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Ted sighed, nodding his bangs out of his face once again. Despite the San Dimas sun, it was only lukewarm, and both he and his most esteemed colleague wore light coats. He lent half an ear to his friend, rambling on about something he’d watched on MTV. It was nice like this, just walking, listening to the comfortable white noise his voice offered. He would admit sometimes he let his voice tune out a little too far, the words melting into static in his ears. He was counting the lines in the sidewalk, when something cut through the fuzz, clear as day. “Hey, dude, do you think it’s your fault?”. He blinked, looking at Bill. “What?” he asked, tilting his head. Bill looked at him expectantly. “Y’know, like, do you blame yourself.” he asked, keeping the gentle, casual smile on his face as if what he was asking wasn’t completely nonsensical. “What’re you talkin’ about, man?” Ted asked, raising an eyebrow. Bill shrugged. “Nevermind.” he shook his head and looked away, and started talking about the song they’d been attempting to write. Ted couldn’t focus on his words anymore though. His ears started faintly, faintly ringing. He felt like- he was forgetting something. He felt Bill take his hand, trying to get his attention. His hand felt- weirdly cold, like he’d just been holding a chilled soda. “You listening?” he asked, gently. “Huh?” Ted didn’t look up from the sidewalk. Their walking came to a pause. His ears kept ringing. It seemed to get louder. “I don’t think you should blame yourself, Ted. Y’know I wouldn’t like that.” Ted looked back at his friend, getting a sickly nervous feeling at that. “What’re you- woah, dude- what-” he sputtered, pulling his fingers loose from Bill’s cold ones to hold his face. It was equally as cold, but what made him so startled was the blood easily dripping from just below his hairline. Bill seemed unbothered. The ringing in Ted’s ears just got louder. It was getting hard to think. “I was the one who said we should drive. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Bill continued, Ted wincing at the noise. “God- c’mon, dude, this isn’t cool- what’re you talking about, what happened to you?” he huffed, looking for a way to stop the bleeding. It coated his fingers by now. It felt like there was cotton in his throat. His chest was being squeezed. He couldn’t breathe, why couldn’t he breathe? “Dude.” Bill stopped him. “The accident?”
Ted felt cold. It made sense now. What he was forgetting. But he didn’t want it to. He wanted to stay like this, why can’t he just stay like this? “No.” He said, softly, taking in a sharp breath. It hurt. “No, Bill, C’mon, this isn’t funny.” Bill sighed. The side of his white shirt was damp, sticky with blood, his blood, darkening to a dangerous red that would never come out if washed. “You gotta wake up, man.” he muttered, squeezing his arm. Cold. “no, no-” Ted wheezed. Why does it hurt? The ringing was deafening. “Why can’t I-” he reached out for his friend, quickly having to sit down. He grabbed at his shirt, struggling to take in air. Bill looked at him dully, still seeming not to mind his damp clothes. The blood on his face was starting to get in his eye. “Wake up.” he said, again. “Bill-” he grabbed at him, the edges of his vision petering out.
“Bill- Bill-” Ted gasped, sitting up in a cold sweat. The dull pain in his chest grew sharp with every deep, gasping breath. Right. His ribs. He yelped at the pain, balling his shirt up in his hand and pulling, trying to muscle through it as he forced his breaths to slow down. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8, 1 2 3 4, 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8… he repeated in his head, in the cool voice of the ER nurse. Breathing exercises. For his broken ribs. They were mostly healed, but mostly healed doesn’t mean fully healed. He remembered now. Smashed glass. Screeching tires. The horn, the deafening horn-
34 days. One month and 3 days. He looked at the other bed. Empty. Unmade. He hadn’t bothered to make it. It’d stayed completely untouched since the day they’d left.
30 days. Exactly a month ago today was the day he’d picked up the phone in place of Mr. Preston and heard the worst words he’d heard in his life.
28 days. It’d been less than a month since he’d gone to the third funeral he’d ever been to.
