Page 18 of Malaise

“But who was at fault?” I ask. “Who pulled out in front of whom?”

“It’s inconclusive,” Mum states.

“What?” I look to her, hoping she’ll elaborate.

“They’re unsure if he crossed from the bus’s right, or if he was trying to overtake it. The driver can’t help as he said he never saw Den, only realised what happened when he….” She swallows hard and closes her eyes. “When he felt the impact.”

“Shit.”

“Meg.”

“Come on, Dad.” I drop the fork and run my hand over my face. “Ditch the pretences, okay? I think if there’s one time in our lives we should be able to swear, this is it.”

“I suppose you’re right.” He pushes his plate away, appetite seemingly lost.

I eye the pancakes left on the plate before us and I want to eat them, but there’s a gaping void where my desire to do anything should be. I don’t know what I want right now… other than for Den to walk in the front door.

“Your father and I talked last night and we’ll apply to the school for special consideration if you’d like to delay your exams.”

I shake my head at Mum. “No. It’ll be good to have something to think about.” Because God only knows I need my mind on anything but this right now. “Am I excused?”

“You haven’t eaten anything,” Mum complains half-heartedly.

“Neither have you,” I point out.

She assesses the table before us as though the idea never crossed her mind. “I suppose I haven’t.”

The two of them remain seated in silence as I get up and head to my bedroom to get shoes on. Neither one even makes so much as an effort to ask what happened to my arm. Because when one of our family will never come home, who cares, right?

This is how life will be from here on out—I can feel it: an empty nothingness between three people who should be thicker than thieves, a hollow existence with no real reason to try and stick together other than it’s what we’ve always done.

I shrug on Den’s black hoodie, cover it with my denim vest, and then pocket my keys and wallet. The murmur of their voices cuts through the floor as I toe my boots on, leaving the laces loose and hanging at the sides. I don’t have a plan, or even a thought on where I might go. All I know is that I’ve been home for half a day and already I have to get away from here.

Too many ghosts of people lost for me to handle—none of which belong to Den.