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“I have something to tell you,” Sunny said, his voice rough and hoarse after long years of disuse, foreign even to his own ears.
If Aubrey’s arched eyebrow and Hero’s gasp were any indication, his friends were shocked to see him standing in the doorway of Basil’s room, much less hear him talk. Kel, however, brushed off whatever surprise he must’ve felt and launched himself at Sunny, engulfing him in a tight hug.
“You’re awake!” Kel said, pulling back a bit, inspecting the bandages on his friend’s pale face. “Oh, man, you look awful.”
“Kel,” Hero joined his brother, “Give him some room to breathe.” And only when Kel took two steps back did he turn his attention to Sunny, a strained smile on his face. “How are you feeling? Are you better now?”
Sunny ignored the question and repeated his earlier statement, “I have something to tell you.”
“Uh, yeah, sure,” Hero rubbed the back of his neck, exchanged a look with his brother, “Go ahead.”
Sunny took a step forward, closer to Basil’s bed, but his feet—weak and tired after his unconsciousness—betrayed him. He stumbled and would have fallen face first if it weren’t for Hero and Kel, each brother grasping one of his arms, steadying him.
Aubrey pulled out a chair near Basil’s bed, saying, “Sit down.” And despite how hard she clearly tried to appear unfazed by his appearance, Sunny noted a glint of worry in her eyes.
The brothers half-guided, half-carried Sunny to the chair, only letting go of him when they were sure he wouldn’t fall again. He nodded once, a silent thanks to his three friends.
He looked at Basil—the silent, tense figure lying on the hospital bed—but his best friend refused to meet his eyes, choosing to stare at the flowers that lined the far wall instead. Gifts, Sunny assumed, from visitors all over the town. The hours Sunny had spent listening to Basil talk about his plants and watching him tend to them paid off, and Sunny instantly recognized the purple shape of the petals and the aroma that accompanied them: hyacinths not unlike the ones in his room.
Remembering Basil and the hours the duo had spent in the garden, remembering how happy they were—how they all were—sent a pang through Sunny’s heart, his chest tightening with the weight of what he was about to do, the words he planned to say. Yet he spent another moment looking at Basil, silently pleading for him to turn his gaze to Sunny’s. He wanted to warn his friend—no, he needed to warn Basil of his intentions. After all, it may have been Sunny’s wrongdoing, but they both carried the guilt of that day. It was Basil’s secret just as well as his own, and they equally suffered greatly because of it. Maybe Basil even more, Sunny prospected, staring at Aubrey, who moved to stand next to him. While Sunny took to isolating himself, blocking out every person and thing tied to that fateful day, Basil had to shoulder everything and experience the aftermath of Mari’s… “suicide” on his own.
Aubrey noticed Sunny’s stare, and her lips pressed together. “Well, we’re still waiting, you know?” She said.
“Aubrey,” Hero shook his head, and Sunny understood the message in that gesture. Give him some time.
“What?” Aubrey protested as she crossed her arms over her chest, either ignoring or not picking up on Hero’s unspoken words. “Sunny came here, walking when he shouldn’t be, and spoke for the first time in who knows how many years. Clearly whatever he has to say is important.” She punctuated her words with a smile at Sunny. Whether to encourage him, mock him, or soften her words, Sunny didn’t know.
“He can say it whenever he wants to say it, Aubrey,” Kel replied when Hero’s silent attempt undoubtedly failed, and he flashed Sunny a smile of his own.
Sunny nodded in acknowledgment, but he recognized on some level that he couldn’t keep them waiting all day.
After a deep breath, he opened his mouth, summoning the courage to utter the words he had prepared on his spontaneous trip to Basil’s room, repeating them over and over in his head, only for his mouth to shut tightly. He opened his mouth again, closed it, opened it. Another futile attempt, but his body seemed to work against him. He realized how silly he must look to the others, a fish desperately gasping for air, but he just couldn’t do it.
He couldn’t say the words that would wipe Aubrey’s and Kel’s smiles off their faces. He couldn’t say the words that would extinguish the light and peace that Hero had been pursuing in the past four years since Mari’s death. He couldn’t bring himself to tear his friends apart right after they had found each other.
But they needed to know the truth.
And he had to be the one to say it.
For Aubrey, Kel, and Hero.
