✐ᝰ2 𝓦𝓮𝓮𝓴𝓼 𝓵𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓻જ⁀

☆ Ｏｃｔｏｂｅｒ ２３, ２０１３
⏱︎ ９:３７Ａ.Ｍ

It was a sunny Sunday morning. I woke up in my room at my mom's house, ready to start the day. However, as soon as I stepped out of my room, I sensed something was off. My mom ran down the hallway and stopped in front of me, face pale, and her eyes held a mix of worry and fear.

"Gemma, your dad just called," she said, her voice quivering a little. "It's Cameron. There was an accident. He...he didn't make it" I stared at my mom, feeling a wave of shock and confusion wash over me. "What do you mean?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. "What kind of accident?" My mom took a deep breath, her voice shaky. "A car accident," she answered, her eyes filling with tears. "Your dad didn't have many details, just that it happened yesterday night, and it was bad, and...and Cameron didn't make it." My mom's eyes welled up with tears as she spoke. "I know it's hard to believe, Gemma," she said softly. "But sometimes, tragedies like this happen, and life can be so unpredictable, I didn't know him but i'm sure he was a great person." I took a deep breath, my mind racing with worry.

"Is Bash okay?" I blurted out, my voice filled with concern. My mom's expression softened as she saw the worry in my eyes. "He's with his mom right now," she explained gently. "Your dad says he's taking it as well as can be expected. It's a tough time for everyone, especially Bash." I felt a mix of relief and sadness hearing that Bash was with his mom, but my heart ached for my friend's pain. "Can I go see him?" I asked hesitantly, hoping my mom would say yes. My mom sighed, her expression conflicted. "I know you want to be there for Bash," she began, her voice gentle. "But right now, he's with his mom who is taking care of him. It's important for them to grieve together, and the car ride is four hours."

I could feel the determination rising within me as I tried to convince my mom. "But mom," I started, my voice pleading, "Bash is my best friend. I need to be there for him." My mom's expression softened further, but she still held firm. "I understand how close you two are," she said gently, "but sometimes, the best thing you can do for a friend is give them space. Bash needs to be with his mom, they need each other right now." But for some reason I felt like Bash would have wanted me there...

⏱︎ ４:００ Ｐ.Ｍ

I sat in the car, the silence heavy with worry and sadness. My mom tried to lighten the mood with small talk, but it barely scratched the surface of my troubled thoughts. All I could think about was my best friend Bash, dealing with the loss of his dad.

The car ride seemed to stretch on forever, and my mind was constantly filled with questions. I wondered how Bash was coping, how he was handling the weight of his grief. I fidgeted nervously in my seat, my fingers drumming anxiously on the seat belt. "Mom," I finally asked, my voice hesitant, "do you think Bash will be okay?"

My mom glanced at me from the driver's seat, her expression a mix of sadness and reassurance. "It's hard to say, sweetheart," she answered honestly. "Everyone deals with grief differently. But Bash has his mom, and she's there for him. They'll get through this together." I nodded, knowing that my mom was right, but I couldn't shake off the feeling of helplessness. I missed Bash, I wanted to see him, to be there for him. But he was miles away, and I felt powerless to do anything. As the car continued its journey, I watched the scenery pass by, the thoughts in my mind growing heavier with each passing mile. I wondered how long this unbearable feeling would last, and if things would ever go back to normal.

I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the seat, exhaustion taking its toll. The weight of sadness and worry consumed me, and I couldn't shake off the feeling that life would never be the same again. The rest of the car ride was filled with silence, my mind trapped in worry and concern for my best friend. When we eventually arrived at my dad's house, I felt a mix of relief and dread. I knew I needed rest, but I doubted sleep would come easily with Bash's pain weighing on my mind.

  ༽𝓑𝓪𝓼𝓱 𝓟𝓞𝓥༼

☆ Ｏｃｔｏｂｅｒ ２２, ２０１３

I walked into the kitchen, my eyes feeling tired after a long day of basically just drawing. I went downstairs and opened the refrigerator, only to find it empty. I sighed, realizing there was no milk for hot chocolate, it was a comfort drink I often turned to after drawing for hours.

"Dad," I called out, walking towards the living room. "We're out of milk for hot chocolate." Dad looked up from the book he was reading, his expression a mix of tiredness and concern. "I was just about to go to the store to grab some," he replied, setting the book aside. "Give me a sec, and I'll head out." I nodded, silently cursing the empty carton of milk I had discovered. "Can I go with you?" I asked, hoping dad would agree.

My dad shook his head, his expression firm. "No, buddy, it's late," he said gently. "I can get the milk quickly, and you need to finish your homework, you have been holding it off for too long." I pouted, disappointment probably clear on my face. "But I wanted hot chocolate," I protested, my voice tinged with a hint of childish stubbornness. My dad chuckled softly, seeing the disappointment in my expression. "Don't worry, buddy," he reassured me.

