Fuck no.
I’m hearing things.
Preston will get up. I’ll take him. We’ll leave.
That’s how it’ll be. That’s how it’ll onlyeverfucking be.
“What the fuck!” Jude wrenches the doctor by the collar. “What do you mean by ‘condolences’? Go in there and bring him the fuck back!”
“You’re lying.” I sound like an animal as I jerk against the grip of the men. “This is a fucking lie!”
He will get up.
I will take him.
Wewill leave.
Another two men join the previous ones, and I shout and fight as they drag me out with them.
Taking me away from Preston.
No.
This is only temporary. It can only ever be temporary.
He will get up.
I will take him.
Wewill leave.
It wasn’t temporary.
Preston didn’t get up.
I watched, completely numb, as his closed casket was buried in the ground, as everyone in his family treated the funeral like a networking event.
An opportunity to show off the Armstrongs’ wealth and prestige while inviting members of their community to mourn with them.
The only one who cried from his family was Miley, hugging his casket and weeping. “Pressie, it’s not true, right? You’ll come back, and we’ll go skating, right? I’ll save you my pastries until you come back, Pressie, okay?”
But even she was removed by her mother before I could get to her. And maybe it’s better that I didn’t.
Because if I talk to her, I’ll see Preston in her wide eyes, and I’ll lie to her and tell her he’s okay.
He has to be.
My Preston is not buried six feet under.
But he is.
And I still refuse to believe it. Even as the attendees filterout one by one from the cemetery. The last to go are the Vipers team, some of whom were shedding tears as Kane spoke about Preston.
Jude didn’t.
He’s also standing in front of his grave, and I need him to go because I’m going to dig my Preston out of that dirt.
I will take him.