For Basil.
For himself.
And… for Mari.
He took another deep breath and pulled the trigger, the words rushing out of his mouth before he could overthink them.
“I killed Mari.”
Hero’s eyes instantly teared up at the mention of Sunny’s sister, his first love. “Oh, Sunny,” the tall boy said, shaking his head, “It wasn’t your fault. If she had… If I had known…”
“No one saw it coming,” Aubrey cut him off, twisting a thin strand of her pink hair.
“Besides, you were only twelve; there wasn’t much you could do, man.”
The pain and grief in their voices punched Sunny in the gut, yet he was shaking his head before Kel had finished talking, his eyes spilling over, tears hot with the shame and guilt he had carried.
“I killed Mari,” Sunny could only repeat as if the injuries he had sustained had taken away his ability to communicate properly. I have something to tell you. I killed Mari. He knew he had to say more than that; that’s the least of what he owed his friends. And so, after directing his gaze at Basil’s shocked face, he did, fidgeting with the sleeves of his hospital gown, just to give his hands something to do besides picking at the cuts on his arms—another result of his fight with Basil the previous day.
“The day of the recital, Mari and I had a fight. She was mad at me over a mistake, and I… I got mad, too. We were at the top of the stairs. She raised her voice, said something. I don’t remember what,” he cut off, his voice thick, his cheeks wet, closing his eyes against the memory he’d fought hard to suppress. His hands on his sister, pushing her, strong with fury and something else. Something close to insanity perhaps. He could feel the rough cloth of her dress and the flesh beneath it in the split-second it took for him to push her. He remembered the shock on her face, mingled with the visible traces of anger that lingered on her face; he could hear her yelp once her feet left the ground, a cry for help. But most importantly, he could remember standing, waiting, counting down the seconds until Mari stood again, furious with him. She never did, though. Sunny opened his eyes and noticed the way his friends looked at him: half-expectant and half-skeptical, their faces not showing any hint of believing him. “I pushed her, and she died.” He simply continued.
A hand touched his shoulder. Aubrey’s, he realized, and his body tensed, waiting for her hand to tighten painfully or push him to the ground like she’d pushed Basil into the lake the other day. Like he’d pushed Mari down the stairs. His insides twisted, but her touch remained gentle.
“Sunny, you're still in shock. Or concussed, I don’t know,” she said, gentle just like her touch. Sympathetic even, “You must have hit your head hard yesterday or… something.”
“No,” was Sunny's reply, brief and straight to the point. Oh, how he had wished Aubrey’s words were true, back when he was only twelve and standing beside his sister. He had almost convinced himself that he was in shock, that he had only imagined the argument and the push. But his sister’s body remained… lifeless—her knees and neck bent at odd angles, her heart silent beneath his fingertips, her chest unmoving—proving him wrong again and again the longer he looked at her body. He had wanted to scream and cry for her to wake up, but reality hit him hard, sending him to his knees, and that was the state Basil saw him in when he walked in minutes—or was it hours?—later.
“Do you hear yourself, Sunny?” asked Hero, his voice uncharacteristically sharp, as his hands ripped his hair apart, “If there’s even a slight chance of what you’re saying is true, then explain how she ended up there. On the tree.” His voice broke at the end of his words, desperate, his chest heaving up and down. So unlike Mari’s when she fell and Sunny ran down the stairs to help her to her feet when it became clear to him that she didn’t want to stand up again, thinking she was just tired or somewhat hurt. “She hung herself. It wasn’t your fault.” It was Kel’s turn to place a hand on his brother’s shoulder, and a quick look passed between them. Sunny suddenly recalled what Kel had once told him, how hard his brother took Mari’s suicide, and how blamed himself for it. Sunny could barely imagine what sort of wounds his confession was picking at.
“It was my idea.”
Shocked, it took Sunny a moment to snap from his thoughts and realize that Basil had spoken up for the first time since he entered the room. The blond boy shrank into himself, hugging his blanket, when the room’s attention shifted toward him, eyes still fixed on the flowers.
“What?” Kel asked.
