The Haribos stared at me from across the room. They were sitting amongst last year’s science books and some broken friendship bracelets on the shelf that perches over my old height chart. I have long since grown past that shelf.
The packet was gathering dust and I doubt it still makes the crackly noise that everyone hates while they are sitting in the cinema. They hadn’t moved since last summer. Since the day, the hour I found out.
The hour I found out Scarlet was gone. For the rest of that summer I left the Haribos there, ready for us to share if she ever came back. They were the last thing she had given me, but also the first. Scarlet had never been a giver, my brother had always said she had an opposite soul, taking rather than giving, leaving rather than staying. It didn’t matter if she had an excuse. She had told me she would be different, for me, her only friend; but she didn’t change, she left me.
I cannot cry over her betrayal, I cannot shout at her stupid gift. It meant nothing. It still means nothing.
So why does she haunt me every day?