Status: One Shot
These Four Words
These Four Words
"As if a plane crash were timely
there’s no good time for bad news
And these four words don't come easy"
--
Their first occurrence was in the jammed and noisy hallways, first day of freshman year.
John felt intimidated entering the school for the first time, but it was the first day of the next four years. The halls littered with all types of social classes and grade levels; the experienced Seniors heavily judging him at the moment of entrance, and a few stares from girls he'd possibly get to know made him nervous and giddy at the same time. His heavy book bag was strapped to his back, filled with things his Mom instructed him to bring but half he probably wouldn’t even use. Clad in black skinny jeans and a white V-neck shirt; his usual and favorite outfit.
High School was about to metaphorically chew him up then spit him out, but at least he'd have a piece of paper known as a "Diploma" in return. He marched his way to the first class of the day, weaving in between teenage girls screeching at the sight of their friends from the whole summer apart and jocks giving handshake and hug combinations better known as the 'Bro Hug'. The day went on rather boringly since his friends had chosen to attend a different High School. It wasn’t until the last class of the day he saw her; A girl with dirty blonde ringlet curls, slightly messed and cowlick on the top of her head. Instead of the revealing and overly priced clothes many of the other girls wore she was wearing a white v-neck t-shirt, that wasn’t cut low enough to show any part of her breasts, and black skinny jeans with the addition of black converse. John took a seat, purposely trying to be seated next to the gorgeous girl. She looked over at him and smiled timidly, her crystal blue ringed eyes making quick eye contact. The boy took his perfectly given opportunity to introduce himself.
"Hey, my names John" he out stretched his arm to her.
"Cheyanne" she replied and gracefully shook his hand. She laughed as he sat down at the seat across from her.
"I like your outfit" she giggled.
John was confused at the reason for her laughter but after a moment saw the heavy similarities in the two's style choices and the boy couldn’t help but chuckle himself.
"Thanks, yours is nice too." he said with a smirk verging on a full smile.
After this encounter they kept contact through "Hey's" and simple conversation exchanged in hallways and when one entered the classroom but were only considered acquaintances at this point. Two weeks later John caught up with her in the hallway to talk to her more, soon they started talking to each other everyday at school, eventually hanging out after school, and by the middle of the school year they had earned the title of each others best friends.
---
It wasn’t until three years later, Senior year, they became a couple. Not just the normal Cheyanne and John package pairing they always were, but a boyfriend and girlfriend couple. A shift that changed more than just the title of their relationship.
"Hey John, you dork, are you even gonna go to prom?" Garrett asked John after band practice. Cheyanne had met the band and all the members that night and deemed them a crazy, but nice group of guys. They were chatting about the upcoming senior prom and Garrett’s comment made Cheyanne chuckle as she was glad she found people who enjoyed calling John names as much as she did, in a friendly manner of course.
"Well I might, it depends on if the girl I was going to ask says yes."
A pang of jealously hit Cheyanne, she had formed a slight crush for John but it wasn’t until that moment she knew the severity of it. After a few minutes they bid farewell to the group of energetic boys, leaving two having a cartwheel competition on the front lawn and the other two giving each other piggy back rides. John had yet to earn his drivers license even after a few attempts at the test, so Cheyanne had to drive him whenever his parents couldn’t, which was quite often.
"Are you going to prom Cheyanne?" John asked once they sat in her old beat up car, the red paint had faded to a dark salmon color.
"Well, no ones asked me so probably not."
"Would you go with me?"
"What about that girl you were going to ask? The one you mentioned to Garrett?"
"Well I actually was talking about you... So will you?" he hung his hand on the back of his neck
"Sure" she responded with a smile.
"And I have one other question for you"
"And what would that be?"
"Do you realize you just ran a stop light?"
"What!" she almost yelled, desperate not to mar her perfect record.
"I'm kidding, I'm kidding" He laughed at her panicked reaction
When they rolled up to the sidewalk at the edge of the O'Callaghan's property he knew he had to make his move, his second move.
"I actually had another question for you"
"If its something stupid again I'll kill you"
"Well, I- er" deep breath. "Cheyanne, we've been best friends for quite a while and we've always told each other everything."
"I thought you had a question...?" The girl interrupts confused and slightly scared
"I do, I do. I'm getting there. You've always had part of my heart, and you always will but I want you to have a bigger part of it. There's something that I've wanted to ask you for a really long time. I promise I will stay with you no matter what your response is but, uh. Will you be my girlfriend Cheyanne?"
