Landfill

Losing someone close to you causes you to feel guilty; especially when you survive and they don't. Survivor's guilt is what it's called; along with the pain of losing them, you're riddled and filled with guilt. You feel as if you shouldn't be alive, you question your mortality. Everything seems as if it's off balance, and that everyone is judging you, even if they're happy that you're in one piece. You're depressed, you're tired, you ache, you wonder what's next.

Every time I sat down to eat, I felt guilty; Ryan can't eat. When I took a shower, I saw the blood and heard the silence, even with rushing water beating against your aching back and neck. Falling asleep was also part of it; Ryan wouldn't wake from his sleep.

My entire world was guilt, starvation, melancholy days and nights. I didn't cry anymore, I was numb and depressed and sick of it all. I didn't want to do anything anymore, I just wanted to go back in time and fix everything. It was all my fault, I knew that. All of it; it was Ryan and Brendon's blood on my hands.

With all of this living and breathing, seeding in my body, I never said anything. I didn't want anyone I know, and I didn't want anyone to think I was seeking attention. The whole "woe is me!" aspect of it is what kept me from saying anything, really.

I gallantly forced myself to get through the days with guilt. I did want to get better, but I knew the guilt would never go away. I stayed at my parents for awhile, avoiding everything else. I had to go through papers, set up meetings and talk to Molly, but I put it off as much as possible. For a month, I sulked and tried to figure out where to go from this place.

My parents were fine if I stayed forever. I was thankful and grateful for it. I don't think I could be on my own.

A few weeks previous, Brendon's girlfriend Aubrey had brought over the bulk of Ryan's things that were at their apartment. I did not face her, I couldn't, I didn't know how to express how sorry I was. I stayed up in my room, never going to look through his things, but I knew I had to at some point.

When the month passed, I went down to the living room where my mom was knitting. She wasn't great at it, having started around Thanksgiving, she was getting better. "Hello." I said to her.

She looked up, playing the knitting needles down, a smile filled her cheeks, "Hello, Nikki. Do you need anything?"

"Uh, where...where is, uh, Ryan's stuff?"

My mom's smile faltered just a bit, "The basement. Your dad put everything down there."

"How much stuff is it?" I asked.

"It's not a lot." She answered, "He just put the stuff there because...Uh, well, the hospital bags are down there."

I furrowed my brows, "Hospital bags?"

She gave a nod, "Your clothes, cell phone, Ryan's phone, too. His wallet..."

"Oh." I mumbled. "I forgot about that...my phone."

"Dad tried to clean it up." She added.

"The blood?"

She nodded slowly, I think she didn't want to answer.

"I'll be down in the basement, then." I told her.

"Okay, Darling."

I exited the living room and headed towards the laundry room across from the kitchen. Past the washer and dryer was the door to the basement; I opened the door, jogged down the stairs and turned the light to my right. Down in the basement was a bunch of different blue and grey storage boxes all categorized according to my mom's mindset. The basement was clean and empty; what was there were holiday decor and some old covered furniture, and a large dining table that belonged to my deceased grandmother. On top of the table were 2 hospital bags, 5 boxes labeled with Ryan's name and 2 suitcases.

I went to the hospital bag first, my hand had trembled, but once I gripped it, I was relaxed. I pulled the drawstring open and saw that it was my clothing; soaked in blood. I left them inside; I grabbed my shoes, seeing that they had black drag marks atop the front and sides, and did not have a speck of blood on them. I set them aside and found my phone at the bottom; it was practically soaked with blood, but most of it was smeared away, the screen clear. I pressed the power button, the screen only light up before the dead battery noticed flashed and then my phone died.

I put it by my shoes and then I pulled the drawstring of my ruined clothing and set it on the floor. I grabbed the next hospital bag, I was hesitant to open it up, but eventually did with a forceful bout. I looked inside and saw that only his leather jacket was inside, wracking my brain; "Was he wearing this?" I asked myself.

I pulled it out and noticed that it was spotless and his cologne was still lingering on it. My heart swelled as I slipped it over myself and smelled him. I felt the pockets and found his wallet; "It must've been in the room somewhere." I said to myself.

I opened the wallet; his ID? credit cards, money and receipts were still inside. I pulled out his ID and found a folded up picture; it was a picture of myself. It was one I never remembered taking; it was lying in my bed, my eyes were open, but I couldn't remember when this was taken. I put the picture back, and slipped the wallet into the jacket packet. I left on the jacket as I went though the hospital bag; all that was left was his phone, no other clothing. His phone was broken; screen cracked and a piece of metal was loose inside. I put that took in the pocket and tossed the bag on the floor with my own.

I looked over the boxes and found records and old books; nonfiction and text books. I found a paperback copy of my book and held back a dumb grin. I placed it back and looked over the others; some clothes were in others, mostly old concert shorts and two pairs of jeans; a few pairs of socks and a pair of boots.

I went to the suitcases, zipped them open and found dress shirts hiding cash underneath them. I sipped them back up and set them away from myself; I thought about moving all this stuff to his storage unit, just to get rid of it. I had no use for it, I did want his shirts, but the money was an issue.

I decided to deal with it all later. I took the box with the shirts,
adding my shoes and phone inside and returned upstairs. I passed my mom, as she was making coffee in the kitchen, "What's that?" She asked curiously.

I stopped, "Shirts."

She smiled, "Jacket, too?"

I nodded, "It still smells like him."

"Do you want coffee?" She asked instead of probing.

"Yeah, just let me take everything upstairs."

"I'll pour you some."

"Thanks."

I journeyed upstairs to my bedroom and set the box on the floor beside my bed. I got my phone out, setting it on my dress, making a mental note to get my charger from my place sometime soon.