Chapter Two

Thomas was sat on the sofa in Annabelle's bedroom, he had given up on the buffet downstairs; the food was tasteless in his mouth and made him gag. 

He had realised from the moment he stepped into her house that it was a mistake to attend the wake.

It hurt to look through the doorway and not see Annebelle grinning up at him, her dimples deepening as her smile widened. It hurt to walk up the stairs and not see the curls on the back of Annabelle's head bob up and down as she skipped up them. And it hurt to sit in her bedroom... alone. 

It was just the way he remembered it. Well of course it is! You were at her house the other week! A snide voice in his head quipped. He nodded in agreement with it, staring blindly at her bookshelf.

The room felt cold and empty. It was comforting and eerie at the same time. Her room said a teenage girl still lived there; the school uniform screwed up on the floor, the half-read book beside her pillow, the bottle of water which sat on her desk. All of these things showed signs of life, but upon closer inspection, you could tell that the girl no longer lived here. The uniform was wrinkled and left unmoved for days, the book had begun to collect dust atop the front cover and the bottle of water had droplets of condensation around the lid. 

Little things like this made it even harder for Thomas to accept her passing. 

He pulled his knees up to his chin, and rested it on top of them. His throat tightened and he scrunched his face up to prevent another bout of sobs. 

'I don't know what to do,' he choked, 'why have you gone?' 

After the breathy words passed through his lips, Thomas knew it would be impossible to stop the tears once they started to fall. So he let them come. He let the pain wash over him as he curled up on top of her draping blanket. Breathing in heavily, he welcomed the vanilla scent and closed his eyes.

Like this, with his eyes shut, it was so easy to pretend she was sat on her bed opposite him; her fingers attacking the control pad on her PSP. But when he opened his eyes, all he saw through the tears was an empty, unmade bed. 

Thomas sat up, and wiped his face slowly before he wandered over to her bookshelf which was as cluttered and unorganised as the rest of the room. Her messy room had always bugged Thomas for some reason, despite the fact his was just as untidy. A small, sad smile played on his lips as he traced his fingertips over the games and books on the shelves. 

Sitting down on her bed, he ran a shaky hand through his fringe and inhaled deeply, calming himself. 

It was time to let her go. 


The End

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