“How much do you love me?” I ask, poking her cheek with my nose.

“You are my whole world, Nat,” Eden says.

“Shut up!” I laugh, pushing her shoulder. 

“I’m being serious, the only thing that makes me happier than being with you is the thought that maybe one day I will be able to get out of here, leave for good.”

“Like leave Brisbane? What’s stopping you?”

“Apart from everything? Hmm, probably the fact that you won’t come with me.”

“Who said I wouldn’t come with you?”

“Will you come with me?”

“I’d love to. Where do you want to go?”

“Up. We could go to the stars. I love the stars, I always have. When I was little, I used to think they were diamonds littered around the sky, shining back and greeting me. The stars are just a reminder that there is so much beauty out there, that we don’t take notice of or acknowledge. They make me remember that we are not alone and we are not everything. I know it- hey, are you recording?”

“Oh, whoops sh*t. I guess I accidentally started a video instead of taking a photo before,” I say. Eden laughs as I stop recording. Her laughs echo in my ears, reverberating in my brain.

Instead of the usual Sunday morning mass, the local church had a ceremony for Eden today. Everybody got together and allegedly prayed for a safe return. I don’t think a single person in there believed she was coming home, I honestly think they just prayed for a peaceful death. So much for faith. I refused to go. Beth went though. She’s heavily religious. Plus, she’s the kind of person who heals and draws strength from being with other people.  Other people are the worst. Well, except Mum, Beth and Eden. Mum says Beth's an albatross friend, that she’s a burden and she’s only around when she wants something from me. I think she’s alright. She sent me the homework on the first day of school and we just kind of stuck together.

We picked up Eden at the end of 9th grade. She moved with her family from Melbourne to Brisbane. Eden says it was because they wanted a change of scenery, but in reality it was because her little sister, Annabelle, died in a car crash. They moved right after she died. Her dad bought a restaurant and it was an instant hit. When the money started rolling in, he bought Eden a spot in our grade. You should have seen her on the first day, honey blonde hair to her waist and golden-brown skin, matched with a pair of twinkling hazel eyes. She was like a goddess. Beth was raised heavily religious and always talked about the Garden of Eden, that place where supposedly Adam and Eve lived until they f*cked it up. Beth said Eden was like our very own Garden of Eden, she's so perfect. But I guess we screwed it up too, like Adam and Eve, and we lost our Eden. 

As I walk home, I put my Air Pods in to watch the video again. I have this video on my phone which I’ve been watching non-stop. It’s from last year when we snuck to the top of the tall apartment block next to my house. Eden loved to go there; it was the closest she could get to the stars. I meant to take a photo but I accidentally started a video and then put my phone down. It’s a two-minute video of our chins and then me realising we were still filming. I click play and listen to us talk, about stars and leaving together. My heart begins to hurt, so I pause the video before I start crying, and open Spotify, clicking a random playlist. As I trudge along the sidewalk Beth sends me an article. It’s about Eden. I text her back. 

Natasha: Save me the tears. What’s it about? 

Beth: “... Police have confirmed that a sizable amount of Eden Cameron’s blood has been found inside of her home. Authorities do believe she was forcefully removed from her home on Saturday night…”

Beth: I’m sorry, Natasha. 

Natasha: Whatever Beth, feel free to give up on her.

I cup my elbows in my hands, holding myself as I push past random people in the street. My eyes connect with another woman’s, her gentle gaze becoming one of concern. She begins to push her way towards me and I quickly open my phone, walking faster. I see Beth typing again. Screw her, so much for faith or whatever it is that God preaches. Screw God, if he’s so great, why doesn’t he get his angelic ass down to earth and help me find Eden. I mean, what else does he have to do? Sit up in his big chair, giving cancer to children? Get lost, God. 

As I turn the corner into my street, the sound of a radio reaches my ears. My stomach drops as I see mum, pleading with two policemen outside our house. She’s wearing her favourite teal dress, the silk one she only wears for special occasions, and matching velvet heels. She’s supposed to be going out in an hour to see a play. I’ll deal with the police; I’m not letting anything ruin this night for her. As I approach them, I can hear my mum’s voice reasoning with them.