"Yes" She smiled widely "Absolutely, one hundred percent, yes"
That night they sat on the hood of the car together, sipping bottles of orange soda. Johns arm tightly pulling Cheyanne to him by the waist, and lips tightly pulling into grins.
Cheyanne laughed at Johns absurd stories he was making up about the show the band traveled to Tucson, Arizona for. Her stomach hurt from the strange tale and folder over in laughter she rested her forehead against his knee then looked at him accusing "That did not happen!"
"Yeah, it didn’t. But it makes a good story right?"
She nodded as her laughter died down. They just gazed silently, the street illuminated by light poles and surrounded by the smell of dry desert dirt, gasoline, and each others perfume and cologne.
"Can I kiss you?" John asked suddenly
"There has never been a day that I would say no to that question when it's coming from you, John"
---
They became the perfect stereotypical, cliche, storybook, couple. He loved her and she loved him. But things changed a while after high school. The band John's in, The Maine, became a big controversy between them. Frequent tours were vital for the bands growth, getting the name more commonly known, and the group successful; this however often left Cheyanne alone. She had no other friends than John, he was all she ever needed. She had spent all her time with him throughout high school and poured her everything for him in their friendship and eventually their relationship.
But John has a passion, a passion for music, for his fans for his band, and for singing. There was no taking that away, and she knew that. Besides the band, they had grown apart in personality traits. Life changes after school, and once you finally know what you want to do and who you want to be it may not be with your high school sweetheart unfortunately. They broke up the day he came home from tour, a two month long tour.
"I can't believe I'm coming in second to a stupid band!" She shouted. They didn’t know how the argument had occurred, but the "I missed you"s and innocent kisses didn’t last long after his return. The band however, was absolutely in no sense 'stupid' to John and anger raged through him, no longer speaking with any filter but speaking whatever rage fueled thought came to him.
He got closer to her, using his height to his advantage to become intimidating "I can't believe you're complaining about my band! I put all my heart into my band-"
"All your heart into your band! That's the problem John, you want a perfect relationship with me when there’s no love left for me! You told me, the day you asked me out, that I'd always have a place in your heart!"
He continued his rant to mutter "But I love music, Cheyanne!"
"So you don't love me?" she looked him in the eye sternly
He looked at her just as sternly, face red, almost breaking into a sweat from the rage. The anger subsides for a moment, seriously thinking, then his mouth utters the words-
"I don't love you."
Her mouth was agape when he heard his words. John thought to say sorry for his words, take it back, makes things better again, but he didn't. He didn’t love her anymore. But her feelings were still there and strong as ever. Cheyanne's head fell down not daring to look at his gorgeous green eyes for the fear she'd lose her mind knowing they didn’t look at her how she looked at him.
"Well, I guess that's it then" her voice cracked in her fragile state.
John knew he hurt her, but it was the truth in that moment. He went to his home, he would slam the door but he still lived with parents and would much rather see them in the morning than now when he was in no mood to converse about how the tour was or why he had been crying. He didn’t see Cheyanne again. By some odd chance they never ran into each other again despite living in the same city, although Cheyanne went to attend and live at a university in Arizona and John was constantly on tour or in the studio. She poured her attention into her studies and John poured his heart into his music along with his close friends in the band and other bands he'd gotten to know from tours.
They went on with life, and life went on,
without each other...
--
John was moving out, staying in Arizona to be with his friends and family, but he was moving out of his parents house. While cleaning out his room cluttered with boxes of his bands merchandise and food wrappers, he discovered a picture. Maybe it was a fortunate discovery or maybe it was unfortunate, he was unsure of which. He found himself with a dust covered photograph in his hand which he had retrieved from underneath his bed, a picture of him with Cheyanne. He missed her, he couldn’t help but think what if they had at least remained friends after the breakup, kept in touch. He could have called to check up on her, see how life was. It would be weird for her ex-boyfriend to call her but he had also been her best friend, and that is how he would call her. His eyes teared up but he convinced himself it was from the dust he had stirred up.
--
3 months later, a bit over one year after he had last seen her, he came across that same photograph. Worn edges and faded spots on the film that was heavily drenched in nostalgia.
