in which, Gray does not think to set his crackle rod to stun mode, leaving Carmen to grapple with his death.

1,447

's redcrackle story. (its really good and i totally reccomend!!)

....

She still thinks of him sometimes. She thinks of how he smiled with his eyes, of the way his lips pulled into a crooked grin, never failing to reveal a flash of white teeth. She thinks of how when he laughed, rich and hearty, the urge to echo it would suddenly fall upon anyone within proximity.

At first it was horrible, having to live with herself knowing the death of her best friend fell upon her own hands. When she finally found her mother, his loss tainted what should've been the happiest day of her life and, for a while, Carmen resented him for the fact.

At the same time, she felt his absence in her bones, the idea that he was no longer existing alongside her on earth (however far away that might've been before) clawing her insides raw until grief finally ruptured her carefully errected walls.

Sobs would take her from the core, reducing Carmen to sniveling mess in the middle of the night with no one but the stars in the Sky for company as the final remnants of some horrible nightmare involving her ensing his life faded away.

Things got better as time went on. At least, that is what Carmen tells herself.

She has not moved on. His laugh still haunts her and his loss still gnaws her at her soul. But Carmen has forgotten what it is like to be happy and therefore has nothing to compare this current state of monotonous yet deep-seated sorrow that is her life.

Carmen is not incapable of joy.

She still smiles when her mother's home-made empanadas burst on her tongue, still laughs at the antics of the little children in the orphanage.

But she can enjoy nothing for long as every time she dares to let herself be happy, his face returns to taunt her.

That is why Carmen pushes his memory to the back of her mind. She does not let herself think of him. She does not let herself mourn because it is so much easier to pretend him away.

She has tried, before. She's tried thinking of him again--of what could've been--but is halted by a searing, white-hot blaze of pain that never seemes to lessen in strength as time ticks on.

Carmen tells herself she is happy. She has everything she wanted, doesn't she?

But things are too quiet and her mother is too warm and everything is fine around her when she is not and the quiet complacency, the soothing tranquility of this orphanage tucked away within a hidden part of Buenos Aires, is too much to pretend to fit into.

So Carmen goes back. She closes her eyes and dives into her memories, wading through the shallows before slowly edging into the murkier depths.

She hunts for him. She hunts for his laugh, his smile, and his alluring australian accent. She hunts for the curl of his brown hair along with the broad line of his shoulders and the smell of the denim jacket he loaned her during the time they spent playing Bonnie and Clyde for VILE.

It is then Carmen realizes she cannot exactly remember what Gray looks like. Where every fine feature of his face was seared into her memory before, a blurry outline of tan skin and brunette curls with a sharp slice of white for his eyes has taken the place of that memory.

She does not like this. So Carmen closes her eyes again and racks her brain to remember. And he's there, but he's just out of her reach, like a forgotten string of words she's trying to fish from her throat.

And that is when she cannot take it anymore.

Carmen decides she has one mission: find a photograph of her former best friend.

Such a thing is no small feat, considering how a simple sefie could be as dangerous as a bullet in their (former) line of work.

That is how, two days later, she comes to find herself in Sydney, Australia, armed with a set of dates and locations provided by Player.

Carmen has been on many historical tours within her lifetime, but perhaps this one is the most important. Why? Because it is a journey through her dead best friend's life.

Gray never spoke of his family much, and Carmen now sees why. She goes to his childhood address in hopes of perhaps seeing some baby pictures, maybe ones of an elementary-age Graham Callaway, but everything suddenly makes sense when the taxi driver drops her before an orphanage.

She still asks, though, but the employees barely even remember having him within their custody amongst the teeming pack of kids that inhabited the institution durinf his stay. Not ready to give up, Carmen presses on.

She learns so many things about him. For instance, Carmen finds that Gray worked at an ice cream shop during his summers, all-starry-eyed at the prospect of leaving the city behind and making something of himself. She also meets many people who were once in his life, and it feels so freeing to speak with others who loved him same as she did.

Despite the fact, she still had yet to fulfill the original point of her visit to Australia: finding a picture depicting her friend.

That all changes when she heads to the Conservatorium High School. A few words exchanged with the woman manning the reception desk, and Carmen was lead back to a sector storing yearbooks. One had to be eighteen to enter VILE academy (obviously, she was the exception having just turned 16), so Carmen searches on account of that.

When she finally finds him within the sea of faces, she can barely contain the shuddering gasp that threatens to leave the confines of her throat.

At the sight of his one-sided grin, Carmen feels a forgotten familiarity and melts, feeling tears prick at the walls of her stormy grey eyes.

His face is not how she last remembers it last--all chiseled and pronounced with a strength to his sharp jaw. This Gray is instead far softer and younger, a bit more akin to her friend during their academy days.

But there it is, the same twinkle of mischief and trouble within his sharp hazel eyes, the same heart-wrenching set of dimples around the curve of his arrogantly confident smile.

Plop.

Carmen hadn't even realized she was crying till one of her tears splotched onto a page of the yearbook. Before she can let her instincts make her run away from her feelings yet again, she stops herself.

Carmen sits. She sits and she cries and she does it in a supply closet of a highschool in Australia. She keeps doing it for over an hour until she is sure her body has run dry of liquid because she has emptied it all out, and she finally lets herself mourn him and what could have been.

When Carmen is done, she saves his yearbook photos, and she wondes if this means she can remember him and smile now.

She heads to the final address on Player's list, and it takes her to the home of a girl named Sarah Lang. Sarah Lang gives her even more photos. She says she was Gray's highschool girlfriend, and Carmen cannot help the pang of jealousy that shoots through her.

If only they had had more time together, if only she had gotten the chance to be with him as more than friends before he left this earth.

This remains on her mind as she leaves Australia, and she cries again (quietly; its awkward to cry on a plane) because Carmen finally admits something to herself: She was in love with Gray.

She held love for him, love that would never cease even if she moved on (she didn't want to; not yet), and love that she would never know if it was returned because he was dead.

Dead because of her.

And suddenly, all the progress Carmen has made within the time frame of this visit crumbles to ashes because grief crunches her bones and shatters her soul slowly, so slowly.

It does so all over again.

....