Free The Language of Silence by Tiffany Truitt

it does do any good, but maybe admitting that you do might make things better than they already are,” he counters.
    I let out a short, bitter laugh. “I think things are just dandy. You don’t even want to know the things I did with Georgina. It would gross you out. Especially considering she has girl parts and all.”
    “Please, Ed. You hooking up with anyone would gross me out, and it has nothing to do with parts. You’re a hot damn mess.”
    “Says the boy who killed himself,” I challenge.
    Tristan doesn’t reply. I wait for him to sass me back, but his silence frightens me. I open my eyes to make sure he’s still with me. I’m not ready for this trip to end just yet. He’s there, and I find it suddenly easier to breathe. The question is sitting on the tip of my tongue, and I just have to ask him. “Why did you do it?”
    A smile slowly crosses Tristan’s face. “I’m surprised that wasn’t your first question. Does it really matter?”
    “Of course it matters!”
    Tristan raises an eyebrow. “Why? Because you want to be absolved of all blame? I can’t do that. Even as a figment of your imagination, that’s just something out of my realm of control. Only you can do that. Besides, it was my choice. In the end, blame doesn’t matter. Choice always does. It was my choice to leave. All you can worry about now, Ed, are your choices.”
    “Go away,” I growl. I don’t have time to listen to his diatribes on choices. Someone who r an his car straight into a tree obviously felt like he didn’t have any. Why else would he do what he had? Like always, Tristan is playing word games, never saying what he needs to say.
    “I think you got about ten more minutes of happy times before I disappear. So, why don’t we stop wasting it with questions of mortality and start talking about you?”
    I sigh and pull myself to my feet. I make my way to the water only to find I never turned it off. I quickly turn the faucet. Thankfully, the water didn’t run over the sink. I place my hands on either side of it and look in the mirror. I still don’t find it an easy task. Tristan’s sitting on the floor, so I don’t have to see him anymore, but his voice is still loud and clear.
    “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, man?”
    I fight the urge to round on him. He’s not real, and I’m half crazy for letting him get under my skin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    “Why are you even hanging out with that crowd? You hate those people, dude. Seriously.”
    “Why did you hang out with those people? Didn’t you hate them?” I argue.
    “No. I didn’t hate them. Not all the time. Would make things a lot easier for you to understand if I did.”
    I look back down at the water. My reflection is hard to focus on. Why is one of my eyes so much bigger than the other one? I run my hand through the water, distorting and destroying my image in a rush of ripples.
    “What’s your big plan, Ed?”
    “Who says I have a plan? I’m just trying to have a good time,” I reply.
    “Bullshit. You think you can work your way in, right? Get them to befriend you, tell you all their secrets. And then drop them. Let them know just how insignificant they are. Newsflash. That’s a failed plan if I ever heard one. They’re only with you because you’re news. People love everyone else’s fucked up lives. It makes them feel better about their own mess. Want to know the real reason you’re doing this?”
    I can’t help it. I turn around and face Tristan. My dead best friend. He’s sitting on the floor wearing that damn smug smile. “Maybe because I’m fucked up. Maybe because you went off and killed yourself and left me and Brett alone!”
    “Lame! I always hated your lame ass excuses . My death didn’t mess you up. You were already there, man. Want to know the secret about tragedy? The one no one talks about? When you lose someone, everyone will look at you. Dissect you. They’ll finally acknowledge all