Letters from the Dead pt. 22

I remember the morning that my mom told me Cherish was dead.

It was the day after prom, and I was hung over and overjoyed.

I had stumbled downstairs, the ghost of the music from the dance still playing in my head, and the taste of cheap vodka coating my mouth. 

My mom was sitting at the table. 

She looked like she had been crying.

She had been.

When she told me about Cherish, I picked up where she had left off. 

I knew that it was my fault. 

I was the one who had said something to that asshole. 

I got him riled up. 

I told my mom about what I had done.   

“He would have found a reason to do it. If it wasn’t what you said, it would have been something else.”

I wanted to believe what she was telling me, but deep down I knew the truth.

I had gotten my best friend killed.