"I'll be back in a flash, and we can have that hot cocoa then. Trust me, it'll taste even better after a short wait." I reluctantly shrugged, knowing I had to accept my dad's decision. "Fine," I mumbled, slumping into the couch. "Hurry back, though." My dad ruffled my hair affectionately. "I'll be back before you know it," he promised, grabbing his keys from the countertop.

"Be good while I'm gone, okay?" I nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of my lips despite my earlier pout. "Yeah, yeah, I know," I said, trying to sound nonchalant. "Hurry up and go already, old man." I hadn't realized what I said at first, but when I did my eyes widened, dad chuckled in response, a fond gleam in his eyes. "You got it, little buddy," he replied, heading towards the front door. "Just keep yourself out of trouble while I'm gone." I was relieved he didn't take offense to me calling him old.

I watched as my dad left the house, the door closing behind him with a soft click. I let out a sigh, resigning myself to the wait for my dad to return with the milk for the hot chocolate.

I nervously paced around the house, my thoughts consumed by the simple task of making hot chocolate. I glanced at the clock, realizing that my dad had been out longer than usual to get the milk. An uneasy feeling settled in my stomach, but I tried my best to shrug it off, telling myself that dad was probably stuck in traffic.

I tried to distract myself with a video game, trying to push away the nagging worry in the back of my mind. I tried to focus on the game, my fingers moving over the controller, but my mind kept drifting back to the growing sense of unease. My dad should have been back by now.

I glanced at the clock again, my stomach clenching with worry. "Come on, dad," I muttered under my breath. "Where are you?" The minutes ticked by, and with each passing minute, my anxiety grew. I tried to push the negative thoughts out of my mind, telling myself that everything was fine. Maybe there was just a long lineup at the store.

I continued waiting, my eyes glued to the door, hoping for it to open at any moment. But as time went on, the uneasy feeling in my gut only intensified. I felt a knot forming in my throat, my heart racing, as the minutes turned into an hour, then two. I started pacing again, my legs restless with worry. My mind filled with a mix of fear and confusion. Where was my dad? Why was he taking so long? I tried to convince myself that there must be a logical explanation, but a nagging voice inside me whispered that something was terribly wrong.

I checked the clock again and realized it had been over three hours since my dad had left. My mind was a whirlwind of different scenarios, each worse than the last. Suddenly, the doorbell rang, breaking the silence. My heart skipped a beat as I approached the door, my hands trembling. "Maybe it's him," I thought hopefully, but deep down, I knew something was amiss.

With a mixture of hope and trepidation, I opened the door. Standing on the doorstep, a familiar figure loomed before me. It was my mom, her face expressionless. I stared at her, my mind racing with a mix of surprise and suspicion. What was she doing here? "Mom...?" I mumbled, my voice barely above a whisper. "What are you doing here? And where's Dad?" My mom's eyes hardened, and she pushed past me into the house. "Your dad is gone," she stated coldly. "He won't be coming back."

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I felt the air leave my lungs. "What...what do you mean?" I stuttered, my mind struggling to process her words. "What are you talking about?" My mom turned to face me, her eyes icy and devoid of empathy. "Your dad is dead," she repeated with a chilling matter of fact tone.

"He got into a car accident, and he won't be coming back." The words echoed in my head, refusing to sink in. It felt like my world was crumbling around me. "No...that can't be true," I choked out, my voice trembling. "He can't be gone." My mom's expression remained stoic, her gaze unwavering. "I'm afraid it is, Bash," she replied, her voice cold and detached. "And it's all your fault."

I felt my world crumble around me as mom's words sunk in. The grief, the shock, the disbelief it all hit me at once, like a tidal wave of anguish. My knees buckled, and I collapsed to the floor, the weight of her accusation hitting me like a ton of bricks.

"M-my fault?" I managed to stutter out, my voice barely above a whisper. "H-how...how could it be my fault?" My mind was a storm of conflicting emotions. The pain and shock had barely begun to settle in, and now my own mother had thrown such an accusation my way. I sat on the floor, my body trembling, tears streaming down my face uncontrollably.

Anger, confusion, guilt, and sorrow were fighting for control of my emotions, creating a chaotic mix within me. "No...it can't be true..." I muttered, I could hear my voice shaking. "It can't be my fault." The weight of grief pressed down on me, making it hard to breathe. The news of dad's death was already a heavy blow, but now my own mom was blaming me for it. Anger flared up inside me, mixing with the already chaotic mix of feelings.

"Why...?" I managed to mutter, my voice hoarse. "Why would you say something like that?"

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

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