I'm getting really fucking sick of everyone grieving for Josh so goddamn publicly. First it was the Instagram posts, the Instagram stories, the Snapchat stories. All very understandable. Then it was the TikTok edits which morphed into Instagram reels. Everywhere I look on social media, it's Josh's face paired with the same sad song that's beginning to really get on my goddamn nerves.

It's like Cerys said in that assembly, Josh wasn't a saint. Dying at sixteen doesn't automatically mean that those sixteen years he did live were spent as a completely good person.

Because he wasn't a completely good person.

He had friends who were the kind of guys to really push the limits, to make someone feel awful about themselves. He never really tried to stop them.

He wasn't always nice to Jenny. He refused to do stuff with her, her stole her toys when they were kids and never stopped teasing her as they grew up.

He wasn't the perfect boyfriend that every girl (or boy) wishes they had.

When he realised that we were drifting apart, somehow he always shut down my attempts to talk about it. It's not like I'd tell anyone that though. Or that they'd really listen now that he's dead. He was just a fifteen-year-old boy who didn't want to break up with his girlfriend. I didn't want to break up either for the record.

So we didn't for a while.

Those kisses became deeper, more desperate as we clung to each other. There was much less talking. But even then, Josh Hartley could make me a smile in a way nobody else could. In a way nobody else can. And even then I loved him and he loved me even though we were doomed. Because that happens sometimes.

So my September of Year Eleven was filled with Josh Hartley kisses and reassurances that of course he loved me. It didn't matter that we were considering different options after GCSEs, that the stress of those GCSEs was getting to us. Not at all.

"I love you," he'd say, forehead touching mine.

"I love you too." The words were almost losing their meaning, the way we started saying it to reassure each other instead of just because.

And then we'd kiss, his arms around me and my arms around him. And one of his hands would drop from my shoulders and he'd lace his fingers through mine. And it would be okay. Almost. Almost okay.

And we'd pretend to everyone else. Pretend that we were still the golden couple of our year, the love story everyone else was jealous of. We'd pretend to each other, that our love wasn't wavering, that the faith in our little teen love was still as strong as ever. That getting closer to the very thing we'd agreed to have a serious discussion about when it was looming was natural. That Brian Farley's party was the perfect place to sleep together for the very first time.

And it might've been.

Maybe if we had, we wouldn't have broken up. That the crack in the glass wouldn't have spread and cut us both deep.

But we didn't.

We didn't because I started crying.

"Oh my God," Josh whispered, pulling away. "Eve, what is it? Did I— Oh God, I didn't hurt you, did I?" His eyes were searching desperately in the dark of whoever's bedroom we were in for signs that he did hurt me somehow.

"I don't want this," I whispered, sitting up and bringing my knees to my chest. "Josh, I'm sorry, it's just—"

"—It's fine," he interrupted. He fixing his hair which was all messed up. "I'm sorry."

We stayed in silence for a bit. Not the comforting one like when he first told me he loved me. Awkward, regretful even. Because Josh's shirt was half unbuttoned, the jumper I'd been wearing over my crop top was tossed aside somewhere and I felt so exposed. So vulnerable. Like he could hurt me like he was scared he had at a moment's notice.

'We should've talked," he said softly, beginning to button his shirt back up. "God, what were we thinking?"

I wiped my tears away, blinking away the ones welling in my eyes.

Josh found my cardigan and laid it in my lap before joining me on the twin sized bed. "Eve? Say something? Please?"

"I don't know why I'm crying," I muttered. "It's just... I want it to be special. Not like this."

"And it will be," he said. "You know I love you, right?" That's when he put his arm around me, moving closer to me.

"I know you do," I whispered. "I love you too. So much."

But it didn't really matter how much he loved me or how much I loved him in the end. We were young and stupid and destined to fall apart.

And shouldn't I be glad? Glad that he broke my heart before he died? Because now at least I'm not still completely in love with a guy who's dead. At least now he won't haunt all of my what ifs. At least now when I do find the one I won't feel like I'm betraying Josh completely.

Or maybe he'll haunt me forever anyway.

I end up crying all over the murder notes.