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It was his own fault.
As much as he tried and tried to blame Pugsley, it was to no use.
Yes, it was Pugsley who had brought that stupid zombie back to life. Him who had taken him to camp Jericho, allowing his escape. Him who watched the undead creature regenerate itself. It was Pugsley who let Slurp escape that night at the Day of the Dead festival.
There’s no doubt in the minds of Nevermore students that he died of his own hands.
Although, if Eugene had just been a little nicer, even the tiniest bit more including – then the other wouldn’t have felt the need to befriend the cause of the loss of his life.
He wanted to convince himself that everything that happened was due to Pugsley. Though, he couldn’t. Because it wasn’t his fault, it was Eugene’s.
Most likely, he’ll never truly know what happened in that tower that night – the night the Addams’ lost one of their own. He’s not sure he wants to, in the case he starts picturing the exact way he died over and over on repeat in his head.
To be the root cause of someone’s death is a strange feeling. It’s not one many go through, especially not the death of someone who in reality did you no wrong. In any case, one expects to collapse – get angry, get sad – hysterical.
Eugene just feels numb. Like he’s stuck in time, searching for answers. Even before the news – when the other boys status still remained at “kidnapped” – he found himself missing him. Staring at Pugsley’s side of the dorm whenever he had the chance. Expecting him to show up at the shed. Actually hoping for the feeling of being watched, being accompanied. Wanting. Waiting.
But no, nothing. Waiting for someone who will never return. Even now, sitting in front of his grave. It still doesn’t feel real.
He is too late, as always.
Eugene wants to reach out, use his trembling hands to trace the name engraved on the tombstone a couple seconds apart from him – but he can’t move. He almost feels like doing so would be disrespectful.
A few feet away – they’re only separated by soil.
He never exactly showed any care towards Pugsley when he was alive, no one did. If anything, all he did was out of pity or fear. So what difference does him being gone make?
Guilt.
Guilt – the huge amount of guilt – it’s surrounding him, encompassing him, torturing endlessly. He accepts the fact the lenses of his glasses are getting wet with tears, silent tears. God, he even feels guilty for the fact he’s crying. Every sob he lets escape feels like losing a vital organ.
Eugene feels empty, hollow.
He never thought he would feel this much, not that this scenario has ever came up in his head – he always thought the Addams’ had this dumb luck when it comes to survival. Luck that saved them from the hands of the Grim Reaper.
Unfortunately, he’s been proven wrong. And being drawn to this cemetery isn’t making the realization that he’s wrong any clearer.
Most of the time roommates are also friends, but them? Not friends, no. They weren’t even beginning on the road to closeness. But who mourns a stranger this badly? They spent their time together, but the conversations – if any – never once flew past surface level.
He’s always had this urge to dig. An irrational fear that Pugsley is just buried alive, and he lets the time pass as he does nothing to save him – for the second time.
God, how will he even be able to live on like this?
Eugene doesn’t even want to begin to fathom how the three alive Addams’ are dealing with this. If he feels this miserable, imagine them.
Wednesday. It’s a miracle she hasn’t avenged her brother by killing him – the undertone of their promise was that he would befriend Pugsley. And he didn’t, and now he’s dead. Wednesday hasn’t even looked in his direction since the incident.
He wonders if she blames herself.
If anything, he hopes she blames him. It’s what’s right.
One thing he had noticed about the other was his feelings. His family never put on a show for their emotions. They never made every emotion obvious, unlike the youngest sibling.
Pugsley would wear his emotions on a sleeve. He was eccentric, chaotic, unpredictable. However, he never voiced out his feelings often, not in a serious matter at least.
Eugene feels a sense of regret shower over him here, at the graveyard. He never got the chance to learn whether or not Pugsley was good at speaking about his feelings. He is aware of himself though. Never once been good at explaining them, never.
“Journal”, they say. “It’s a good way to express emotions.”
Useless idea. Useless, but he took the internet’s advice. He spent ages, hours, to write a letter.
A letter whose recipient would never get to read.
“To Pugsley”, it read, on the dirtied white envelope. His hands were cold as he held it – actually, his whole body was cold. It was freezing, and so dark. He figured this would make a perfect time for a visit. The temperature partnered with the lonesome shine of the moon reminded him of Pugsley.
It was written and rewritten so many times. The number of times the word “sorry” was on that letter was almost laughable. The amount of scraped, ripped up paper in trash cans in his dorm – it made him feel so, so sick.
“Sorry.” “Sorry.” “Sorry.” Like a mantra. Eugene didn’t deserve his forgiveness, and worse – he would never get it, not even a chance to. It was nothing but foolish to apologize now.
Is it really ever too late for apologies?
He's afraid to acknowledge that as long as he's alive, Pugsley will not be forgotten.
His mind is a hurricane. Whispering into the wind, mumbling how he wishes he could go back. What would he do differently if given the chance? If he could, what words would come out of his mouth? Would any?
There’s not a person in this world who can stay in one place forever. He has to leave, go back to the dorms, sleep. For once, he’s jealous of Pugsley’s ability to stay awake for abnormal amounts of hours.
The air surrounding them makes Eugene nauseous.
He’s always hated how easily tired he gets. He wishes he could remain seated here forever, talking to nothing for hours. He has to go for now, it’s late, but he’ll be back tomorrow – he’s visited Pugsley every day since the burial.
He’ll have another nightmare tonight. Though recently, he doesn’t see that hideous hyde anymore. To his own surprise, the dreams have gone the opposite of better. Seeing Pugsley has never made him feel so bad. He doesn’t watch him die, he watches something worse.
He watches him be happy. He sees the stupid grin Pugsley always had on his face. He hears the sound of his laughter. He looks into his wide soulful eyes. Instead of waking up scared, he wakes up with his heart fractured. With a feeling of longing, like something - someone's - missing.
Eugene felt a familiar ache in his chest as he placed the envelope on his friend’s gravestone. A singular tear stained the paper. “To Pugsley”.
The other side, the side of the envelope facing the tomb – hidden from view – read: “From Eugene”.
“Love From Eugene”.