I feel like a shipwreck, grief for the most important men in my life dragging me under the sea’s currents, allowing me just enough time to gasp for air before another unexpected wave pulls me down within its depths.
Regina’s hand gently slides into mine, wrapping around it and giving it a reassuring squeeze. It makes my next breath harder as the images flash behind my eyes.
9
Indie
Bed Of Roses - Bon Jovi
Age Twenty-One
Heavydropletsofrainthump against the umbrella, gathering on the rim of black material as they drizzle in front of me.
The downpour hasn’t eased up; it feels like it hailed down since the moment we got the call.
The volume of it hitting the ground around me feels like I’ve cried the same number of tears from my very own eyes. The skin around them stings, and I can’t get rid of the puffiness no matter how hard I try.
My vision feels narrowed with how swollen and red they are.
But today, there aren’t any tears. I’m trying to be strong for my mom and sister, even though we’re all equally heartbroken.
I just feel numb.
My mind feels like it’s elsewhere.
There’s a dull ache in the centre of my chest, and sometimes it feels hard to breathe. Like the heaviness won’t allow my lungs to expand.
The pastor calls for the names to take a cord and lower my dad’s casket into the ground. Most of them are his military friends, another is someone he’s been friends with since childhood, and the last one is Saint’s dad, Malcolm.
Mom’s strangled cry pierces my ears, and Louisa grips her tightly whilst Barry goes around to her other side, holding her up as she weakens at the knees, watching the love of her life slowly submerge into the dirt.
I force a swallow, glancing up to the sheer material of the umbrella, watching the thick drops smack off it, denting the darkness as the rain tries to penetrate through.
There are rows and rows of people here, some faces I’ve never seen in my life.
A lot of them are in uniform, others in fancy suits just like Louisa’s.
I know my friends are here, huddled up a couple rows near the front; my eyes clashed with Regina’s, and her tears threatened my own.
We’re lucky, each of our parents feeling like an extension of our own, but nothing will ever replace your own flesh and blood.
The pastor’s voice begins to muffle in my ears, the white sheet of paper in his hand disintegrating with each word.
Dad’s gone. I’m not sure what else his words can do; they won’t bring him back. They won’t bring us any comfort.
Nothing will.
I don’t even realise there’s a tremble in my hand until another one slips inside it, their fingers intertwining with mine and steadying the motion.
I look past my shoulder and clash with grey eyes, his hair stuck to his forehead as rain drips from his fringe.
I move on autopilot, reaching my hand to the middle of us to let him under the shelter of the umbrella, but he takes it from me, guiding me flush with his front, his hand never letting mine go.
The way his body towers over mine…it’s like the comfort I’ve been waiting on. Not erasing the pain completely, just feeling like it’s providing a net for the broken pieces as they slowly fritter from me.
When his thumb traces my knuckles, and the warmth from him breaches my vulnerability, a broken sob manages to free itself.
His forearm pulls me closer.
