The past blurred the lines of the present as I stood out on that balcony. An angry gust of wind blew through me, stinging my cheeks and upper lip. Behind me, the glass doors flapped with each violent gust, caution tape billowing like an untied ribbon.
My fingers were colorless against the concrete railing they were glued to. Chin low, I stared down at the faded stain his blood left behind. Vision blurring, my eyelashes caught my tears before releasing them down my cheeks in a steady stream of pain. Like rain, they soiled whatever they touched.
My father’s voice rang out across the campus, amplified by the crowd and the microphone poised at his lips. I almost couldn’t hear the words he spoke over the sound of my heart beating or the clock I used to call home.
Tick. Tock.
Vomit churned low in my gut, burning my insides and the back of my throat. I gagged on every word my father spoke, choking on his feigned grief and the speech he gave about loss.
Arthur didn’t give a shit about loss.
He’d only ever cared about life.
One life.His.
The applause was loud enough to crack the atmosphere, tearing through the solemn ceremony and turning it into one of celebration. My father stood beaming at the students circling him. They were lined throughout rows of freshly planted flowers in a meticulous, cult-like fashion.
From my spot on the balcony, they appeared like tiny soldiers—same apathy mask, same fake smile, and same displaced hate for an enemy they knew nothing about.
I couldn’t see my daddy bird from here, but I knew he was somewhere amongst the well-rehearsed anarchy.
Camera flashes lit up the otherwise foggy sky, capturing the moment my father so graciously relinquished his spot at the podium to offer space for grieving students.
One girl had written a poem… I wasn’t sure she’d ever even met Foster.
It was wrong.
Wrong.
Wrong.
Wrong.
I could hardly place much blame on the students. They were simply doing what they’d always done.
Surviving.
I’d been doing exactly the same, but it wasn’t enough for me. Not anymore.
The ceremony ended with a letter from Foster’s parents, and I watched with wet eyes and an aching chest as each student placed a rose atop the stone wearing his name.
Nostrils burning, I pressed my lips together to keep from crying out. The place between my shoulders tightened, and I dragged a heavy hand down my chapped face.
The wind struck me again, harder this time, and I placed a palm in front of my eyes to shield myself. Shuffling backward, the bottom of my shoe met a piece of the caution tape, and I lifted it from the cold ground. The plastic felt heavy in my palm, and all at once, I began to tear it to shreds.
Ugly, incoherent sobs wracked my chest, and I tossed those little yellow pieces to the wind as quickly as I tore them apart. Snot ran down my chin, and I wiped it away with my sleeve. My movements became more hectic, more imminent, and I didn’t stop until every inch of caution tape was gone.
Lost.
My forehead fell against the balcony doors, and I watched my breaths come back to me, tainting the section of glass closest to my lips.
Lungs seizing, I willed myself to calm down and wondered how many more times this would happen. How many more times would my grief leave me in pieces?
“Feel better, Vicious?”
Shit.
My eyelashes met the tops of my cheeks, and I wasted a breath I didn’t have preparing myself for more pain.