His stomach twisted with nausea. He fell back onto the bed, a serious weight falling onto his chest, threatening to crush him beneath it. Bill’s name slipped from his lips into the dark, barely above a whisper now. He felt the tears coming again. His throat burned, tired of the days and days of yelling. He felt the sick little lurch with his head’s reminder that he suggested they go out instead of staying in. 'its a great night, dude, don't you wanna see somethin'? ill buy.' his memory helpfully offered. It didn’t matter who offered to drive. They wouldn’t’ve been out if he hadn’t spoke. Ted took in a shaky breath. Ow. The sobs hurt worse than the breathing. “Why me? ” he mumbled, at a volume only a bit above before. He felt the tears start to fall, but trying to stop it now wasn't going to work. He'd gotten used to that.
Before, he’d pretended not to know which shirts were his, and which were Bill’s. They’d mixed their laundry at some point to save room in the dresser, and only their respective favorites remained exclusive to them. He’d stopped pretending now. He knew acutely which weren’t his. Bill's white crop tops, of which he had three, all faintly different. A pale blue short sleeve. A grey sweater his dad bought him for a birthday. He knew the shirt he was wearing was one of them. A purple one, with faded stripes. He’d fished it out of the back of the drawer on purpose last time he’d gotten dressed. Whenever that was. The window was open, letting the chilly night air in. the curtains fluttered in the air. The will to get up and shut it had left him, though. Mr. Preston called for the 3rd time this week yesterday. He left a well meaning message. Of course he didn’t pick up. He hadn’t picked up a phone since that afternoon at the Preston’s house.
What was the point? Why did it matter? If he was alone, alone- What-
“What time is it?” Bill asked, looking up from clumsily folding his pants and haphazardly tossing them in the drawer. Ted blinked in response. “Uh…” he mumbled, shoving his sleeve up to check his watch. “Seven.” he nodded, looking up, just to see an expectant stare looking back. “Seven...what, like forty, or twenty-five…??” Bill pressed. “Oh! Uhh- Seven twenty-eight, dude.” Ted looked and corrected his time. “Aw man, then the sandwich place is closed.” Bill sighed in visible disappointment. “We can still go do somethin’ dude.” Ted said, worried Bill may back out. “Like what?” the latter asked, turning fully to face him. “Well...I dunno.” Ted admitted, shrugging. Bill shook his head. “I think we should just stick here tonight.” he huffed, going to grab another pair of jeans from the laundry basket. Ted stood up, and shook his head, detangling his hair with a hand. “Nah, c’mon, it's a great night, dude, don't you wanna see somethin'? I’ll buy.” he added, to sweeten the deal. His friend looked back at him, thoughtfully, and shrugged, nodding. “Well okay! I’ll drive.” he smiled, and went to grab the keys from the kitchen.
Ted smiled, the rushing air from the open window fluttering his hair. It got in his face, but he didn’t mind. The radio in the van was dodgy at times, and crackled when going over bumps. Neither of them bothered to fix it. Babes didn’t use their car often, so they didn’t exactly have to show off. Bill reached over from the wheel and turned the volume up, raising his voice to still be heard over it. “So what were you thinking of seeing?” he asked, glancing at his taller compatriot. Ted tilted his head in thought. “Huh, I uh- hadn’t thought about it. Any ideas? I truly just didn’t feel like staying in all night.” he admitted. Bill shrugged. “Guess we’ll figure it out there, yeah? I mean- we could also just hang around the arcade if there's nothing good on.” he planned, out loud. The other nodded. “Ah, bogus, the main way’s closed.” Bill muttered, being forced to drive past the closed road by the orange cones and signage. “That’s cool, we can just take the back way.” Ted offered. Bill groaned. “Man, I hate the back way. It's got that blind corner…” he complained, but turned to head that way anyway. The sun was finally starting to set in earnest, the sky getting painted a gorgeous orange and pink. Bill nodded out the window at it. “Check out the excellent sunset, Ted.” Ted sat up more at that, looking with a bigger smile. “Yeah…” he sighed. “Do you think the theatre finally got the pinball machines fixed?” he then asked, with sudden thought. If so, he wasn’t so sure he wanted to see a movie anymore. “Woah, huh. Maybe. If so, I call dibs on the- oh- ”
He didn’t get to finish. He slammed on the brakes a moment too late, after swerving to miss the truck. The semi driver, seeming to be equally as startled, only managed to honk when the vehicles were moments from colliding. It didn’t make much of a difference.
