My parents were called by the hospital as soon as my brother's death was confirmed, notifying them of what happened. Both of their offices are about twenty minutes to half an hour away. Yet, it still took them an hour and fourty five minutes to arrive. By the time they found me, I was just a numb mess; my face pink and swollen, all the tears my body could possible produce spent, my nerves shot, and my voice hoarse.

        I remember looking up into their cold eyes and hating so much that neither were very bothered, nor did they bother to shed a tear for their newly deceased son. Who could be so coldhearted? Would they cry for me if I died? Or would I just be another problem solved in their eyes like Skyy was.

        "You look dreadful," My mother said, sounding annoyed.

        My eyes drifted down and all I could see was red. My own brother's blood was all over me, the last bit of proof that there had ever been life in my beloved twin brother, and she dared say I looked dreadful? My parents could be cruel people, that much I knew. I didn't, however, believe they could ever be such vile monsters. To truly not care that their own son had just committed suicide.

        Actually, that was a slight lie. They did care, but not about their son, or their other son who sat before them; shattered and grieving. What they cared about was what the public would say. How this would make them look. selfish bastards! I wanted to scream, but my voice wasn't working. Nothing was processing. Everything felt like it was in slow motion. The fluorescents burning my tired eyes, illuminating the blood on my body that I couldn't stop staring at. Making me more and more aware of the eyes boring into me, awaiting a response, judging my every move.

        I gave no such thing though. I didn't speak, I didn't bother to give them anything they desired from me. As easily as my brother left me, I left them. They stood in stunned silence as I stood, shoving my way past them and out the front door of our city's general hospital. My feet were heavy, begging me to return to my brother's side, a feeling in my chest that I knew was the last bit of hope I had. The last part of me that still believed if I looked in the right place, with the right lighting, my brother might still be there. White hair, flamboyant clothing, charming smile and all the rest of the beautiful things that made up my twin brother.

       Nothing felt real. It was like I couldn't feel, I couldn't think, I couldn't speak. I was seeing without truly seeing. I was simply numb, floating by in a state of shock. Skyy... my twin, my best friend, my other half, the one I shared a soul with. He left me there. All alone. I was completely alone. When my friends were assholes and I was left out of plans, he wouldn't be there to play video games and watch Netflix with. When my newest girlfriend cheated on me, he wouldn't be there to make a shit ton of food and be my shoulder to cry on. When mother nit picked about everything I did wrong, he wasn't there to rant about her with me and make me smile. When father went on a drunken rampage and took out his frustrations on us... it would now only be me, and Skyy wouldn't be there to hold me until I fell asleep, because it was the only way to keep the nightmare at bay.

        He was just gone. 

        And I was lost and afraid.

        Matt, my personal driver, brought me home that day. I remember the pitiful stares he gave me through the rear view mirror. The way he frowned at the blood slowly drying on my shirt. He stayed completely silent, not even turning on the radio. I was thankful, because music was something Skyy adored, and something I couldn'y stand to hear right now.

        It wasn't until we pulled up in the drive way that  Matt turned in his seat and handed me a card. I took it, staring at it in confusion.

        "That's the number for my room. When you feel the need to talk about everything, don't be afraid to call me. I know you're not ready right now, but there will come a day, and I know what it's like to lose the person you rely on. You're a good kid, Damien. I just want to see you pull through this," He said.

        I didn't say anything, just slipped the card in the back of my jeans and got out, slowly walking into my house. The first thing I noticed was Skyy's shoes, still haphazardly tossed aside. I don't know why, but I just stood there, staring at them as though I could rewind time to the moment he stood here, kicking them off, and then I could have stopped him. 

        That thought wouldn't leave my mind. If I had just made him stay at school. If I had followed him the second he left. If I had ran home sooner, listening to my gut instincts. If I had stopped those bullies from hurting him in the first place. If I had been a better brother. If, If, IF.

        All these things I wish I had done, but didn't. It didn't matter though, because I couldn't turn back time, and Skyy couldn't take back what he'd done. He'd wanted to go, and if I couldn't be strong enough to keep him here, I had no right to be so selfish as to hate him for leaving. I knew now that that hug outside the bathrooms, the long lasting stare, the kiss on my cheek, the unusual words he spoke, the last look over his shoulder, that final beautiful smile, the last words he ever said to me, "I love you." It was all one big goodbye. 

        I tore my eyes away from his shoes, picking them up and carrying them with me as I slowly crept up the stairs. It felt as though there were suddenly weights tied to my feet. Down the hall I could see my bedroom door. Our bedroom door. Fear suffocating me. I kept waiting to hear Skyy's music blasting inside. To hear his off key voice singing along. To see that door open and his clumsy self to stumble out, giving me that familiar Cheshire grin. The one he reserved for me and me only. To be greeted with a hug and hear him go on and on about his day, arms waving around animatedly.

        How was I supposed to walk in there and face the fact that he would never be there again. Not only that, but he died in there. On our very bedroom floor. His blood soaked into the hardwood flooring. His scent would be all over the room, let alone all his possessions and everything that made Skyy... well, Skyy.

        I'm pretty sure I stood there, staring at my bedroom door for nearly half an hour before I decided I couldn't take it. I turned on my heels and rushed up the stairs to our unused third floor. It was more of an attic, the way the roof wasn't as tall and the walls were wood, not quite finished. Upstairs there were only three doors. One led to a bedroom, the second was the bathroom and the last door was smaller and was more of a dumbwaiter that led to the downstairs kitchen and the basement laundry room.

        I shoved open the bedroom door and fell down on the bed, staring at the dust particles that floated up from the blankets that had been left here untouched for ages. All I could thing, was that if mother saw this, she'd freak out. If Skyy saw this, he'd laugh with me about how mother would freak.

        The image of my brother laughing, the sound so clear in my mind I almost believed I actually heard it, is what runs through my mind on repeat until I fall into a very deep sleep. One I honestly, for once, wished I wouldn't wake up from. 

        Because my dreams were the only place I could be with my brother again. The only place I could be myself. The only place I was happy. Dreams were now my refuge, because they let me escape reality.