He decided to call. to call Cheyanne, hear her voice for the first time in two entire years. He called the home phone of her parents house, if she didn’t pick up her mom or dad would and he knew they'd direct him to the correct number to reach her. With shaky hands he slowly recalled each number, and after an anxiety filled wait her mother picked up.
"Hello, this is Clare Orwell."
"Hi Mrs. Orwell, this is John. John O'Callaghan."
"Oh John! Wonderful to hear from you, It's been quiet without Cheyanne here." her voice seemed very downcast at the last part, a only child being away can be tough for parents he guessed.
"I was actually wondering how I could reach Cheyanne, does she happen to be there right now?"
But Mrs. Orwell didn’t respond. The silence was eery and he felt panicked.
"John... Did no one tell you?"
"Uh, tell me what?" He was confused, more confused than he had ever been he decided.
"Cheyanne, she- She passed away in a car accident last week. Her boyfriend survived but she passed away after a few hours in the hospital."
"Oh no I didn’t know. I am so sorry to hear about that."
"The funeral service is tomorrow at two o'clock. I'm sure she would be happy if you come."
"I'm not so sure if she would"
"Nonsense John!" she scolded. It brought him back to when they would get in trouble together and sometimes he'd need to be reprimanded by Mrs. Orwell. disappointing her could be worse than his own mother.
"You were her best friend, she was never mad at you for anything with the breakup you had, she came to understand she couldn’t control others feelings. I never quite liked her new boyfriend as much as I ever liked you."
"Well, I guess I'll be there tomorrow then. Again, I'm so sorry for your loss."
"No need to be, I've heard that phrase enough this past week. I better be going, thank you John."
He couldn’t bring himself to say any sort of farewell or goodbye, he just hung up. Stumbled back to sit on the edge of his unmade bed, which he couldn’t help but think how that was a pet peeve of hers.
"She's gone." he muttered to himself forcing his mind to connect to the events he was just informed about, but it still didn’t seem real
"Cheyanne's gone."
Tears stung his eyes. "Don't cry." He muttered to himself but his thoughts sent contradicting feelings to his self directed command. Tears dripped down his cheek and he roughly wiped them away "Don’t cry!" he forcefully yelled at himself. But John couldn’t help but think of how when he was upset or they watched sad movies together Cheyanne would always tell him it was okay to cry. Sometimes it'd just be a small reminder that she didn’t care if he did, or a heart filled lecture on how he needed to stop keeping his feelings in.
He did have a bad habit of keeping his emotions away from everyone, he used music as a way to get it out but even with that his mind and heart oozed with emotions that he tried every day to keep in. Emotions about Cheyanne he had kept away from everyone for the past three years, the attachment he still has for her. Tears soon ran from his eyes in heavy drops dripping from the sides of his face. His facial expressions showed pain and were filled with nothing but agony. John's heart broke and released all those emotions he tried desperately to contain. The boy squinted his eyes to clear the glossy water that coated them but in a feeble attempt as it was soon replaced by more tears. The boy fell over on his side stuffing his face into his worn pillow making a loud noise of distress.
He felt numb.
Empty.
Lost.
Like he had lost the love of his love, and maybe she was, maybe he had. The thought made him angry with himself, he had let her slip away. He could have done something to repair their relationship, he could have kept her safe, he could have kept her on earth. But all that was worth nothing now, all the could haves and what ifs were nothing. Nothing could bring her back.
"But if she were my true love I wouldn’t of have left. I didn’t love her." he thought
"I don’t love her" he made audible but it was just to ease the hurt of the attacking thoughts. With that statement he pulled himself up and to his apartment kitchen, digging through the cabinet for something. A relief to the pain. Alcohol.
A full bottle of whiskey in hand he swigged some from the bottle, "I don't love you" he muttered to himself before immediately gulping another mouthful. He wasn’t sure what stung more, the burning alcohol or his heart. He sat on the floor with the glass decanter being slowly lifted to his mouth then back down in a lazy manner, for over half an hour he remained there. With the bottle half empty he used the smidgen of self control left in him to stop intoxicating himself.
--
"John, what did you do?" Jared whispered to himself then rushed to his helpless friend. The lanky boy was lying on the kitchen floor passed out, a puddle of whiskey soaking through his clothes and a knocked over bottle nearby. He nudged John with his foot and the boy slowly came out of his alcohol induced sleep.
