Wicked Game

I got the phone call on a Friday night in April.

One minute, I was sitting on the sidelines cheering for Charlie at his footie game and the next, I was dropping my phone and going into shock. I was sitting with the other team girlfriends, like always, and we were showing off our team spirit, like always. It was a regular day. After the game, if the lads won we would head out for dinner and if they lost, I would spend some time with Charlie to help lick his wounds.

It was a regular day. I’d gone to my classes, gotten lunch with some mates, and then gotten ready with the other girls so we could head to the game. It was a regular day, or it should have been.

Until it wasn’t.

Then suddenly it was the funeral, which was on a Tuesday, and it was raining. I remember the rain more than anything, because if I focused on the rain then I didn’t have to think about the fact that my parents were both getting lowered into the ground. If I focused on the cold rain, I didn’t have to focus on the fact that I was suddenly a nineteen year old orphan.

Orphan. The word made my skin crawl. I hated to think about it, so I just... didn’t.

The pitying looks were everywhere, and I just wanted to escape all of it. So I did. And it was easier than it should have been, which maybe should have scared me, but I was 19 years old with two dead parents. I was numb to a lot of things.

Maybe I was falling apart. Maybe I wasn’t handling the loss of my parents in the healthiest way. But maybe I just didn’t give a fuck, and maybe that was a problem but maybe I didn’t care about that either.

I wasn’t trying to push people away; in fact, I thought I was doing a bloody good job at not shutting down completely. I had Charlie, and I had a few mates at uni, and I was fine. At least, that was what I told everyone. “I’m fine” became a constant mantra for me as the months went by.

My parents died on a Friday, my life fell apart on a Tuesday, and I met the boy who tried to change all of that on a Wednesday.