It was 2am on a Thursday.

I'd fallen asleep with my headphones on and didn't hear my elder sister sobbing until my eyelids parted, and I caught a blurry glimpse of her bent over her pillow, one hand placed against her forehead and tears streaming down her face. For a minute, I was perplexed by what I saw then I took my headphones off and lazily pushed myself up. As it turned out, my mother had just called to inform that our cousin had died from drug overdose.

It felt like a blow to the jaw.

My sister looked at me, expecting me to break into tears, but my eyes were dry. Even when day finally broke, my eyes remained void of tears. Grief plagued me, yet I couldn't reach the part of me that felt deeply sorrowful. My sister mistranslated my reluctance to cry as being heartless and indifferent to the family's loss, repeatedly mentioning that Julia had basically been like a twin sibling. I could not deny that bit.

Did I truly feel sorry for Julia's passing?

Indeed.

Her and I had practically grown up together. She was the only child of my mother's elder sister and the closest thing I had to a best friend. Our families had lived in the same apartment for more than a decade during a time when my dad experienced serious financial issues. Julia's dad, David, had been our provider until my father was able to get back on his feet again. David was a good man and easily became my favorite uncle after he got me a Barbie Doll™ in a lovely pink box for my sixth birthday.

Lucy. I'd named my doll. She was an arm length, platinum blonde, plastic thing with a white square battery inside her back that allowed her say certain words on repeat. The day Julia drove a nail gun into Lucy's eyes was the first time I got physical with my cousin.

Julia was an overly coddled child. Her mother, my aunt Francesca, never tried to correct nor admonish whatever mistake her daughter made. At age four, Julia was given two Note Pads, an incredibly large bedroom filled with entire communities of every brand of toy the toy market could offer, no bedtime, excessive freedom, and exposure to big parties at a young age.

Despite being excessively pampered, Julia was a generous person. She was sympathetic, very brilliant, extremely energetic, and street smart.

On holidays, she would take me in a tandem bike around town, showing me sneaky corners and shortcuts I never knew existed, filling my ears with gossip about every single thing on the planet. Even though she had never learned to cook, she knew how to make the most delicious pancakes and would bring a whole ton of them to our picnics. It was one of the few luxuries I truly enjoyed with her. With time, those picnics became like a ritual. We had them on every first Saturday of the month, and I'd always return home feeling too stuffed to even dare put my toothbrush in my mouth.

The numerous childhood memories I had with my cousin made my heart break at the news of her death, but the sudden suspicion that sprang to my mind as being the sole reason for her passing was what prevented me from crying. Even before I was told the reason for her death, I knew what it was.

She had started doing drugs in high school. I became aware of it the day I paid her a surprise visit some few years after we moved out of their apartment to our own house only three miles from theirs. Julia had not been around on that day. I'd unintentionally knocked over a rolled up sheet of white paper in an attempt to retrieve makeup from the hidden compartment inside her wardrobe. A cloud of white dust rained onto the floor, and it wasn't until I went back home and smelled the strange substance on my shirt that I realized it was not foundation as I'd mistook, but cocaine.

A week later, I found the courage to confront Julia about my discovery. She hadn't denied any of my allegations, instead owning up to them and even trying to convince me to join her. I lost sleep over our conversation many nights after that. Julia had been so invested in her ugly, newfound habits that she saw absolutely nothing wrong with them. As I discovered later on, she further went into psychedelics, hash and pot. Aunt Francesca and Uncle David were both in the dark about their daughter's hard drug abuse for the first trimester of her involvement with it, but I wasn't, and it made me feel guilty as well as responsible for her death.

A million and one thoughts plagued me as I followed Helen, my elder sister, into the living room where my mother and father sat speaking to Julia's father and a stranger I could not recognize. He looked young, about twenty four according to what Uncle David told me. A year older than Julia and I. His name was George, and he'd been a part of Julia's "sessions" - special meet ups young adults held to abuse drugs. He wasn't particularly a close friend of Julia's, but was the first one to visit her at home, thus leading Francesca, who had serious doubts about him, to believe he held some information about Julia's unfortunate death.

