I Didn't Mean To Kill My Sister.

I didn’t mean to kill my sister.
We were drunk. We were all drunk.
It was a party. Anybody who was anybody was there.
My friends were there.
Her friends weren’t.
There were no parents.
There were no adults.
The hot tub, the lake, and the bar were the main attractions.
And the boys.
Some girl threw the party. It had been advertised for weeks.
Invitations were sent out early, but they didn’t matter.
If people wanted to come, they would come.
Nobody was stopping them.
It was better with more people.
“Bring your own booze.”
That was the slogan. That was the line that was sent around the school.
Of course none of us are at the legal age to drink.
But that’s the fun part.
Sneaking out. Telling your parents that your going to a friend’s house.
A sleepover.
Not a party.
Not a murder scene.
Not my sister’s death.
The party was inside, until it got dark.
That’s when we all went to the lake.
I’m surprised the cops weren’t called. There were so many people.
We were so loud.
But then again, we were in the middle of nowhere.
The whole school had to be here. There wasn’t a single face I didn’t see.
The lake was tiny, compared to others.
But it didn’t matter. There was a dock. There was water. There was booze.
And there were people.
Teenagers.
Exams are over.
School’s done.
Summer begins.
What better way to kick off summer than to have a kick ass party?
Some had swimsuits. Others jumped in in their clothes.
I was one of them.
But I didn’t jump. I was pushed.
It was loud. So many people laughing. Talking. Screaming.
The music was blaring. It was shaking the ground. Sending waves through the water.
We were splashing. Pushing people into the water.
Pool noodles were tossed in at some point.
There were rafts that kept being tipped.
People were passing out on the ground. Puking. Running for a bathroom.
Or a bedroom.
It was the best party I’ve ever been to.
It was the worst party I’ve ever been to.
The sun was way too bright.
Way too early.
Beer bottles were scattered on the ground.
Cans filled the lake.
Garbage was everywhere.
People were sleeping on the ground.
Some were on the floor.
There were a few still floating on a raft in the lake.
I woke up next to a boy.
Naked.
“Shit. What happened last night?”
That was the most asked question.
That’s all I heard as I walked around.
Clothes were lost.
Clothes were found.
But that’s not what I was looking for.
I was looking for her.
She wasn’t even supposed to come.
She just turned thirteen.
She shouldn’t have been here.
She’s too young.
The pounding in my head went on for hours.
Few people stayed around to clean up.
Most were still passed out on the floors.
Or at home downing aspirin and attempting to sleep it off.
But not me.
That’s all I wanted to do, though.
I wanted to fall down, sleep. Try and make sense of last night.
It was all tiny blurs.
I remember the lake.
Getting pushed in.
I remember the bar.
I think I visited it one to many times.
I remember the bathroom visits, and how disgusting the floor was.
I remember the boy.
How his hands pulled at my cloths.
How his lips moved across mine.
How his body felt against mine.
It was all lust.
And I let it happen.
I remember her, though.
It’s the clearest in my head.
I can hear her, begging me to take her home.
Begging me to give her my phone so she could call Mom and Dad.
I remember laughing at her.
Getting everybody else to laugh at her.
I sent her inside. Told her to let loose.
“Go get a drink,” I laugh, waving her off.
No big deal.
All around us are guys, much older than her.
Eyeing her up and down.
Some were touching her.
Some were asking her to come with them.
I hear the words they say.
If I were sober, I would do something.
But I don’t.
Again, I let it happen.
Screams run through the house.
They fill my ears, making the headache intensify.
I sink to the floor, rubbing my temples.
My body hurts.
My head hurts.
My everything hurts.
I close my eyes.
Five minutes.
Sirens erupt.
Bright lights fill the house.
People scatter.
At least the people who are awake.
We’re caught.
A little late.
But we’re caught.
We have alcohol.
We have hung-over people.
And we are all underage.
But the cops rush past all the people.
Somebody runs by me, tripping over my foot.
More people go by.
I moan, opening my eyes.
I’m blinded my lights.
And people.
Cops.
EMS.
Stretcher.
Girl.
Blood.
Crying.
People are standing around, watching.
“How did this happen?”
“She’s fucking thirteen!”
“No, she’s fourteen. I think.”
“Where’s her sister?”
“What’s she even doing here?”
“You think she’s dead?”
“I bet you ten bucks we’ll be on the news.”
The talking filled my brain, rattling it.
I was so confused.
People poked at me.
They picked me up.
They were yelling at me.
I was too dazed to understand why people where freaking out.
Then I saw who was on the stretcher.
It was her.
And like that, I was sober.
She was tied down with the safety straps.
There was a bright orange foam around her head, keeping her neck in place.
EMS workers were running around.
They were pushing people back, away from her.
But people wanted to see.
They were speaking to her, telling her she would be fine.
But she couldn’t hear them.
They were trying to stop the bleeding.
But it was too late.
“Let’s get her out of here!”
The ambulance was loaded.
The doors slammed.
“How could you do this?”
“I’m sure she’ll be fine. They know what they’re doing.”
“How fucking stupid are you?”
“Here’s a phone. Call your parents.”
“She was probably raped, you know.”
“You should go with her.”
I find my voice.
But I use it where it counts.
“Stop! She’s my sister!”
The doors open.
I’m pulled inside.
The hospital smells.
The waiting room is agony.
My parents are furious.
My sister is dead.
Brought to a party.
Drugged.
Raped.
Murdered.
I did this.
I brought her here.
It’s my fault.
It’s all my fault.
They say they’ll find out who did it.
There’s so much evidence.
We’ll have justice.
But I don’t want justice.
I want my sister.
I swear.
I didn’t mean to kill my sister.