He couldn't hear. They were speaking to him, but it was just white noise. His mother was staring into his soul.
Afraid to speak, he only shook his head and pointed to his ear. In the few seconds his parents were looking at each other in confusion, it set in again and he buried his head in his hands. Thomas was gone.
He didn't know how long it had been. He had just woken up in the hospital, and for a few minutes he really didn't remember what had happened. He didn't know anything. He wanted to see his friend.
But then it all came rushing back and he had been choking on his own breath, crying and probably screaming but he had no way of knowing what it sounded like. His parents, who had been outside the room talking to the doctor, then came rushing in.
The tears wouldn't stop and even hours later when he was home they just wouldn't go away. Something would remind him of his best friend and it would all come back.
He found himself sitting in the living room looking at a photo album. It was half full of pictures of them, doing all the things they did in the last year. At the lake, rehearsing songs for their band, or just eating lunch. At that point he didn't feel anything, but the tears kept coming.
He didn't understand. This wasn't unexpected. They had planned their whole lives around it for a year and a half. He thought he had come to accept it. But he hadn't, because it was eating him alive.
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