When Ted opened his eyes again, there was a blinding pain in his chest. His ears were ringing, faintly. Why was everything so quiet? The world sounded underwater. He let out a sharp whine of pain as he tried to move, to blink, to breathe. “Bill?” he wheezed out. He couldn't hear himself well. He felt slow, confused. Where-? His stomach and chest felt heavy. He was finally starting to register what he could see, which wasn’t much without the immediate ability to turn his head. The side of the 18 wheeler was all he could see out the windshield. Well, what was left of the windshield. Smoke billowed from under both what was visible of the hood, and out of sight, under the truck. He could barely see the other body in his peripheral, and felt a murky sense of fear with the sense that he didn’t seem to be moving. He coughed. “Bill…?” he muttered again, barely able to manage above a whisper. “Bill-’ he cut himself off with a cough- ‘Are you okay?” he stressed, struggling to raise his voice. The effort made his vision swim. The sounds were starting to fade back in, slowly. There was a clicking, somewhere. The crackly radio was buzzing, but interspersed within were the lyrics to the song playing.
‘The curtains are closed, the cats in the cradle; Who would've thought that a boy like me could come to this; Oh I, I just died in your arms tonight; It must've been something you said…’
He blacked out shortly after.
The rest of the night and the day after was blurry. He didn’t know if he was awake or not. It seemed like every time he opened his eyes it was a different time, a different place. He felt so wrong- “Stay as still as you can, we’re here to help-” was what fished him out of unconsciousness the next moment. He opened his eyes, but was greeted by just light. It hurt. He gasped, and subsequently yelped, shifting just a little. He was moving, which took him several seconds to realize. He made a small mutter, but couldn't sort out the words. “You’re in the hospital, everything’s alright. Just don't move, alright?” the face of the woman speaking to him was too blurry to make out, especially with the halo of the fluorescent lights above her head darkening her features. “Bill...where's…?” he got out, trying to turn his head, to look around him. He could hear other voices, but they sounded like they were underwater. His vision blurred more than a few inches from his face, but he could see another form just a few feet from him. He could see red smudged where his face should be, deep red blotches that crept up his side. He weakly shifted his arm to try to reach for him. “Bill..” he couldn't get out more than a whisper before gasping. “Your friend is in good hands, right now I need you to look at me. What's your name, honey?” Ted had to fish around in his muddy head for a moment before he could provide an answer. “Th...eodore. L...ogan.” he muttered. She repeated it back to him, and faintly, in the back of his head, he wondered how she heard him better then he heard himself. Everything was so fuzzy. A high pitched whine crept over all the sounds, and unconsciousness claimed him again shortly after.
“Would you like some...Tea, Theodore?” his friend’s dad’s voice got him out of his head. “Uh...no thanks.” was about all he could get out before his chest felt like it was caving in again. The man just nodded and left the room again. He was lying on the couch, as he had been just about all day. The doctor ordered that he didn’t move much, and let his ribs heal. The energy in the home was...tense.
