Two days after that.

Mitch came by the house to see how I was doing. I mean, what did he expect? I was miserable. I was broken. So lost and so alone. When he found me in Matt's room, I was still wearing the same clothes I had been when I left the set four days earlier. Unwashed and unfed, I was a hollow shell of myself. Empty.

"Hey," he sat on the edge of the bed beside me, petting my hair gently. I just stared at the wall behind him, trying to get my eyes to focus. "Come on, kid, let's get you out of this bed."

I shrank away from him, holding the blankets to me. "No," I croaked. My lips were cracked and dry.

"Jesus, Maddie. Have you had anything to eat or drink?" I shook my head. "Since when?" I shrugged, closing my eyes. The room was spinning. "I'm going to get you some water. I'll be right back."

He left. I rolled over and faced the window. Acid burned my throat as vomit started to rise. I could just make out the shape of the tree through his dark curtains. I covered my face with my hands to block it, but the image was burned into my eyes, glowing blue and white against my closed eyelids. My stupid fucking mind added the shape of his body, just slightly swinging, and my stomach contracted painfully.

"Here, drink." Mitch held a bottle of water to my lips. Once the cool water passed my lips, thirst overtook me, and I guzzled down half the bottle. "Whoa. Slow down." I pushed the bottle back into his hands and vomited over the edge of the bed, a puddle of watered-down bile.

I let out a pathetic sound, something between a wail and a groan. I draped my head over the edge of the bed and tried to cry. My body shook with dry sobs that convulsed into dry heaves, trying--and failing--to expel the pain from my body.

"She's here," my mother said, leading a pair of uniformed men into the room.

"Madelyn?" The older one asked, gripping my wrist between his thumb and forefinger. "Can you tell me what's going on?" I shook my head, staring up into his gray eyes. "Her pulse is weak. When was the last time you had anything to drink?"

His voice faded out, the room sliding into a gray haze. I thought maybe it was the smoke from his bed. I was ready to let it consume me. When they lifted me to stand, I fell to my knees, my legs folding under me like a collapsible chair.

I woke up two days later in the hospital, an IV sticking out of my left arm. My mother sat in the armchair by the window, reading. As if nothing was wrong. As if her child hadn't just fucking hung himself. As if the other one wasn't completely broken.

A nurse bustled into the room. "Well, look who's awake. How are you feeling?"

My throat was so dry. "Thirsty," I rasped.

She poured water from a mustard yellow pitcher into a plastic pink cup. "Here you go, honey." Kellie, her name tag said. Kellie checked my vitals, recorded them on the chart, and left me alone.

Almost.

"Maddie." My mother pressed her lips into a thin line.

"What?" I was so fucking angry. She flinched, but didn't say anything. I stared at her in the silence, the only sound, the faint chugging of the IV machine. I rubbed my hands over my face. "When's the funeral?" I finally asked.

"It..." She stood and walked closer, resting her hand on my arm. "It was yesterday." I felt like she had driven a needle through my heart.

I whispered, "Get out."

"Maddie--"

I shouted as loud as I could, using every bit of breath in my body, "GET THE FUCK OUT!"

She did. Maybe she shouldn't have. But I was so glad she did.

He was gone, and I didn't get to say goodbye. To this day, I've never been to his grave. Maybe I should have. Maybe I will.