“... I’ve answered all of your questions. Please, go before Nat gets home. She just needs peace,” she pleads.

My cheeks feel hot and my palms are stinging as I dig my fingernails into them. I march up to the officer towering over my mum. As I get closer, I see it’s Detective Grant again. 

“Can I help you, sir?”

“No, we were just asking your mother some questions to do with Eden Cameron and we’re finished now,” he says, eyeing me briefly, before tucking away the book in his pocket and motioning to his partner in the car to start the engine. He turns to leave. 

“Wait!” I call out. His eyes meet mine as he spins to look at me. “Are you going to find her?” 

“We’re going to try our very best. We’ll bring her back to you,” he says, lying through his teeth. His eyes betray him. He doesn’t believe what he is saying. My head nods weakly, as my mum grabs my hand and pulls me inside the house. Grant gets in his car and simply drives away. His life continues moving. He doesn’t stop and wait for Eden to return so he can keep going forward. It’s all just another day in his life.

I am going to school today. I don’t want to, but mum says it’ll be bad if I stay moping in my room for another day. So here I am, in the office building waiting at reception. The receptionist, Carly, told me Mr Peters, our principal, wanted to talk to me before class. I hear him coming down the stairs, his shoes scraping against the ground. He walks around the corner, smiling, and I smile back. 

“Miss Rossi, how are you feeling?” he asked, clearly so concerned for my mental well-being. 

“I’m holding up fine,” I tell him flatly.

“Ok, well I just wanted to talk to you. Come into my office.” I follow him down the hall, my eyes trained on the ground. We enter the first plain white door I see and he assumes his position of power at his desk. I sit down in the low cushioned chair opposite him.

“So, Natasha, how are you really doing?” he presses. I see where this is going. He thinks he knows exactly how I’m feeling and what I want. He’s expecting an ‘I’m fine’ act, and then when he pushes harder, I will crack and burst into tears and spill everything to him. I pull a sad face, eyes cast to the ground. Mr Peters sees this, he looks smug, triumphant. God, he knows me so well, he’s conquered me, profiled me so accurately. I make him feel like he’s good at his job, he can write it down as a success. Wow, I am fixed. He babbles on for twenty minutes about how he knows it’s hard but it gets better. I spend it all staring at the clock. I hold my eyes open, unblinking, until my vision blurs. I squeeze my eyes closed until tears spill down my cheeks. Mr Peters stops talking and passes me a tissue. He doesn’t know how to handle a crying 16-year-old girl, so he dismisses me. I grab my bag and leave, my cheeks red. That trick always works, but it’s still embarrassing as hell. Eden would be proud, when she gets back, we’ll laugh about it together. I just know it. 

Beth meets me halfway, locking into place on my right as we strut down the hall. “Don’t look now, Liz at 10 o’clock with Josh,” Beth whispers in my ear. My eyes dart to find the pair, and I nearly vomit in my mouth. She’s leaning against the wall, twirling a lock of her gorgeous hair around her perfectly manicured nails. She’s giggling and looking up at him. He keeps rubbing her thigh with his knee.

“No shame,” I mutter.

“He’s such an asshole too,” Beth says, shaking her head.

“Totally. Edi would call them out, make them feel embarrassed.”

“We’re not Eden, Tashi.”

“Someone has to do her job while she’s not around to do it. Just until she comes back,” I say.

“Tash,” Beth tries.

“She’s coming back,” I cut her off. Beth just bites her lip, her eyes clouded with doubt. Whatever, she can give up on Eden, the whole world can if it wants. But I won’t. She’s not like that. She’s too special to just die off.

I’m lying in bed, in a pool of sweat and tears. Mum wouldn’t let me go to school, not that I would have even gone if I was allowed. The stress of the whole situation is overwhelming. Anyway, Dad sent the divorce papers today and Mum could use some support. It’s not every day your ex-husband sends you divorce papers. It’s Monday, assembly day. My phone is balancing on the sticky skin of my bare stomach. Beth texts. I peel my right arm off the sheets and open my phone. 