According to what Helen told me, an investigation had been going on all day the previous day, which was when Julia's body was first found in a hotel room. Management had rung the first contact on her smartphone - her boyfriend, Marc. In turn, Marc had called Uncle David. It was a disastrous event, and from the look in his eyes, it was obvious Julia's dad had cried the most. Francesca worked as an air hostess for an airline in Dubai and was almost never home, whereas he worked in the energy sector. Regardless of his busy schedule, it was a surprise how he still managed to create time to spend with his daughter. If no one had told me, I'd have believed he was a jobless man because he was always present.

I sat very close to him as George revealed in details how sessions usually went, where it did, and how often it did. My mother was the most shocked about it all. She'd never known that her niece was into such a thing, and I was thankful I never told her, otherwise she would've had me cut me off from relating with Julia. Truth be told, I didn't need my mother to prod me into cutting ties. I'd already lost contact with her for almost five years after we both graduated high school.

The last time we were together was during one of our picnics. The last one we'd ever have together. She was driving us back into town; dressed in a black shirt, flannel jacket, and blue jeans with her braids tied up to reveal the tiny flame tattoo on her right temple. We'd said goodbye with our signature handshake, and I remembered how cold her hand had felt. Yet, she appeared to be bursting with health. To a complete stranger, she was a beautiful young adult devout to healthcare and skincare.

No one could tell she was a drug addict.

Later that evening, my mom said our family would converge within the next two days to give Julia a proper burial. I usually hated funerals and felt unease at having to attend one for a relative, but if anyone should be sitting in the front pyre with her parents, it was me.

I fought with finding a way to make peace with myself over my cousin's death. It seemed that I still struggled with letting go of the "what ifs" as well as the chronic blame I put on myself for not trying to talk her out of her habits when it first began, or at least revealing it to her parents so they'd find her help really quick. For two days, I battled silently. Images of Julia plagued my dreams at night and my thoughts at daytime.

I followed Helen to shop for funeral clothes on Saturday, but my attention was not entirely on the activity. I didn't care about what I would wear. All I could think of was Julia. My family had been given the permission to see the body before it was taken to the morgue, but for certain reasons, I refused to go with them. I feared I wouldn't be able to handle it. Fortunately, my family understood. I caught whispers of them saying how hard it possibly was for me to accept the fact, or how betrayed I felt over not being told about the drugs Julia was into.

If only they knew, I thought.

On the day of the funeral, it didn't rain. The weather was perfectly clear, and it made me think that the sky did not bear any sympathy for my family. All the same, the weather was a pleasant one to walk under. I believed it to be the only form of consolation I had. The attendance was small; comprising mainly of Julia's old school friends, some neighbors, distant relatives, and her boyfriend, Marcus. The service went smoothly, and I didn't feel pressured by all the crying faces around me until Julia's coffin was opened.

My breath caught.

She'd gone so pale that she looked no different from a sheet of paper, dressed in what seemed like her Sunday best. I stood next to the coffin and stared down at her, half listening to Francesca stumbling over her words from too much crying. I remained rooted to the spot, until Uncle David took the stage. Unlike his wife, he spoke in a clear tone. The emotions behind his voice was vivid, yet he held superb control over them.

When he suddenly began to talk about I and Julia's childhood days, I glanced up at him.

Even as his eyes met mine, he continued to speak, voicing how he'd long been aware that Julia would someday lose her way. It began to feel like he was talking directly to me when he said it was nobody's fault that she was gone. She'd chosen her own path, refusing to heed advice concerning taking a new one. My eyes clouded over when he talked about the positive ways our family impacted his daughter's lifestyle, and the immense love she felt in the years we lived together. He consoled the rest of us by saying we all deserved to be at peace over Julia's passing.

At that point, I felt a rush of emotions and finally broke down in tears; my face buried in my hands and my shoulders trembling. I felt someone gently grab me in consolation, and from his smell alone, recognized the person to be my dad. I hugged him and cried until I couldn't anymore. In the silence that hung about his embrace, I realized I'd be alright living in a world without Julia. I loved her truly and would always, but she was no more.

My heart was grieving, yet I believed that it would find a way to guiltlessly move on.

It would find a piece of peace.