FOUR 

“Achoo!! Ugh, I hate cooold!” Arlo complained. I huff as I hand him a hot cup of tea and shake my hand when he tries to pass me his germs. He is wrapped in a blue fur blanket and has red, swollen eyes. 

“Who told you to eat ice cream at night? In winter?” I cross my arms, looking down at him. 

“When else am I supposed to have ice cream? During summer??” 

I shake my head, and he pulls me onto himself. “Arlo! NO!” I yelp.

“Arlo. Yes!” He giggles.

“Do NOT give me your germs!” He rolls us around, and now we are inside the heavy blanket, which is extremely hot due to his body temperature. 

“So now I’m a germ, huh?” he questions playfully. 

“Of course, you are, you’re a bug!” I screech, trying to get out of his grip.

“Well, love, this bug would like to infect you.” his hand creeps under my shirt, and oh god, his body is too hot. I’m already sweating.

I pull the blanket off my face, breathing in some cold fresh air as I try to pull away from his hold. 

“I will kick yo ass!” He looks at me, an annoying smirk on his face. 

“Aww, it will be exciting to see you try,” he says, pulling it back up. I release an elongated sigh as he pulls me into a small peck.

His breath trembles as his hand caresses the soft cloth, his breath shallow; he attempts to pull it down. He grips the fabric, his eyes shut as he pulls it down. 

Waiting for a few minutes before he opens his eyes as if his world will crash as if he’d die the second he sees the face under his lashes, as if he’d lose everything–his mind, his heart, his soul. As if he were praying to the Lord for mercy, to not let him see the face of his beloved and let it be someone else, he was being selfish. But what could he do? He opened his eyes with shaking hands and his blood running cold, and his world did crash.

He did lose everything.

His eyes went dry, his face pale, his lips trembling, murmuring something. 

The lord didn’t show him mercy.

He hyperventilated.

His legs staggered back.

His eyes flooded. 

And he took a deep breath. 

He slowly put down the flowers on my chest, his blood dripping from the thorns, now staining the cloth. My sister fidgeted at the sight, but he didn’t care. How could he? 

He was so lonely, standing alone in his darkness. No one to comfort him, to hold him, to make him believe it would be all right,

 and he knew it wouldn’t ever be right. He knew it can’t never be right.

He dashed out of the room, his legs fast, and the last moment I saw was him biting his lip so hard, he bled. 

I felt a pang in my chest, but I didn’t go, I didn’t go after him. 

I stood in the funeral room. 

An eerie feeling eating me up. 

I looked at my surroundings. Crying people whose faces were too similar pierced my heart. I looked at myself. 

I lay dead, but I looked like I was asleep. 

I wasn’t pale, my blood was still running, it was still red, and it could still spill. 

I felt alone. I looked around me. My family is crying, snorts coming out of their noses, their eyes losing their sparkle. 

It was too unsettling to see. 

Too disturbing. 

It was even more nerve-wracking to see my own body lying dead in front of me. 

The world was becoming darker; it was closing. 

It was small. 

I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t speak. 

I wanted to cry. 

Scream.

Anything to let them hear me. 

But what could I do? 

I am a Lost soul.