"What happened?" he asked John.
"I uh, got drunk" He said trying to sit up but his hands slipped on the wet floor and made his back slam to the ground. Cringing in pain from his fall and the fact he was as hungover as would be expected.
John knew what happened yesterday, the whiskey was good for making him forget but only temporarily. He suddenly felt guilty, Cheyanne would always say how she would never marry a drunkard, getting drunk was stupid in her mind. But Cheyanne was gone, and why would he care what she thought. She wasn’t his.
"I don't love you" he mumbled to himself.
"What?" Jared questioned not clearly hearing what he said.
"Cheyanne died. Last week, I found out yesterday."
"Oh crap John, I'm sorry" Jared helped his friend up from the floor keeping a tight grip on his hand and shoulder to keep him from slipping once again.
"Don't be. I'm gonna go shower, the funeral is at two plus I smell like crap and and my clothes are sticking to me."
"I'll go with you" Jared offered
"Huh?"
"To the funeral, not the shower" he chuckled but the pain in his best friends eyes were obvious and caused him to stop, knowing it wasn’t the right time to laugh.
"Nah, that’s fine." John shook his head "I probably won't stay for the whole thing."
"Okay, well I came by to give you this. A house warming gift." he tried to provide a small lopsided grin, but John replied with the same blank and emotionless stare. Jared handed the boy the present, packaged in nothing but a plain cardboard box. He put the weighted box on the counter then opened it to reveal a small selection of vintage sodas in classic glass bottles. He always adored vintage sodas, something about orange pop from a chilled bottle on a hot summer day by the pool always made him happily content. He pulled two from the box, "Thanks man" John used as much enthusiasm as he could, the beginning form of a smile playing at his lips. He gave one to Jared and popped one open himself, but the sweet artificial orange only tasted of bitter nostalgia. He could practically hear his past Best Friend and Lover shouting from the pool to bring her a soda while he was up, and the times she had 'accidentally' knocked his soda from his hands creating a orange dispersing spot in the pool. All those good memories had became bad ones. He was so frustrated with that, he missed thinking of those sunburn inducing swims and lazy nights with that warm feeling that came with them, now they just made him cold.
"I don't love you"
Without realization of his suppressing grip on the bottle the sharp crack of glass matched the sharp pain in his hand. Blood red and bright orange swirled together on the floor and he didn’t know what to do he just watched his dripping hand. "and I don't even have a mop to use to clean the floors" was his first sarcastic thought. Jared looked at him, eyes wide, and slowly grabbed his shoulders directing him to a nearby chair.
"Stay. There." Jared commanded sternly then pulled out his phone to call an ambulance.
"What are you doing?" John asked, even his voice sounded hallow.
"Calling 911"
"Why? It doesn’t hurt"
"John, you're hand is covered in pieces of glass. You can't just leave them, and it will hurt pretty soon your body hasn’t realized it yet."
"Please don’t call. I have to leave for the funeral in an hour, I don't want to miss it." he pleaded showing hints of emotion in his eyes. "Call Kennedy. His dads a doctor so he'll know what to do?"
Jared sighed at his friend "Okay"
Kennedy arrived with some supplies and tools used to extract the shards. He didn’t question what happened, Johns distressed and disheveled appearance with the addition of a floor covered in alcohol made him think he shouldn’t. John got repaired and took a shower after ordering his friends he was okay and they should leave.
Not knowing what wear to a funeral he just decided his best option was to wear black skinny jeans, a white button up, and a black tie. "I always wanted to go to a black tie event. Just not one like this." he thought. Close to breaking down in sobs on the drive there he managed to keep the emotions in, which resulted in his lifeless appearance and voice. He arrived and hugged Mrs. Orwell, greeted Mr. Orwell and took a seat in the very back for the service.
He hated it. He hated himself. He hated being there. He hated seeing her corpse which at this point was as lifeless as he was. A few words were spoken from family members and friends as well as her boyfriend. John wanted to cut out his guts along with his testicles. Oh God, if he ever used her for sex he would be sure that happened. John was supposed to be the only one to ever make love to her, as he was the first one to. The ceremony concluded and people visited the open casket saying their last words. Filled with anger towards everyone and everything, a tear rolled down his face. She could have been the one he loved forever, but now she couldn’t. The thought so painfully honest he forced himself not to believe it with four last words to her. And they didn’t come easy;
"I
don't
love
you."
there’s no good time for bad news
And these four words don't come easy"
--
Their first occurrence was in the jammed and noisy hallways, first day of freshman year.
