Insidious.

Rachel's parents had her body cremated. They didn't even bother with having a formal service. I can't say that I really blame them though. All of her friends were just assholes not unlike myself who fucked her and left her hanging around like a loose fart in the wind.

I can't say that I'm very proud of myself. In fact, I feel like shit.

"Zachary..." Harlow whispered, running her fingers over the skin of my cheek.

I sighed and leaned into her, not knowing what else to do with myself.

"Would you hate me if I did something bad?" I asked.

Her eye brows raised and she turned my head so I was looking at her.

"Like what?"

I shrugged. Images of the night with Rachel flashed through my head. It wasn't all that long ago that she was with me. That I was touching her and she was touching me back. I hadn't realized it, but I was touching a corpse.

"Just... something bad. Like.. things that people shouldn't do."

Harlow sighed. "Yeah, I know what bad means, but like what?"

I closed my eyes. I didn't want to say anything out loud. "Like... stealing candy from a baby. Or leaving someone alone when they needed you most."

"That's not bad, Zachary. That's being human."

I wrapped my arms around her as best I could before leaning my head up and kissing the underside of her chin. "I think I love you Harlow."

She shook her head. "Don't say shit like that, Zachary."

"Why not? What if it's true?"

"She looked at me, long and hard. "But what if it's not?"

"Then it isn't true. But things always can't be true. Nothing can be the truth forever. Like some people are bad people, but they might not be bad people forever. People love each other sometimes more than others. The point is that at one time they loved each other."

Harlow ran her fingers through my hair. "What happened to you?"

I look at the empty bottles strewn across the room, and the baggie of white powder lying on the coffee table. I think about how at one point we'd be drinking and doing bumps before stumbling into Harlow's bedroom for a quick fuck. I wonder why things have changed and how they seemed to change so fast.

"What do you mean?"

Harlow plays with the hem of my T-shirt.

"You're different. Ever since Rachel died, you've been different."

I close my eyes and breathe in the scent of the room. It smells like cheap booze and cigarettes.

"She's dead, Harlow. That can change a person."

"But... your brother died too. That didn't seem to change you so much."

"Don't talk about my brother, Harlow."

"It's the truth, Zachary. You should talk about it at some point. It's been a over five years now, you have to talk about it with someone. If you love me so much, why can't you talk about it with me?"

I move away from her and lean against the opposite wall. I fold my arms and look down at her. She's so pretty. So, so, so, so pretty. It feels like such a waste sometimes; a waste of such a pretty face.

"Can we talk about something else?"

Harlow moves a little closer. "It's not your fault, what he did. He was just.... sad, I think," she said. "Some people are just sad, and they don't know how to handle it."

"I'd rather not talk about it."

"Zack...."

"Harlow, not now."

"Fine," she says. "Fuck it."

I watch her stand up and leave the room, slamming the front door on the way out.

I stare blankly at the wall in front of me, trying to figure out why nothing seems to make sense anymore. I don't understand what I did to deserve any of this. I pick up one of the half empty bottles lying on the floor.

The sound of shattering glass is a reminder that I am a live and she isn't.