...Bill had been in a medically induced coma for 3 days. He was staying at the house because he wanted to be the first to talk to him when they woke him up, and they said if they weren’t there, they’d call their house. He knew that was a little selfish, but he couldn’t help it. Besides, his parents were stressed enough as it was having to go back and forth visiting him. He couldn’t go, but- trusted it wouldn’t be long. The doctors kept saying they had hope, that’s- good, right? He shook his head to clear it, rejecting sleep. He felt so tired...but had to resist the urge to suddenly sit up when he heard the phone. The phone. It had to be them. He quickly looked over his shoulder at the doorway, Mr. Preston still not being there. Should he answer? He couldn't just let it ring, but...he couldn’t help but have a sick feeling. As he slowly stood, and crossed the room, he felt like he was floating. His stomach was cold. Click. “Hello?” he asked, softly, trying not to breathe too hard. “Is this Ian Preston?” the soft voice asked on the other side. He coughed. “No, but- he’s here- is this about Bill?” he asked, ignoring the rising pain in his chest. “William?” she asked, gently. He felt a deep knot tie in his stomach. “Yeah...I'm- I'm his best friend, Te-...Theodore." he corrected himself. "I was- the other one in the car? You guys let me go?” he heard her sigh. “Theodore Logan. Yes. sweetheart, are you sitting down?” his throat felt cold at that. “...why?” he muttered, coughing again. She sighed once more, before speaking very clearly, but gently. “Sweetheart, your friend...didn’t make it.”
And then everything was over.
Ted wanted to ask ‘what?’, but no words would come out. He couldn’t even manage a gasp. “Honey?” the nurse’s voice prodded, making sure he was still there. It could be argued he wasn’t. “I’m deeply sorry for your loss.” she continued, when his choked surprise melted into a sharp, ragged breath he didn’t consciously take. “Can you please give the phone to- sir? Theodore?” the handset hit the floor with a clatter that was sharply audible through the receiver as it slipped from the teen’s hand. He shook, mind already clouding with denial. No, she must’ve been wrong. She couldn’t mean- not his Bill. He wouldn’t leave him. They still had so much to do. They had a plan. She couldn’t mean- “Ted-” he faintly heard his name as vaguely familiar hands gripped him under his arms as his knees gave out, saving him from completely hitting the floor full force. He hadn’t even realized Mr. Preston was there. “No, no, no, no, not him-” he mumbled, unsure when he’d started shaking so hard. “No, no, no, no-” he couldn't control his volume. It didn’t matter how much it hurt. Each breath felt like he was being crushed, each sob sending shooting pain through his chest. He jerked in the older man’s faltering grip. If he was speaking to him, he couldn’t tell. It was static. He didn’t know if he was screaming or just crying. Nothing felt real. It was all over.
Everything was over.
Most of the adults looked almost surprised to see him there. Some gave him side eyes. A few ignored him entirely. The dull pain with every single breath reminded him he wasn’t dreaming. This was real. He looked up, realizing he’d spaced out again. That had been happening a lot lately. Missy was talking. Right. Ted looked around, slowly, at the people around him. Some, just a few, were so involved with crying, it was audible even over Missy’s voice, amplified by the microphone. Oddly enough, he wasn’t crying at all. Maybe that was why they looked at him so weird. Or maybe it was that he had opted not to say anything. Or maybe it was his outfit. However clumsy, and oversized, suits weren’t really his vibe. It bothered him a little. What did they think of him? Why couldn’t he cry like these people? Was there something wrong with him? He swallowed, hard. Count. Breathe. Breathe . 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8. 1 2 3 4. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8. He still couldn't make full breaths. He closed his eyes, just trying to count. Ignore his surroundings. It felt like swimming in syrup.
“Ted?” he was startled to attention by a gentle voice, and a hand on his shoulder. Missy? “...you alright?” she asked, tilting her head. People had stood up and started talking in a hush about the large room. How long had he just sat there like that? “What?” he asked, softly, letting out a cough. She sighed, giving him a gentle look of- genuine sympathy. “Let’s get you some water, yeah?” she patted his shoulder, before standing up and offering a hand. He just kinda stared for a moment, before grabbing it, trying to keep his hand from shaking.