John felt intimidated entering the school for the first time, but it was the first day of the next four years. The halls littered with all types of social classes and grade levels; the experienced Seniors heavily judging him at the moment of entrance, and a few stares from girls he'd possibly get to know made him nervous and giddy at the same time. His heavy book bag was strapped to his back, filled with things his Mom instructed him to bring but half he probably wouldn’t even use. Clad in black skinny jeans and a white V-neck shirt; his usual and favorite outfit.
High School was about to metaphorically chew him up then spit him out, but at least he'd have a piece of paper known as a "Diploma" in return. He marched his way to the first class of the day, weaving in between teenage girls screeching at the sight of their friends from the whole summer apart and jocks giving handshake and hug combinations better known as the 'Bro Hug'. The day went on rather boringly since his friends had chosen to attend a different High School. It wasn’t until the last class of the day he saw her; A girl with dirty blonde ringlet curls, slightly messed and cowlick on the top of her head. Instead of the revealing and overly priced clothes many of the other girls wore she was wearing a white v-neck t-shirt, that wasn’t cut low enough to show any part of her breasts, and black skinny jeans with the addition of black converse. John took a seat, purposely trying to be seated next to the gorgeous girl. She looked over at him and smiled timidly, her crystal blue ringed eyes making quick eye contact. The boy took his perfectly given opportunity to introduce himself.
"Hey, my names John" he out stretched his arm to her.
"Cheyanne" she replied and gracefully shook his hand. She laughed as he sat down at the seat across from her.
"I like your outfit" she giggled.
John was confused at the reason for her laughter but after a moment saw the heavy similarities in the two's style choices and the boy couldn’t help but chuckle himself.
"Thanks, yours is nice too." he said with a smirk verging on a full smile.
After this encounter they kept contact through "Hey's" and simple conversation exchanged in hallways and when one entered the classroom but were only considered acquaintances at this point. Two weeks later John caught up with her in the hallway to talk to her more, soon they started talking to each other everyday at school, eventually hanging out after school, and by the middle of the school year they had earned the title of each others best friends.
---
It wasn’t until three years later, Senior year, they became a couple. Not just the normal Cheyanne and John package pairing they always were, but a boyfriend and girlfriend couple. A shift that changed more than just the title of their relationship.
"Hey John, you dork, are you even gonna go to prom?" Garrett asked John after band practice. Cheyanne had met the band and all the members that night and deemed them a crazy, but nice group of guys. They were chatting about the upcoming senior prom and Garrett’s comment made Cheyanne chuckle as she was glad she found people who enjoyed calling John names as much as she did, in a friendly manner of course.
"Well I might, it depends on if the girl I was going to ask says yes."
A pang of jealously hit Cheyanne, she had formed a slight crush for John but it wasn’t until that moment she knew the severity of it. After a few minutes they bid farewell to the group of energetic boys, leaving two having a cartwheel competition on the front lawn and the other two giving each other piggy back rides. John had yet to earn his drivers license even after a few attempts at the test, so Cheyanne had to drive him whenever his parents couldn’t, which was quite often.
"Are you going to prom Cheyanne?" John asked once they sat in her old beat up car, the red paint had faded to a dark salmon color.
"Well, no ones asked me so probably not."
"Would you go with me?"
"What about that girl you were going to ask? The one you mentioned to Garrett?"
"Well I actually was talking about you... So will you?" he hung his hand on the back of his neck
"Sure" she responded with a smile.
"And I have one other question for you"
"And what would that be?"
"Do you realize you just ran a stop light?"
"What!" she almost yelled, desperate not to mar her perfect record.
"I'm kidding, I'm kidding" He laughed at her panicked reaction
When they rolled up to the sidewalk at the edge of the O'Callaghan's property he knew he had to make his move, his second move.
"I actually had another question for you"
"If its something stupid again I'll kill you"
"Well, I- er" deep breath. "Cheyanne, we've been best friends for quite a while and we've always told each other everything."
"I thought you had a question...?" The girl interrupts confused and slightly scared
"I do, I do. I'm getting there. You've always had part of my heart, and you always will but I want you to have a bigger part of it. There's something that I've wanted to ask you for a really long time. I promise I will stay with you no matter what your response is but, uh. Will you be my girlfriend Cheyanne?"
