Haunted

She sat before the large, opened casket as tears slowly streamed down her face. He lie still, his hands folded over his stomach and his eyes closed. She watched him cautiously, waiting to see the steady rise and fall of his chest. He's not breathing, Amelia, she thought to herself. He's dead. Her mother wrapped her arm around her waist and heaved a sigh as she rested her head on her mother's shoulder and closed her eyes.

"He's finally at peace, sweetheart," her mother murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "He's not suffering, anymore." She slowly nodded her head as tears continually rolled down her cheeks. She choked a sob as she stared at the young, beautiful man lying cold and lifeless in a casket.

"Just a week ago, he was alive," she mumbled, shaking her head. "He was alive, breathing, smiling, laughing, jumping, dancing. He was happy, and he was with me. Why did he decide to leave me?"

"He was hurting, Amelia," her mother sighed and gently kissed her cheek. "He was sick, and he couldn't see the bright, beautiful future that awaited him. Some people never find hope, and they act before they think. They end their lives before they even truly begin."

"We could have had a future together," she sobbed. "I would have taken care of him. I would have done anything for him. He was my best friend. I loved him, Mom."

"I know, darling," her mother whispered as she combed her fingers through her daughter's hair.

"Now, we invite Damien's dear friend Amelia to share her eulogy," the minister announced. Everyone turned toward her as she slowly stood and trudged toward the mourning minister. She stood behind the casket, closing her eyes and breathing in deeply. She clutched a crumpled paper tightly in her hands and glanced at the boy lying in the casket. She envisioned his smile and his bright hazel eyes, and the sound of his laughter rang through her ears.

"As I stand before you, I see my Damien," she started, breathing a long sigh. "I see his bright brown eyes and his crooked smile, I hear his joyous laughter and his soft voice. I see the Damien that I've known since we were five years old. He is so beautiful and pure. He would do anything to see the people he loved smile and laugh, he wouldn't dare to touch a woman, he sang so loudly in the shower, he laughed obnoxiously and told countless jokes, he loved with his whole heart, and he didn't have a care in the world. He was happy."

She turned toward his parents, who stared blankly at their dead son, seemingly unfazed. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply as she said, "But, one day, his crooked smile didn't quite reach his eyes, his laughter became silence, and his once bright eyes were dim. He was so sad, and I never understood why. I was unaware of his situation for several months. On the eighth day of February, four days after his death, I received a note ― from him."

She turned and glanced at his parents as she breathed a sigh. They stiffened in their seats, their brows furrowed and their arms crossed over their chests. Of course they wouldn't know that he left a note. They didn't even know that their son was sick, she thought to herself. She bit down on the inside of her cheek and breathed a quiet sigh as she slowly unfolded the crumpled paper with shaking hands. She closed her eyes and cleared her throat as she read, "'I want to apologize to everyone. I know a lot of people will hurt because of my decision, but I'm hurting, too. I'm taunted every day by the people who are supposed to support and encourage me. My closest friends constantly point out every single one of my flaws. My parents hold such high expectations that I'll never reach. I'm a disappointment.'"

His mother muffled her sobs, and her husband wrapped his arms around her tightly as a few tears rolled down his cheeks. She breathed a long sigh as she continued, "'I was sad and sick and tired, but I refused to admit my problem. A smiled was plastered onto my lips every day, but when I was alone at night, I cried. Secretly, I found ways to hurt myself; I lit cigarettes and burned myself, and I have countless scars on my thighs and chest. I'm not telling you this because I want your sympathy or your attention; I'm telling you this because, even though it's too late to recover, I'm finally admitting my problem.'"

Her eyes welled with tears as her chest tightened. She glanced at the boy lying in the casket, envisioning the multiple wounds and burn scars concealing his sculpted chest. She heaved a long sigh and closed her eyes as a tear rolled down her cheek. "'To my parents: I'm sorry I felt like I wasn't good enough. I love you. To my friends: I'm sorry I left without saying goodbye. I love you guys. To the girl I'm in love with―"

She closed her eyes, tears streaming slowly down her face, and she quietly choked a sob. As she cried, she looked beyond the funeral goers, friends and family, loved ones, and she saw him. He stood in front of the doors, his arms crossed over his chest, his crooked grin spread widely across his lips. He nodded, winked, and blew her a kiss. She smiled, tears rolling down her cheeks, as she continued: "'To the girl I'm in love with: I'll always love you and protect you. I'll be your guardian angel. I love you, Amelia Kathleen Bennett.'"