condition they didn't know about? No, that didn't make sense; she was a perfect healthy teenager.

Well, she had been. Now she wasn't healthy at all, on account of her being dead.

I sat on my bed, holding my head, trying to get a handle on the situation. A grief I had never experienced was wracking my body. I had never lost anyone to death before. And I certainly hadn't lost anyone so intimately close with me.

Stacy was my rock. She made me forget all the shitty parts of my life. I felt like a normal kid for the first time ever when I was with my girlfriend. I wasn't a screw up. I was wanted. I was loved...

Now? Fuck if I knew what would happen now.

I stumbled toward my bedroom door, wrenching it open with an unintentional bang. Things were playing out normally, even though I felt like my world was falling away from me. My adopted mother was bustling around our small kitchen, getting coffee made, taking out cereal, milk, bowls, and spoons for breakfast. My adoptive dad was sitting at our tiny table, reading a newspaper. Neither looked at me.

For a while I just stood in our front room, watching. It felt so jarring. Everything in this little bubble that was our trailer was moving about smoothly, like every other day. But this wasn't every other day. This day was a nightmare.

"I'm not going to school today," I declared, getting their attention. My father looked immediately pissed. So before he could make any snide comments, I blurted out words I never wanted, nor expected, to say. "Stacy died."

My mom dropped the spoon she had been holding. The cruel expression on my father's face melted immediately, and he looked shocked. I caught my mother glance at my father. Sniffing, I wiped my nose on the long sleeve of my black pajama shirt. I didn't look at them. I couldn't look at them.

"Your girlfriend?" my mother asked, and my head whipped up. She had said it so softly, so caring. I couldn't remember the last time she spoke to me so kindly.

When I noticed she looked at me with tears in her eyes, I dropped my head down again. "Y-yeah."

I was peering at them through my fringe. My mother and father exchange a silent look. After a moment my father shrugged, giving a curt nod. My mother looked back towards me, and I cast my eyes down once more.

"Of course," my mother told me, voice quivering ever so slightly.

"T-thanks," I said. Then I turned on my heel and retreated back to my room.

I couldn't tell you how much time I spent in my room, curled up on my bed, crying. I felt like my world had just ended. The only good thing I had going for me was gone.

Stacy was my beacon for hope. She managed to make my life less abysmal. Even after that initial pregnancy scare back in the winter, she still wanted to be with me. We had come to a mutual agreement, that having sex carried a responsibility, and we vowed to each other to be more careful.

Then the unthinkable happened, and a condom broke. We decided she should get an abortion. Even though we had technically broken up after she got it, a part of me just always kind of assumed we'd eventually get back together.

Our relationship felt solid, real, something I could rest my head on. When everything felt overwhelming and fucked up, I had her to fall back on. Perhaps it was unhealthy for me to rely on her for my happiness so heavily, but she was my everything. She made me feel like everything was alright. She was the light of my life, and I would have done anything for her.

And now she was dead.

My constant variable, gone. My security blanket had been taken from me. Safety net, burned. What was I going to do with myself? Who would hold me together?

I didn't know, which just made me cry harder.

There was a soft knock on the door. I pretend to be asleep. I didn't want to talk to anyone. I didn't want to exist right then.

"Orion?"

It was my mother. At least it wasn't my father. Even so, I didn't want to face either of them.

"Can I come in?" When I don't answer, she says quietly, "Please?"

"Yeah," I grunt out, wiping off my face.

She came in and shut the door quietly, moving as though she expected some sort of trap to be laid out for her. Sitting on my bed, I was unintentionally sort of curled around her in the fetal position. I didn't bother to move, just stared off at nothing, willing my mother to leave.

I took note of how her sitting beside me hardly moved my bed at all. She was always a tiny woman, this little wisp of a thing that looked like she should be carrying rocks in her pockets at all times least she blow away in the wind. There was a point in my childhood where I worried over her tiny frame; it didn't seem healthy. Now I'd gladly throw her into a tornado and be done with it.

She turned to look over her shoulder at me. With some halting hesitation she reached out, moving the fringe away from my forehead so she could see me better. Involuntarily, I felt myself go stiff at her touch. Yet the way she was looking at me was so kind, so soft, so-motherly.

"Do you need to talk?" she asked me lightly.

"No."

She let a heartbeat pass. "I didn't ask if you wanted to talk, Orion, I asked if you needed to."

She was being so kind to me, and I hated her for it. I despised her in that moment because here she was, being the attentive mother I had always dreamed of, and it took the death of my first serious girlfriend to get here. Fuck her.

"No."

"Orion-"

I glared at her. My mother had paused again. The look of apprehension on her face was bordering terror. Her tongue darted out, licking her lips nervously. She had always been a twitchy woman, and I loathed it.

I think to both of our shock, she reached out and stroked my hair. I abruptly stopped crying. I abruptly stopped breathing. And as she continued to stroke my hair, she started to cry.

"Look, Orion. I know I haven't-haven't always been-haven't always, well, been there for you."

I surmised that was as close to an apology as I was going to get.

"And I know we're not close. But-if you need anything, anything at all-"

"Thanks," I replied shortly.

After holding her hand to my head for a few seconds, she stood and walked to the door.

"Mom?"

She looked at me. I sat up, rubbing my eyes. "I need a favor."

"What is it?" she said immediately, and the genuine generosity behind it admittedly surprised me.

"Er, Stacy's favorite color is yellow-was yellow," I corrected. "I-I wanna get a yellow suit for the wake. Um, d-do you think that you could c-come with, since my eyes are fucked?"

"Of course, Orion."

"I-I mean, only if we can afford it. I mean, if we c-can't swing it, I could t-throw some of my a-allowance at it-"

"Orion. You deserve a suit for your girlfriend's wake."

I nodded, fresh tears spilling onto my face.

"We'll make it work."

I nodded again. My mother opened the door, but instead of leaving she just...stood there. What felt like forever, we just locked eyes and stared each other down. I could tell she wanted to say something.

But she didn't.

And when the door shut, it was really the first time that I actively self-harmed. I rolled up my sleeves and just dug my nails in. I tried to focus on the physical pain, because it was a good distraction from my hurricane of emotions. I felt like I was going to burst.

It worked for awhile, but once I got used to it I started scratching myself. I scratched and scratched, long angry marks raking down my pale forearms. When it started to feel uncomfortable, a stinging abrasion, I started to claw harder until I drew blood. Then once I saw blood, I couldn't stop.

I wanted to bleed. Bleeding gave me a sharp pain, not the annoying itching of the marks I had originally given myself. It hurt, it hurt so badly as I scratched again and again at my open wounds. So I focused on that pain as I started to sob, and I didn't stop scratching until my fingernails were red with my blood, droplets rolling down my arms.

Eventually I couldn't take it any longer. I stopped and laid back down, holding my arms in front of me because they hurt so badly. It was only when the pain became a soft, throbbing ache did I drift off into a dreamless slumber, one I wished to never awake from.