Beth: School’s onto it too. Peters is giving a hopeful speech. Beth. xx. 

I can just imagine it. Everyone staring at Mr Peters, with lazy, glazed-over eyes. I can practically hear people whispering to their friends, ready to post about it on their socials. But I know that soon enough the hushed whispers will be dead, stamped out, the shocking news already 5 minutes old. Post about something else, because the gone girl is still gone. The police say Eden went missing on Saturday. As far as the police know, Beth was the last person to see her, when she dropped by to give Eden some school work. She was away on Friday, sick or something. Maybe just wagging. When her mum got home from work that night she was gone. No note, no text, no nothing. 

The police looked for her non-stop the entire night and all of Sunday. Nothing. Except Edi’s car was missing. Other than that, nobody had any evidence, only speculation. Maybe she ran away, other people think she went for a drive to the shops or something and never made it back home. I have no idea where she could be. I mean, what if she is dead? What if they find her body? What then? I didn’t get to say goodbye. How did I spend my final week with her? I went to school, hung out with her, had a very average, very normal week. God, I am a total idiot. Last week, Eden and I were walking to class and she told me every piece of information and gossip she had been able to get her hands on.

Then she told me she hated her parents. I stopped walking but I just frowned, and Eden was off again, talking about something else she’d heard from a friend of a friend. I didn’t take much notice. She was like that, always full of information, but she never talked about one thing for more than a few minutes. After that topic timed out, she would never speak of it again, even if you asked her to. She enlightened me on a lot of things. Eden taught me how to fake emotions, pretend to smile or cry to get what I want. Kind of like acting except I'm not getting paid. I do it all the time, putting on a smile to hide the secrets and guilt inside me. It’s funny, I reckon I'd be really successful as an actress.

Beth texted me to give me a heads up that the police had visited her, asking about Eden. She says they’re chill but kind of serious. She’s only been missing for just over 24 hours, but police think the earlier the better for reporting, that the first 24 hours can be make or break, life or death sometimes. I’m about to reply but there’s a knock at the door, more of a thump than a knock. I pull our heavy oak door open to see two policemen, one looks like he’s just started today. I meet the gaze of the older one, closest to me. There are wrinkles on his face, creases on his forehead, formed from stress and age. His jaw is covered in grey stubble and his eyelids are drooping over his hazel eyes. 

“Natasha Rossi? I’m Detective Grant, may we come in?” one asks. I nod, closing the door behind them as they enter. 

The next two hours are a blur, I spend them sitting on our couch in our dull, grey living room mumbling yeses and noes. The younger policeman is scribbling down notes and keeps giving the Detective Grant side-eye glances. Grant has a husky voice, the opposite of a sexy husky voice, more like the hoarse kind you get from too much smoking. He gives me a pitiful look and then tells me to let him know if I remember anything else. 

I’m staring at the traffic light intently as my phone buzzes in my back pocket. It’s a text from Eden.

Eden: were you being serious on the roof?

Natasha: when? what do you mean?

Eden: a few months ago, about just leaving with me and never coming back

Natasha: why?

Eden: nevermind

Natasha: are you all good? want me to come over?

Eden: forget about it. 

I don’t reply to her text because red flicks to green and cars begin to trickle past. I push my foot against the pedal, already on my way. Colours shoot past, a blurred mix of white, black and occasional red cars. I pull into her driveway in under three minutes, beside her car. I knock on the door, but there’s no reply. I knock again, louder and someone opens it. I tumble through the open door, into the kitchen. Eden closes the door behind me, her hair draped around her face. I step towards her, opening my arms for a hug. She picks up a couple of duffle bags. Packed bags, overflowing with clothes. Dried tears shine on her cheek, but are quickly replaced by new ones as she begins to cry.

“Edi, what’s wrong?”

“I can’t live here anymore, Nat.”

“Why do you want to leave me?” I say, my voice wobbling.

“It’s like living with shells of people. Since Annabelle died, my parents have been like zombies. Husks of beings that once were. I have to get out of this deadbeat city, I can’t do this anymore,” she says, her voice strained and full of pain. 