"Yes" She smiled widely "Absolutely, one hundred percent, yes"
That night they sat on the hood of the car together, sipping bottles of orange soda. Johns arm tightly pulling Cheyanne to him by the waist, and lips tightly pulling into grins.
Cheyanne laughed at Johns absurd stories he was making up about the show the band traveled to Tucson, Arizona for. Her stomach hurt from the strange tale and folder over in laughter she rested her forehead against his knee then looked at him accusing "That did not happen!"
"Yeah, it didn’t. But it makes a good story right?"
She nodded as her laughter died down. They just gazed silently, the street illuminated by light poles and surrounded by the smell of dry desert dirt, gasoline, and each others perfume and cologne.
"Can I kiss you?" John asked suddenly
"There has never been a day that I would say no to that question when it's coming from you, John"
---
They became the perfect stereotypical, cliche, storybook, couple. He loved her and she loved him. But things changed a while after high school. The band John's in, The Maine, became a big controversy between them. Frequent tours were vital for the bands growth, getting the name more commonly known, and the group successful; this however often left Cheyanne alone. She had no other friends than John, he was all she ever needed. She had spent all her time with him throughout high school and poured her everything for him in their friendship and eventually their relationship.
But John has a passion, a passion for music, for his fans for his band, and for singing. There was no taking that away, and she knew that. Besides the band, they had grown apart in personality traits. Life changes after school, and once you finally know what you want to do and who you want to be it may not be with your high school sweetheart unfortunately. They broke up the day he came home from tour, a two month long tour.
"I can't believe I'm coming in second to a stupid band!" She shouted. They didn’t know how the argument had occurred, but the "I missed you"s and innocent kisses didn’t last long after his return. The band however, was absolutely in no sense 'stupid' to John and anger raged through him, no longer speaking with any filter but speaking whatever rage fueled thought came to him.
He got closer to her, using his height to his advantage to become intimidating "I can't believe you're complaining about my band! I put all my heart into my band-"
"All your heart into your band! That's the problem John, you want a perfect relationship with me when there’s no love left for me! You told me, the day you asked me out, that I'd always have a place in your heart!"
He continued his rant to mutter "But I love music, Cheyanne!"
"So you don't love me?" she looked him in the eye sternly
He looked at her just as sternly, face red, almost breaking into a sweat from the rage. The anger subsides for a moment, seriously thinking, then his mouth utters the words-
"I don't love you."
Her mouth was agape when he heard his words. John thought to say sorry for his words, take it back, makes things better again, but he didn't. He didn’t love her anymore. But her feelings were still there and strong as ever. Cheyanne's head fell down not daring to look at his gorgeous green eyes for the fear she'd lose her mind knowing they didn’t look at her how she looked at him.
"Well, I guess that's it then" her voice cracked in her fragile state.
John knew he hurt her, but it was the truth in that moment. He went to his home, he would slam the door but he still lived with parents and would much rather see them in the morning than now when he was in no mood to converse about how the tour was or why he had been crying. He didn’t see Cheyanne again. By some odd chance they never ran into each other again despite living in the same city, although Cheyanne went to attend and live at a university in Arizona and John was constantly on tour or in the studio. She poured her attention into her studies and John poured his heart into his music along with his close friends in the band and other bands he'd gotten to know from tours.
They went on with life, and life went on,
without each other...
--
John was moving out, staying in Arizona to be with his friends and family, but he was moving out of his parents house. While cleaning out his room cluttered with boxes of his bands merchandise and food wrappers, he discovered a picture. Maybe it was a fortunate discovery or maybe it was unfortunate, he was unsure of which. He found himself with a dust covered photograph in his hand which he had retrieved from underneath his bed, a picture of him with Cheyanne. He missed her, he couldn’t help but think what if they had at least remained friends after the breakup, kept in touch. He could have called to check up on her, see how life was. It would be weird for her ex-boyfriend to call her but he had also been her best friend, and that is how he would call her. His eyes teared up but he convinced himself it was from the dust he had stirred up.
--
3 months later, a bit over one year after he had last seen her, he came across that same photograph. Worn edges and faded spots on the film that was heavily drenched in nostalgia.
