My voice cracked, but I steeled myself to continue. “I remember when we were little, she was full of life and light. We would stay up late playing games or spend sun-drenched days in the park. I will cherish those memories forever. She had a kind, genuine soul, and so much potential. May you rest in peace, Lillian.”
The sorrowful faces around the room spoke volumes, their downturned eyes and sad sighs spilling over.
They didn’t truly know her; they only saw the version Lillian chose to present, the smile that masked her struggles.
I stumbled down the steps, returning to my seat beside my mother, who remained an enigma, her silence both infuriating and heartbreaking.
When it was time to follow the funeral car to the burial site, I gripped the steering wheel, my hands trembling as reality crashed down on me. Lillian was dead. We were about to bury her.
I began to sob quietly, the tears spilling over, though I thought I heard my mother’s soft cries beside me.
As we parked and made our way to the grave, tremors shook my body, my vision blurring as I approached the pit.
She’s gone.
They were lowering her into the ground forever. A primal urge surged within me, a desperate need to snatch her back from the depths of the earth.
When the coffin was finally lowered, an anguished thought echoed in my mind:Come back. Don’t leave me alone with the monsters.
I stood frozen at the edge of the grave, terrified to leave her behind. My mother’s voice telling me she wanted to leave barely registered in my mind; I was transfixed by the earth that would soon cover my sister.
As the crowd began to disperse, a dark thought coiled within me:Good riddance.
I felt a deep loathing for the very people who had turned their backs on Lillian, now feigning sorrow as they paid their respects. They had driven her to this point with their callousness, and now, in the wake of her death, they pretended to care.
But the most unbearable pain came from the absence of Caiden, the boy who had contributed to her downfall, who had not even bothered to show his face.
The wound inside me festered, transforming into a toxic anger, an urge to unleash my pain upon him.
“Dante, I need to talk to you.” I caught him in the hallway a few days later, his surprise was evident. In that moment, Dante was a pawn, and I intended to use him.
Something inside of me had permanently snapped, and I couldn’t care about using the one person who didn’t deserve it.
He led me outside to a picnic table; curiosity etched on his face. “What’s up?”
“Remember when you asked if there was anything you could do for me?”
“Yeah. The offer still stands.” Dante stared at me with open curiosity.
“Well, could I come over to your house tonight? I just... I feel so alone, and I need someone to talk to, especially after the sudden death of my sister.” My voice was soft, innocent, though it masked my true intentions.
His brown eyes softened, filled with a pitiful concern. “Of course,” he replied, and that was all I needed.
Later that night, I crept up the creaking porch stairs, arms wrapped around two dusty bottles of whiskey stolen from my mother’s secret stash.
The moonlight pooled through the cracked front door as he swung it open, eyes narrowing at the gleam of glass in my hands.
“What’s that for?” His voice was low and curious, a thread of concern twisting around the question.
“Oh, nothing special,” I replied, forcing a brittle smile that trembled at the edges. The sweet burn of guilt turned my throat dry. “I just needed a drink, and I thought wecould share.”
I stepped inside. He shrugged and led me to the sagging couch, where a single lamp cast shadows on the walls. We poured generous glugs of amber liquid into two tumblers, the scent of alcohol stinging my nostrils.
His parents’ absence felt like a private stage for whatever I intended.
As I took a slow sip, feeling the warmth spread through my chest like liquid fire, I watched him tilt his head back, draining his glass in a single, greedy gulp.
The streetlight through the blinds painted stripes across his face, coloring his eyes with a drunken glaze. He asked, voice slurring, “So… how’re you holding up?”