“You can’t leave,” I whine.

“I can’t stay,” she whispers.

I grab her wrist and draw her towards me, going for a hug. 

“Please Edi, you can’t leave me,” I cry, pleading with her. She tries to shake my hand off, jerking her body away. I let go. And it’s like it all happens in slow motion, I’m unable to move. One foot slides out from under her and she tumbles back. As her hair whips around her face, her mouth is open, calling my name. I can see the white of her eyes and her pupils dilate. Her hand is outstretched towards me. She looks like she’s in a painting, a sad girl in a sad life, lonely and fearful. I watch it all unfold, aching to help but my body is frozen. There’s a crack as her head hits the corner of her kitchen bench and her eyes roll back. 

I try to push my body forward to catch her. As her body hits the floor the ability to move is returned to me and I fall forward, throwing my foot out in front of me to catch myself. My knees smack the floor as I drop next to her. I can hear her breathing, husky puffs of air pushing past her lips. She groans. The second of the relief that floods through my body is cut short, by the metallic wine-red puddle pooling around her head. A crimson halo. I sprint to her bathroom, grabbing the first aid kit from the bottom draw. When I return, she’s standing, one hand on the back of her head. She grabs her car keys with her bloodied fingers. 

“Eden, that's not a good idea. Just stay for a bit. I’ll fix you up and we can talk this through,” I reason.

“No, I’m going Natasha,” she says firmly. “I can’t stay here for another minute or I may as well just shrivel up and die now.” She shoves past me, shouldering me out of the way, and grabs her bags. I don’t follow. 

They found her car today in a ditch on the side of a highway, her body inside. It was in New South Wales, across the border. I think she was trying to get home, back to Melbourne, or at least get as far away from Brisbane as she could. Her blood was everywhere, all over the driver's seat. I read somewhere that head injuries bleed a lot. They say that she probably lost consciousness and the car spun out of control and drove off the road. The cause of death was head trauma. When she hit her head, it did more damage than we both thought, I guess. There was bleeding in her skull and it left no room for her brain. The blood compressed her brain. Just thinking about it makes my skin feel like it’s too tight for my head. 

I asked how she could have driven away with such an injury. Apparently, there’s a lucid interval, a gap between when you get the bleed and then when the pressure reaches the point of compressing the brain. That time period allowed her to get in the car and drive away before she felt the effects of it and lost consciousness.  I can’t tell if it would have been better if they hadn’t found her, but I think not knowing would be unbearable. Still the guilt of her death plagues my mind constantly. Her death is on my shoulders, she hit her head because of me. I knew she was injured when she got in the car and I just stood there. I let it happen. So many choices, and somehow, I always seemed to choose the wrong one. I chose to let her drive away. I chose to not tell the police. I chose this, I chose that. What does it matter? I chose incorrectly. I consistently choose wrong, without fail. And the worst part is that I can’t say sorry for making the wrong decision. I won’t get to ever say sorry, or speak to her again. I just wanted to tell her so many things, like that I miss her.

Beth told me to go back up to the top of the apartment block and talk to the stars, up to her. So, I do. 

“I miss you. So much, almost all of the time. I always felt like I was enough around you. I never felt more alive than I did with you. And I’m just so sorry. I know I can live without you, it just feels like I can’t.” I cough, choking on my words. As much as I blink, the tears keep clouding my eyes. They spill over my cheeks and I begin to sob. “This is going to sound so cliche but you always said you loved the stars. It’s almost funny how much brighter they are now that you’ve joined them. I wish you were standing here next to me looking up at them, instead of looking back down at me from them. But you’re not.” I pause. “Goodbye.”  I had lost my Eden, and I hadn’t been able to find her. I didn’t even get to find myself, during my desperate search for her. I think I’ve lost all sense of time. I don’t know if today is today or if yesterday is today. I feel like I’m living in the past and time is moving forward without me. Life is full of choices. I made the wrong ones. I feel lost. I am lost. I’ve lost my way.