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Chad raises his shot glass after pouring one out for his former friend. A banner of blue letters hangs behind him, spelling out For Wes . He and the other partygoers repeat the slogan before downing the shots of tequila.
The host, Amber, enters with an attitude. She scoffs upon seeing the rally. “This is supposed to be a memorial, Chad,” she berates as the crowd disintegrates. Blue lights beam overhead. “Not a house party.”
Tipsy off grief, Chad snarks, “Well, this is how I cope.” Wes and Chad’s close relationship was no secret. Chad had even been his first kiss. Of course, it was through a game of Spin the Bottle and never evolved into anything but a deep friendship, but it sparked innumerable jokes.
Amber doesn’t pay the comment any mind, hurrying off to do who knows what. Chad turns, surveying the party out of loneliness. Usually, when Chad went to a scene like this, he was free to drink whatever because Wes was his self-designated driver. He never drank per his mother’s request, but he never bashed anyone for doing so. If anything, he supported Chad, allowing him to ramble in his backseat with a bucket beside him.
In the corner of the kitchen was a small shrine for the deceased, a bouquet of irises arranged next to a soccer trophy and a picture of Wes with his close friends—Chad, Mindy, Amber, Tara, and Liv. Chad was standing next to him, arms around his waist. They were having a movie night at his house after he was named the state champion.
They had watched Terrifier , and Wes was scared beyond belief, horrified by the gory movie. Chad was glad to be clung onto.
Drunk now, Chad grabs the earlier bottle of tequila and a blue solo cup. Noise surrounds him, creating a bubble. He searches the house for an empty room, settling on a guest bedroom. Amber watches as he leaves.
For a moment, he just stares at the cup, his eyes soaking in Wes’ favorite color—blue, specifically sky blue. This shade isn’t quite it. It’s more pigmented, but it’s close enough. The banner and flowers that Amber got were also off-shade, but Wes would’ve appreciated the effort. Any care from her would’ve gone a long way, considering the two always quarreled.
Chad eventually fills the cup, sipping on it as he zones out. His back sits against the pillows, a neatly set blanket beneath his legs. He can barely register that his best friend is gone and has been as of that morning.
He has pictured what the scene may have looked like too many times to count. Wes was sitting against the front door, his body limp. A hunting knife was stuck in his neck, skimming past his jugular. His jaw was slack, mouth parted open to let blood drip down his chin, sticking to his shirt. His head is stuck under the doorknob, creating a hassle for the responding officers as they tried to barge in. His eyes are open yet lifeless as his head jolts with every push of the door. At least the sky had matched his favorite color perfectly, the sun shining down on Wes’ front lawn.
Chad wipes his eyes as he pours another cup. Every part of him wants to react in anger, yet he’s too defeated to even try. He forgets about his responsibility to drive home as he gulps down the liquid quickly, his throat burning with irritation. He can’t imagine what tomorrow will look like; his phone will be void of pictures of Wes’ carefully made breakfast. It’ll remain like that for every meal. He’ll never see Wes’ texts pop up on his screen, their message history ending abruptly. Already wallowing in his despair, Chad takes out his phone and opens their digital conversation.
Wes - 6:45 PM
My mom’s getting sushi :-)
Chad - 6:47 PM
OMGGG
I want sushi so bad
Wes - 6:47 PM
I’ll send you a picture so you can be jealous lol
I gotta take a shower though :-(
I'LL TALK TO YOU AFTER
Chad - 6:48 PM
Send me a picture of that instead ;)
Wes - 6:48 PM
CHAD
OMG 😭
Chad - 6:49 PM
Dw im kiddinggg
Be quick ok
Wes - 6:49 PM
Ok
SEE YA
Chad - 6:50 PM
BYEE
There was nothing off about their conversation, nothing hinting at what was about to come. Chad wonders if the killer had violated Wes’ privacy, watching with heavy breath as water hit Wes’ skin.
Chad’s own breath is heavy as the alcohol stirs in his stomach. It mixes with the grief, bubbling up into tears. He wishes Wes was able to fight them for at least a bit—just enough time to get help. He wishes he could have fought Ghostface off himself, protecting his friend. Most of all, he wishes Wes was alive, next to him in this bed, as they commented about the interior design. Chad wouldn’t be emptying the bottle as tears sting in his eyes. He could’ve been laughing until his stomach hurt as Wes jokingly scrutinized the room’s decoration like a snob. He could’ve held him again, like when Wes desperately held onto him as Art the Clown revealed Dawn’s fate. Chad can only imagine how horrified he was to face an actual killer. It’s not fair. Wes shouldn’t have had to die so early in life, only a few feet away from his mother.
Chad eventually discards the blue cup onto the floor, taunted by grief and joyful memories. His brain melts as the copious amount of tequila kicks in. He barely registers someone entering the room. They wear a black robe and white mask—the mask Wes had to stare into as he choked on his blood.
Faced with the same image, Chad wonders how petrified Wes was. Not even the adrenaline is enough to sober him up as a knife delves into his stomach. The stabs are scattered and frantic. It should hurt more, but the rush of pain is dulled by Chad’s altered state of mind. The anguish is too overwhelming to fathom, unlike how he imagines Wes’ to be. A direct stab to the neck, slow and calculated. He was allowed time to choke, to think about everything he never got to do. He should’ve just taken that shot with Chad, but he was adamant about waiting for his twenty-first birthday. He should’ve just asked Tara out on a date, but he never gathered enough courage.
Chad lies in the bed, blood soaking into the sheets beneath him. He didn’t miss out on the things Wes had, but he has his fair share of regrets. He wishes he held Wes tighter, truly reveling in the physical comfort they provided each other. Grief blossoms in his gut as he dreams of asking Wes if they could kiss again or even go to dinner. He regrets not reminding Wes to stay safe during their last conversation. The precaution could’ve saved his life, and they could be laughing at the pillow choices right now. Instead, he’s decorating the bed alone, a bloom of blood staining his front and the blanket underneath him.
He wonders if Wes had felt sleepy, like he had been at the end of the movie night. Not even Art the Clown couldn't keep him awake past eleven. His whole body had been leaning on Chad, his head against his shoulder. By 10:30, he was completely still, limp in Chad’s arms. Mindy, Chad’s sister, wouldn’t stop teasing him. As the group finished up the last movie, Chad couldn’t help but feel his eyes get heavy. Wes breathed calmly on Chad’s chest, his cheek pressing against his shirt, causing the fabric to ripple. They ended up sleeping on the couch all night, everyone else having left them there to ‘give the boyfriends their quality time’. Mindy didn’t let it go for weeks, but Chad was so comfortable. He’d never been so happy to sleep.
Chad wakes up to paramedics rushing into the room. They’re placing something over his face and counting. On three, Chad feels them lift him onto a stretcher. Still somewhat limp, his mind grapples with reality as the first responders bring him to an ambulance. He gathers enough consciousness by the time he spots Mindy, also being escorted out, with a stab in her shoulder. He gestures to her, assuring his well being as paramedics apply pressure to his wounds. But it’s still not fair.
He gets to be driven to the hospital, while Wes had died, worried about his mother, oblivious to the fact that she was on the other side of the door, dead. He gets to be treated, while Wes’ neck was snapped when the officers finally pushed the door open, his body then slouching forward. He gets to drink at twenty-one, stay up past eleven, play countless rounds of Spin the Bottle, and watch movies all night. He gets to live. It’s not fair.