My mother cancelled her reunions and stayed with me the rest of the day, supporting me, comforting me, listening to me while I talked about Thomas non-stop, stories, little memories we shared.

But not even once she agreed or disagreed with me when I tried to make her tell me her opinion about what happened, not even once she told me anything when I insisted it was not suicide. She just changed the subject. And I gave up just to bring the subject back to life moments later to drop it again when I couldn't have an answer.

And when I finally felt asleep, a strange sleep, full of nightmares and that was not a true sleep but just a escape from the reality because I could felt my mother's presence near me during the entire time, I could feel her arms around, her hands caressing my hair, his hold becoming tightly when a nightmare frightened me.

I woke up in the afternoon, as tired or even more than I was before, and my mother obliged me to eat. But I couldn't eat, the thought of eating right now making me sick. Thomas was gone, he would never eat again, we would never share our lanches again, so why do I have the right to eat? Why am I still here if he is gone?

But my mother obliged me to eat while she talked about random things, not bothered with my lack of response. She talked about so many things, remembering me that she was here as well as Diana, remembering me of my dream of become a doctor. Making me see that the life still exists, that I am here and have a propose, something that gives sense to my life.

I know why she did it, why she remembered me of that. Because she guessed what I was thinking, the dangerous thoughts I was having. Thoughts that would make me doubt about what I am still doing here, the same thing that happened when my father died. But when he died I had Thomas with me, offering me comfort as no one else could do, understanding me, supporting me, better than anyone else. And now he is not here, he is the one who is gone. Killed by someone because I know it was not suicide.

After I eat, I went to sleep again, my body doing its routine automatically, without my help. I refused to have my mother with me this time, needing time to deal with my emotions alone.

And I cried and cried, blaming myself. What if I had told him yes when he asked me? Probably we would have the date in the same day and he wouldn't be dead right now, not even knowing how much I loved him. They said it was my fault and the reason because they said that was wrong, but isn't it my fault anyways? Shouldn't I have told him that I loved him when he told me how he felt, shouldn't I have immediately told him yes?

I feel the darkness surrounding me, wanting to oblige me to surrender and close my eyes. But I can't, I can't because what I see when I close them is his body, swinging back and forth, lifeless, and his little sister, alone and without someone to understand her now that her brother is gone, swinging back and forth at the same rhythm.

But it is a fruitless fight. My eyes close against my will, their image appearing in my mind one last time before I surrender to the darkness.

§§§

He is singing while he places the rope around his neck, singing with his horrible voice, a voice that was definitely not made to sing. He used to sing anyways, even if I told him countless times he had no talent.

He sang because he liked, because he didn't care what the others thought about that. I admired him because of it, how he was able to ignore the others' opinion, their mean words.

And now he is singing while he places the rope around his neck. I'm frozen, unable to walk towards him, grab his hands and hold him until he forget that stupid idea. I can do nothing while he places the rope around his neck and shuts the footstool away.

I scream loudly than I ever did, begging him to stop, to take the rope and come to me, hug me, stay with me.

And he finally looks at me, his blue eyes shinning in the darkness, colder than I ever saw them. It always astonished me how he could do it, make his eyes look like ice, colder than ice, when he was angry with someone or something. But not this time, this time it doesn't astonish me, it makes me feel fear.

He opens his mouth, his icy gaze piercing me and says with his last breathe, a whisper that I don't know how I am able to listen, "It was your fault."

"Layla, shhh, it's everything okay, you're fine." My mother is holding me, my trembling body, tightly.

"It's... It's not my fault." I whisper, breathing heavily and sobbing, tears falling from my eyes. A sudden need to make my mother understand that it is not my fault grows inside me and I grab her wrist, a iron grip around it, making her look at me worried. I'm probably looking like a crazy woman, wide open eyes, shaking body, heavy breath. But I can't control myself, not anymore, not after that nightmare. "It's not my fault, mom, it is not!"

"I know it isn't, Layla. I know, okay?" She says, her expression calm, her voice sweet, her hand caressing my hair, a calm, rhythmic movement. "You can relax, I know it is not your fault."

And slowly I relax, my heart beating reducing, my breathe becoming less heavily, the tears stopping to fall.

"I need to go to work, Layla," my mother says and I can see how much she dislikes the idea of leaving me alone.

"I know, I'll be okay," I answer. Will I? How can I? How can I be okay after what happened, after I lose my best friend?

"No, you'll not," my mother replies, shaking her head. "I can't let you alone, I'll stay at home."

"No, you'll not. I heard you during a week talking about this deal with those important people. A deal that will give you more money. You can't lose it." You need to keep living is what I want to say but I can't.