He decided to call. to call Cheyanne, hear her voice for the first time in two entire years. He called the home phone of her parents house, if she didn’t pick up her mom or dad would and he knew they'd direct him to the correct number to reach her. With shaky hands he slowly recalled each number, and after an anxiety filled wait her mother picked up.
"Hello, this is Clare Orwell."
"Hi Mrs. Orwell, this is John. John O'Callaghan."
"Oh John! Wonderful to hear from you, It's been quiet without Cheyanne here." her voice seemed very downcast at the last part, a only child being away can be tough for parents he guessed.
"I was actually wondering how I could reach Cheyanne, does she happen to be there right now?"
But Mrs. Orwell didn’t respond. The silence was eery and he felt panicked.
"John... Did no one tell you?"
"Uh, tell me what?" He was confused, more confused than he had ever been he decided.
"Cheyanne, she- She passed away in a car accident last week. Her boyfriend survived but she passed away after a few hours in the hospital."
"Oh no I didn’t know. I am so sorry to hear about that."
"The funeral service is tomorrow at two o'clock. I'm sure she would be happy if you come."
"I'm not so sure if she would"
"Nonsense John!" she scolded. It brought him back to when they would get in trouble together and sometimes he'd need to be reprimanded by Mrs. Orwell. disappointing her could be worse than his own mother.
"You were her best friend, she was never mad at you for anything with the breakup you had, she came to understand she couldn’t control others feelings. I never quite liked her new boyfriend as much as I ever liked you."
"Well, I guess I'll be there tomorrow then. Again, I'm so sorry for your loss."
"No need to be, I've heard that phrase enough this past week. I better be going, thank you John."
He couldn’t bring himself to say any sort of farewell or goodbye, he just hung up. Stumbled back to sit on the edge of his unmade bed, which he couldn’t help but think how that was a pet peeve of hers.
"She's gone." he muttered to himself forcing his mind to connect to the events he was just informed about, but it still didn’t seem real
"Cheyanne's gone."
Tears stung his eyes. "Don't cry." He muttered to himself but his thoughts sent contradicting feelings to his self directed command. Tears dripped down his cheek and he roughly wiped them away "Don’t cry!" he forcefully yelled at himself. But John couldn’t help but think of how when he was upset or they watched sad movies together Cheyanne would always tell him it was okay to cry. Sometimes it'd just be a small reminder that she didn’t care if he did, or a heart filled lecture on how he needed to stop keeping his feelings in.
He did have a bad habit of keeping his emotions away from everyone, he used music as a way to get it out but even with that his mind and heart oozed with emotions that he tried every day to keep in. Emotions about Cheyanne he had kept away from everyone for the past three years, the attachment he still has for her. Tears soon ran from his eyes in heavy drops dripping from the sides of his face. His facial expressions showed pain and were filled with nothing but agony. John's heart broke and released all those emotions he tried desperately to contain. The boy squinted his eyes to clear the glossy water that coated them but in a feeble attempt as it was soon replaced by more tears. The boy fell over on his side stuffing his face into his worn pillow making a loud noise of distress.
He felt numb.
Empty.
Lost.
Like he had lost the love of his love, and maybe she was, maybe he had. The thought made him angry with himself, he had let her slip away. He could have done something to repair their relationship, he could have kept her safe, he could have kept her on earth. But all that was worth nothing now, all the could haves and what ifs were nothing. Nothing could bring her back.
"But if she were my true love I wouldn’t of have left. I didn’t love her." he thought
"I don’t love her" he made audible but it was just to ease the hurt of the attacking thoughts. With that statement he pulled himself up and to his apartment kitchen, digging through the cabinet for something. A relief to the pain. Alcohol.
A full bottle of whiskey in hand he swigged some from the bottle, "I don't love you" he muttered to himself before immediately gulping another mouthful. He wasn’t sure what stung more, the burning alcohol or his heart. He sat on the floor with the glass decanter being slowly lifted to his mouth then back down in a lazy manner, for over half an hour he remained there. With the bottle half empty he used the smidgen of self control left in him to stop intoxicating himself.
--
"John, what did you do?" Jared whispered to himself then rushed to his helpless friend. The lanky boy was lying on the kitchen floor passed out, a puddle of whiskey soaking through his clothes and a knocked over bottle nearby. He nudged John with his foot and the boy slowly came out of his alcohol induced sleep.
"What happened?" he asked John.