She’d taken him from the crowd, and let him drink two disposable paper cups of water before she spoke again. “I asked if you were okay.” Ted looked up, pausing. “...no.” he admitted, and looked back down. Missy nodded a little. “...honey, I know how hard this must be for you.” she gently patted his shoulder. “I just want to let you know there’s- absolutely nothing you could’ve done. These things just happen sometimes.” she continued, softly. He didn’t respond. She pressed something into his hand. When he looked, it was a flower stem. A rose, he realized. Red. “I know you haven’t been in there yet.” she continued, softly. He looked up at the open door down the hall. A much smaller, separate room. He knew what was in there. He’d kept his distance on purpose. “...I can't.” he muttered. Missy shook her head. “You don't have to stay long. Just… to say goodbye, you know?” she said, softly, closing his fingers around the stem. A stray, missed thorn pricked his palm. “I’ll come with you.” she assured, standing up and pulling him to his feet. Ted just followed her, dragging his heels, as she gently led him down the hall, threading between adults he hardly even knew. Crying. How strange, The thought crossed his mind, that he didn't have to know them as people to know exactly how they felt in that moment. It was the same as him. They were equal, for what would likely be the first and last time.
He paused at the door.
“Honey?” Missy asked, looking back at him. She hadn’t released his hand. Ted closed his eyes. He took a slow breath, ignoring the pain building the deeper he breathed. Then he stepped in, gently pushing her aside. After a long moment, he opened his eyes again, and took in the room. It was small, and quiet. There was a small bench against one wall, probably for praying or something. There were small tables, or nightstands, he supposed, in three of the four corners, each with a vase of white lilies in it. The walls were pale yellow. The carpet, a dull, speckled brown. He finally forced himself to move his eyes up from the floor, and to the dark, open casket against the side wall. He swallowed. The inside fabric was baby blue. Plush, and velvet. Ted couldn’t help but let his eyes be drawn to his face.
Bill had never looked so nicely dressed. Not even at his dad’s and Missy’s wedding. His blonde curls were nice and clean, out of his face. The outfit he was in was a crisp, navy blue suit, with a white tie. There was a small pile of crimson roses set over his folded hands. The braided purple and black bracelet that was always around his left wrist was the only part of his outfit that looked normal. He was somewhat pale. His eyes were closed. He wasn’t sleeping. He was dead.
He was dead and Ted knew it full well. He took exactly three steps into the room. Once he opened his eyes, he couldn't move. His feet felt stuck to the floor, even as his knees turned to rubber. He wanted to look away. Close his eyes, leave, anything, but- he just...couldn’t. He couldn’t move. A high pitched whine got louder and louder in his ears. Move, move- he had to get out, why couldn’t he- it took a few steps for him to realize he had started to run. The ringing in his ears was deafening, each step sending a shockwave of sharp pain through his ribs. He tried not to hit anyone standing in the hall, though it was hard to even register their stares as he ran past. He raked in breaths, the searing pain feeling like someone was sitting right on his lungs, getting harder and harder to breathe, but he couldn't stop his feet. It felt like he was floating. He shoved open the doors of the funeral home, hardly noticing the dull pain that bloomed in his arm when he all but fell into the crash bar. The fresh air and sun hit him like a wave, nearly making him stumble. He turned around the corner of the building before the crushing pain in his chest finally grew to be too much and he fell against the brick wall. He wheezed, fighting the opposing forces of his body’s need for oxygen, and the pain of breathing. He grasped at his shirt, only now noticing the lump in his throat. Ah. now he could cry. Of course. Now that he was alone. His other hand still held the red rose, he realized. This recognition only came after he squeezed it tightly, and felt the sharp prick of the thorn dig into his palm. Warmth. Great. And now he was bleeding. He felt the tears start slipping down his face. He felt so hot, his wheezing breaths starting to be punctuated with sharp, pained sobs. It was too much. All too much. The only grounding he had was gone. It felt like everything was over. Bill was dead and he took him with him. He felt dead. Why was he here without him? “Fucking someone tell me what i'm here for, fuck, please!” he yelled, without really meaning to. The volume hurt his throat. “Please?” he let out in a sob, after a moment of silence. “I don't want to be alone. Please don't leave me here by myself.” he spoke aloud, taking in a shaky breath. It wasn’t fair.
Why was he here if he had to be alone?