My mother needs to keep living because I don't know if I can. I saw my father dying in front of me, the life leaving his body while his eyes were losing that brightness they always had. I understood how futile the life is, how unnecessary our presence in the world is. We live our lives to die and leave the ones we loved, the ones who love us behind, in pain. Thomas gave me a reason to live, something my mother couldn't because she was consumed by her own pain. And now Thomas is gone, the one who gave me a reason to live disappeared too, leaving a even bigger hole in my heart. So why am I here? Why should I be here? What's my role, why am I alive if the ones I love are dying one after the other?

"Layla," my mom says, her voice with a serious tone, her eyes shinning with tears, "don't even think about it. I need you here, don't you dare to live me. I was not here when you needed you after your father... After what happened but I am here now. And I need you. You are not here to die, you make the world better because you are here. That's our role in the world. Make it a better place to live. You don't necessarily need to make it a better place to everyone. Sometimes make it a better place to the ones you love is enough." How can it be? How can I make the world better to anyone? "You make the world a better place, Layla. A place where I want to be. After your father, it was you, Layla, with your energy, your life, your smiles, the one who made me get back from the dark place where I was."

"Mom..."

"If you go, Layla, I have no reason to stay. If you go, I'll go after you."

"There's no reason to stay, mom. We can go together, be with Thomas and father again." I whisper. Why can't we go? Be with them, let them hug me again, talk with them again.

I see the desire in her eyes, the desire of making what I am saying, leave everything behind and be with them again. But she doesn't let it take control. "No, we can't. You deserve to live your life, to succeed, to be a doctor as you desire. And..." she hesitates before she continues, "if you're right and he didn't want to go, then there's one thing he definitely wouldn't want to leave behind."

"Alyssa," I whisper. His little sister, lost in a world that doesn't understand her, a world that's not made to her. She needs protection, someone able to understand her. A protection her parents can't give her because they refuse to see the problem, they refuse to accept that their child has autism.

"He made her so many promises, Layla. You can't keep the most part but I remember that once his promise was that while she needed someone, there would be always someone near her." She grabs my hand, squeezing it, "you can help him keeping this one. You can be this someone. Help his sister because his parents will not. Be with her and keep Thomas promises. Make sure he is able to keep at least this one."

Alyssa needs me. Thomas would want that I help his sister. "Yes," I say. I will help her, I will be the someone with her.

  My mom smiles, hugging me and getting up. "Good, thank you, my love. But I need to go. What do you say if you dress up and I take you to Alyssa's house?" Alyssa's house, not Thomas' one, not anymore.

  I just nod, getting up. I turned off my phone yesterday after reading those horrible news. I stare at it, at the little device that brought me that sent me that message from Thomas, that let me see all those fake news. Why should I turn it on if it brought me nothing but sadness?

  "Diane probably wants to know how you are," my mom says. She's right. Diane is my best friend, not as Thomas was, but still my best friend and is probably worried with me.

  I turn it on while I pick up a hoodie and a blue jeans and dress up. I look at me in the mirror, at my messy hair and puffy eyes. But I have no patience to try to make me look better right now. I don't care. And then my eyes fix on the hoodie, a black hoodie, a common hoodie. And at the same time not a common hoodie. It was Thomas who gave it to me three days ago, when I was freezing. I should have devolved him it but I kept forgetting and now I'll never be able to give it back to him.

  I  close my eyes and inhale. I'm almost sure I can still smell his scent in this hoodie, with some imagination I can even believe he is here hugging me. But he is not, he will never be here again.

  "Layla, are you ready?" I open my eyes, staring at my reflection, at the hoodie again. Am I ready to stole his position, to be to Alyssa what her brother was? No, I am not. But I need to try because she needs someone, because Thomas would want that.

  I stare at my mother's green eyes through the mirror, at her worried expression, "Yes, yes I am."

  I am not Thomas, I will never be him. But he was taken away from me, from us, letting a hole, a blank space where he was. I can not replace my own hole, but I can replace Alyssa's. I can be her new Thomas, her new help. I can be sure Thomas keeps his promise, I can be sure Alyssa has someone with her.

  Because Thomas would want that. Thomas would want someone taking care of his sister. I grab my phone putting it in my pocket, slightly brush my hair to make it look better, grab my keys and follow my mother to her red Porsche.

  "I'm proud of you, my little warrior," my mother says.

  I just nod. I know she's but she's not the one I want to make proud. I want to make my father proud of me, of my choices, it was my only desire since he died. I want to be a doctor to make him proud of me, to make him see I can be like him.

  And now I want to make Thomas proud. To show him I can take care of his sister as he would want. To show him I'll not let her alone. And I will.

I will make Thomas proud of me.