"I uh, got drunk" He said trying to sit up but his hands slipped on the wet floor and made his back slam to the ground. Cringing in pain from his fall and the fact he was as hungover as would be expected.
John knew what happened yesterday, the whiskey was good for making him forget but only temporarily. He suddenly felt guilty, Cheyanne would always say how she would never marry a drunkard, getting drunk was stupid in her mind. But Cheyanne was gone, and why would he care what she thought. She wasn’t his.
"I don't love you" he mumbled to himself.
"What?" Jared questioned not clearly hearing what he said.
"Cheyanne died. Last week, I found out yesterday."
"Oh crap John, I'm sorry" Jared helped his friend up from the floor keeping a tight grip on his hand and shoulder to keep him from slipping once again.
"Don't be. I'm gonna go shower, the funeral is at two plus I smell like crap and and my clothes are sticking to me."
"I'll go with you" Jared offered
"Huh?"
"To the funeral, not the shower" he chuckled but the pain in his best friends eyes were obvious and caused him to stop, knowing it wasn’t the right time to laugh.
"Nah, that’s fine." John shook his head "I probably won't stay for the whole thing."
"Okay, well I came by to give you this. A house warming gift." he tried to provide a small lopsided grin, but John replied with the same blank and emotionless stare. Jared handed the boy the present, packaged in nothing but a plain cardboard box. He put the weighted box on the counter then opened it to reveal a small selection of vintage sodas in classic glass bottles. He always adored vintage sodas, something about orange pop from a chilled bottle on a hot summer day by the pool always made him happily content. He pulled two from the box, "Thanks man" John used as much enthusiasm as he could, the beginning form of a smile playing at his lips. He gave one to Jared and popped one open himself, but the sweet artificial orange only tasted of bitter nostalgia. He could practically hear his past Best Friend and Lover shouting from the pool to bring her a soda while he was up, and the times she had 'accidentally' knocked his soda from his hands creating a orange dispersing spot in the pool. All those good memories had became bad ones. He was so frustrated with that, he missed thinking of those sunburn inducing swims and lazy nights with that warm feeling that came with them, now they just made him cold.
"I don't love you"
Without realization of his suppressing grip on the bottle the sharp crack of glass matched the sharp pain in his hand. Blood red and bright orange swirled together on the floor and he didn’t know what to do he just watched his dripping hand. "and I don't even have a mop to use to clean the floors" was his first sarcastic thought. Jared looked at him, eyes wide, and slowly grabbed his shoulders directing him to a nearby chair.
"Stay. There." Jared commanded sternly then pulled out his phone to call an ambulance.
"What are you doing?" John asked, even his voice sounded hallow.
"Calling 911"
"Why? It doesn’t hurt"
"John, you're hand is covered in pieces of glass. You can't just leave them, and it will hurt pretty soon your body hasn’t realized it yet."
"Please don’t call. I have to leave for the funeral in an hour, I don't want to miss it." he pleaded showing hints of emotion in his eyes. "Call Kennedy. His dads a doctor so he'll know what to do?"
Jared sighed at his friend "Okay"
Kennedy arrived with some supplies and tools used to extract the shards. He didn’t question what happened, Johns distressed and disheveled appearance with the addition of a floor covered in alcohol made him think he shouldn’t. John got repaired and took a shower after ordering his friends he was okay and they should leave.
Not knowing what wear to a funeral he just decided his best option was to wear black skinny jeans, a white button up, and a black tie. "I always wanted to go to a black tie event. Just not one like this." he thought. Close to breaking down in sobs on the drive there he managed to keep the emotions in, which resulted in his lifeless appearance and voice. He arrived and hugged Mrs. Orwell, greeted Mr. Orwell and took a seat in the very back for the service.
He hated it. He hated himself. He hated being there. He hated seeing her corpse which at this point was as lifeless as he was. A few words were spoken from family members and friends as well as her boyfriend. John wanted to cut out his guts along with his testicles. Oh God, if he ever used her for sex he would be sure that happened. John was supposed to be the only one to ever make love to her, as he was the first one to. The ceremony concluded and people visited the open casket saying their last words. Filled with anger towards everyone and everything, a tear rolled down his face. She could have been the one he loved forever, but now she couldn’t. The thought so painfully honest he forced himself not to believe it with four last words to her. And they didn’t come easy;
"I
don't
love
you."