Her funeral was a awful thing for me. It did not take place in a stuffy church, instead, it was taken place in the local graveyard down the street. Uncomfortable church pews were replaced with uncomfortable medal chairs, instead of a piano in the corner, there was a field of gray and white headstones.

I wondered if anyone missed those dead people.

I sat in a cold medal chair, hardly taking notice of the people around me. Their silent crying and dark clothes were only a reminder of what I did. No one sat next to me, I guess they heard the reports on the news too. It was a silent blow to my ego, even though I heard the reports too. The news was true.

Her death was my fault.

Tears fell from my eyes, even though I bit my lip to try and stop them. People cast me dirty looks, as though I had no right to mourn her death. As though I didn’t love her, as though I didn’t miss her.

I did love miss her.

She sat next to me, her blonde hair in a messy ponytail. I longed to say her name, and hug her. But I knew that her image was only in my head, God might have been playing some awful trick on me. She turned silghtly to me, clicking her lightening bolt lip piercing against her teeth. I raised my eyebrow to her, and waited for her to yell at me.

“Who died?” She asked, gesturing around her with one slim hand.

I didn’t answer, if I did, the tears that I held back since her death would fall.

“Who died?” She repeated, looking annoyed.

She had to know, she had to know that the body in the coffin was hers. Maybe she didn’t remember her own death, or maybe all she remembered that it was my fault. I could have stopped her, I could someone that she was going to do it but no I-

“Who. Died?” she asked, punching my shoulder.

The pain seemed real enough. I had to tell her either way. I loved her to much to say no forever.

“You.”