'You know, I'm really going to miss you a lot.'Theodore had screamed for help in a thousand ways, a thousand and one times he had walked up to me. But my head was too far up my own ass to see it, to let myself listen to everything he was really saying. And when he showed it, I didn't believe him.That night, I called the police, and as they checked the scene, sealing the 9mm as evidence, I let them take me, let them lock me up refusing their reminder to call anyone.He had thought about this, made sure there were no other fingerprints on the ammunition except for his own, leaving me a note that said, "Don’t touch anything. Love you, grumpy."In that cell, before my uncle came through, I realized not every hurt can be blocked out. The regret, it comes to haunt you, the guilt probing until all you can do is keep trying to shut it all out.Theodore didn’t have a burial service. I watched nearby in the cemetery as his father barked orders to just "shove the box inside; he had somewhere
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