So happy, baby.
I place my hand against my chest, trying to feel for my heartbeat. To match it against the memory of his.
But I don’t feel anything.
There’s nothing left of me at all.
32
Jared
Emilia Marsters and I stand opposite each other on a gray, cloudy morning. The overcast sky threatens rain, but the ground stays dry as we listen to the celebrant speak, each of us avoiding looking at the other. We sat on opposite sides of the empty church, too.
Everything is gray. Everything, except for the space between us.
The flowers spread out, covering Ben’s coffin and the ground around it. A carpet of fresh blooms, artfully woven together in every possible color. Red, white, orange, yellow, blue, purple, pink. There must be hundreds of colored daisies here. Roses are mixed in with them, along with a few others that I don’t recognise.
It’s beautiful.
I can admit that much.
Across from me, Emilia stares down, silent and pale.
I haven’t seen her since the night of Ben’s death. When she packed up her things and walked out. I half-thought that I might not see her again, but she’s here, with the flowers she promised.
She looksill. Her black dress hangs off her frame, eyes red and swollen with deep blue circles beneath. Her hair is scraped back, highlighting the scar that covers most of the left side of her face.
She’s a priority for me.
I’m staring at her, and she looks up. But her eyes skate past me, barely focusing before she looks back down.
She looks as if she hasn’t slept, hasn’t eaten in the nine days since Ben died.
You need to take care of her, Jar.
My fist curls.
How the hell am I supposed to do that?
I can’t take care of her.
I can’t even take care of myself.
She’ll have friends to lean on. Family.
Unlike you. You have nobody left who gives a fuck if you’re still breathing.
The bottle of whisky burns a hole in the pocket of my black suit. It’s already half empty.
When this is over, I’m going back to the apartment. To sit on the balcony, and drink, and wonder how long it will be before I get to go too, because fuck knows that life isn’t giving me any reason to stick around.
My eyes flick to her again as the celebrant finishes speaking. She stays where she is, her hands dangling at her sides. One grips a closed umbrella as he walks over to shake my hand. The celebrant glances at her, his expression pitying, but he leaves us both to it.
Neither of us move as the pallbearers move in. Strangers, to carry my brother on his final journey. Five of them, moving theflowers out of the way to reveal the dark wood of the coffin that I don’t even remember choosing.
And me.
My head feels fuzzy as I step forward. I can still taste whisky on my tongue as they hand me a rope, murmuring instructions that I nod my head at, even though I’m still looking at her.