“I was there when s… when S…” Basil paused, and his entire body was suddenly rigid as if the smallest of movements would break him. Sunny assumed, with a pang in his chest and pain in his bandaged eye, that this was another one of Basil’s attempts at fighting off his something—to acknowledge the truth of Sunny’s role in Mari’s death, to stop throwing the blame on that thing, a creature that existed only in their minds, taking on the form of Mari’s eye and hair. Not an easy task, considering that Sunny had just come to terms with it himself an hour ago. But Basil eventually took a shaky breath, his body deflating, then proceeded, “I was there when it happened. I saw it all. Sunny panicked, didn’t know what to do. It was my idea to hang Mari’s body—” his voice caught on the last word, and tears began to flow freely down his cheeks, creating rivers that match the ones on Sunny’s face, “—and make it look like she did it herself. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t know what to do. I swear I didn’t want to do that—believe me, I didn’t—but I didn’t want to lose Sunny either. I didn’t want him to leave me, us.”
His words were met by silence, broken only by Hero’s loud sobs. The tension was thick and palpable in the air, but their friends finally believed Sunny, believed Basil; that much was clear. It was clear in the way Aubrey’s blue eyes softened, tears glistening in them, staring at Sunny, one hand over her heart, and the other over her mouth. It was clear in the way Kel’s body shook violently like a leaf caught in a hurricane, his teeth grinded so hard Sunny thought he might hear them cracking any second, his hands fisted by his sides as if prepared to fight off the truth. And it was prominent in the way Hero—who had, to Sunny, always been the very picture of control, a symbol of patience and stability—slid down to the ground, crying his heart out and hugging his knees to his chest, rocking back and forth, a weak and broken howl leaving his lips. But the older boy didn’t let the others see him in that state for long.
To Sunny’s surprise, he slowly pushed himself to his feet, nails digging half-moons into his skin, trembling even more than his brother. “I… I need to go,” he said. He sounded unnatural as if every word was ripped bloodily from his mouth, forced out of his throat by knives. When no one countered him, he walked to the door and slammed it shut behind him, startling Kel out of his stupor. Through the walls, Sunny could hear Hero’s footsteps, quick and loud.
His body momentarily relaxing, Kel looked around—at Aubrey, the floor, the ceiling; anywhere but Sunny and Basil—before noticing his brother’s absence. “He left, didn’t he?” He ran a hand through his messy hair, and despite his obvious attempt at appearing nonchalant, his voice was controlled, numb and cold and so unlike his own, “I should probably follow him. Make sure he doesn’t… do anything stupid. I should probably take him back home. See you.”
As Kel left the room, Basil sat up, mimicking Hero’s earlier pose and hugging his knees.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated under his breath weakly and desperately like a charm to protect him from any harm, “I’m so, so sorry.”
But once again, only silence met his words with Aubrey not giving any indication that she heard him, her eyes flickering between the two boys. Sunny held his breath, waiting and waiting for Aubrey’s reaction. For her to burst out and shout at him like he’d deserved. For her to actually push him like he’d expected before, or even bash his head with that bat she carried around nowadays. Yet seconds stretched to minutes, and she only stood still, silent, chewing her tongue, brows furrowed, deep in thought.
“Hey, look at me,” she finally called out, and she continued when both boys reluctantly obliged, “None of this is right. It’s not OK, and I will not lie to you and say that it’s alright. It’s not. Hero’s having a complete mental breakdown, and only God knows what Kel is up to out there. And I…” she shook her head, “But listen, this—all of this—is not your fault. You hear me? Anger sometimes makes people do things. Stupid things that they will sorely regret,” she gave Sunny a slight nod, an indication that they were both thinking of that day at the lake. If it weren’t for Hero, Basil might’ve died. Maybe there was a lot in common between Sunny and Aubrey, more than he thought there would be. Aubrey turned her gaze to Basil, “Same goes for fear. But it’s not your fault; you were just kids. You couldn’t have possibly imagined what would’ve happened. And… and I am sorry for everything I did to you, Basil. I’m not going to give any pathetic excuses. Instead of sticking together as a group as we should’ve done, I went and made everything worse for you—for everyone—than it already was. That was all on me, and I’m not one to repeat my mistakes. I’m sorry.”
She wrapped her arms around Basil. And although he froze for a moment at first, he hugged her back tightly, his eyes meeting Sunny’s over her shoulder, an echo of a smile on his face.
And Sunny smiled, too. A small, weak smile, but a smile all the same.