Chapter 130

One of them is in the box, a small 10x10 that is punctured over cartoon-ish drawings of my mother, father, and I's faces. Beckett had even taken the time to destroy this one too. More repressed memories surface to the forefront of my mind. I'd spent so much time reminiscing on the bad that I'd nearly forgotten about these small, simple snippets that I never thought would impact me so greatly till now. My eyes burn as I kick the wooden box. Bent over, I curse Beckett's name as I smash it in. I don't care about the fucking drawings. I care about the people who he's taken from me and the fact I never got to at least tell my father that I was sorry. That I was a shitty, ungrateful kid and I should have been more sympathetic. That I should have tried harder to help him heal. That Ronnie doesn't exist anymore, my conscious whispers. I land on my knees in front of the broken box, bowed in defeat with my hair acting as a curtain while I clutch his wedding