I don’t want to talk to anyone.

I don’t want to be around anyone.

I want everyone to stop reminding me that Trey is gone. Maybe if people stop talking about it, that’ll mean it was a really big mistake. While part of me wants to believe that fantasy, I know Trey’s never coming back.

My gaze turns toward my new blue dress still on the hanger with the price tags dangling from it. Last year we doubled with Cassidy and Vic for homecoming. With a lot of convincing, we even got Vic to get on the dance floor. We were all having a great time until Cassidy got drunk and puked all over Vic’s car. Wherever Vic was, Trey was never far behind. Wherever Trey was, Vic was never far behind.

We all shared crazy times together.

Now they’re just memories.

My mom, who’s been checking in on me every couple of hours, peeks her head inside my room. “How are you holding up, sweetie?” she asks.

I’m lying in my bed, staring out my window at nothing. My eyes are open, but my mind is a big mess. “I don’t know.”

“Do you want to talk?”

“No.” Talking about it makes it more real. I don’t want to deal with reality right now. I don’t even know if I should tell people we broke up. I feel like that would taint his memory.

“Would you want to talk to a professional?”

My heart starts to race. I remember the time Victor told me that the social worker at school called him into her office and tried to get him to talk about why he seemed so angry all the time. When he refused, she called him into her office four more times before she gave up.

“No. Please don’t make me do that, Mom.”

“Okay. I don’t want to push you or stress you out. Just let me know if you change your mind.” She walks into the room and stands at the foot of my bed. Her dark brown eyes and long, straight black hair is in stark contrast to my own green eyes and crazy curls, both of which I inherited from my dad’s side of the family. “You should come downstairs and eat something, Monika. It’s not good for your body to go without food, especially in your condition. You need to get out of that bed at some point and move before you get too stiff.”

“I know. I promise I’ll come down when I’m ready.” My knees are already feeling like they forgot how to bend, but I don’t care. The aches and pains my body is giving me pale in comparison to how bad I feel emotionally.

“It’ll get easier in time,” Mom tells me in a soft, calm voice.

When she leaves my room, I panic at the thought of her or my father asking me too many questions, questions I don’t want to answer. The problem is that nobody knows what happened between Trey and me these past few weeks. He made me promise to keep his secret about the pills to the grave. Proving that I’m loyal to him means lying to everyone else.

Trey said he needed the pills. I guess a small part of me sympathized with him, because of the pills I take when my body starts to ache so bad and I need some relief. I sit up and my bones protest, reminding me that I didn’t take my meds this morning.

Ugh. I hate feeling so powerless over my body, Trey’s death, and the fact that Victor doesn’t want to have any contact with anyone. I don’t know if I can get through this without him. As I walk into my bathroom and open my medicine bottle, new tears start invading my eyes. They won’t stop.

I feel like I’m free-falling into a bottomless, dark hole.

*

Two days later is Trey’s funeral. I got a call from Mrs. Matthews asking me to sit with the family and I can’t say no, even though there’s a part of me that wants to tell them we broke up. I’d like to stay in the back and mourn on my own. Nobody knows how I’m feeling.

Mrs. Matthews, with eyes all puffy and bloodshot, hugs me when I walk in their apartment. She looks as miserable as I feel.

“Monika, we’d like you to go in Trey’s room and take whatever you want,” she says in a small, weak voice. “There are a lot of pictures of the two of you on his corkboard. We want you to take them and keep them. Anything you want, honey, is yours.”

“You sure?” I ask tentatively.

“Of course. Trey loved you.”

Just hearing those words makes me feel sick. Tears well in my eyes.

I’ve been in Trey’s room more times than I can count. We had such good times together. But as I walk down the hallway to his room, a deep sadness washes over me.

I stand in front of his door, staring at the worn wood grain.

Grasping the doorknob, I walk inside. Familiarity assails me as I step into Trey’s peaceful, quiet world.