Heads turn, following his stride, and when he stops at my pew, everything goes still. My heart forgot its own beat, a rhythm that life gave me, and stopped, becoming the cause of my death.RIP.
Coming here was a terrible idea, although even he can’t convince me I didn’t belong here today.
“You shouldn’t be here.” His voice is quiet, controlled, but it slices like broken glass polished solely for me.
I meet his eyes, and the grief on his face nearly floors me, but it’s buried so deep beneath resentment, I can barely recognize it.
“I just…” My voice shakes. “I wanted to say goodbye.”
Liam’s jaw twitches. His throat bobs once.
“No.” He sounds so final, it needs to be studied.
“No?” I ask in shock.
“I can’t do this. Not with you here.” He stares at me, not blinking a muscle, with no remorse.
I dip my chin in understanding, even though it cracks something in my ribs.
“He wouldn't want you to do this, Liam,” I say in defeat.
“Get out, Sara.”
And my eyes snap open at his restrained anger, yet his eyes betray a vulnerability that makes him seem so lost.
Keeping my head up as much as possible, I rise on legs that don’t feel like mine. I can understand and empathize with his hatred, I’ve been through the stages of grief, and he’s starting with anger, but I won’t let him swallow me whole. The air is thicker now as if the damn lilies are multiplying, squeezing the oxygen out of my lungs. I walk past him with one last look into his empty eyes, not touching, not speaking, just the heat of his body grazing mine and it sends shivers you’d get from walking into a morgue.
The sound of my heel’s echoes in a deliberate countdown made for people’s heads to turn, following me as I walk out. Pitying me, some curious and some confused. I don’t look back and certainly wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.
Who knows, maybe I’ll be dancing at Liam’s funeral next.
Once outside, the sun hits me too hard. My breath catches. My vision swims, and all I can think is that Joe should’ve been the one walking out. Not me.
I stagger down the steps and keep going, until I reach the row of cypress trees at the edge of the cemetery. I duck behind them and press my back to the trunk, gulping in air that smells of earth and resin and thank goodness, not a single damn flower. From here, I can see the chapel entrance, the slow stream of black dresses and grey suits pouring into the parking lot.
I spot Liam, his muscles tensing through his suit, brushing his dark hair back, talking to his uncle with his head bowed, the same chiseled jawline as Joe's. The sight of him could make me hurl, but I keep looking anyway because seeing him reminds me of Joe, and that alone is bittersweet. He looks up once more, scans the yard, but I’m hidden.
I wonder if he’d come after me if he knew where to find me.
A breeze rattles me. I pretend it’s his hand on my shoulder, giving me the push I need to get up and move. Wiping my hands on my tight black dress, I stand and walk away, yet a voice cuts through the air, prompting me to whirl around, but I remain frozen. I know this voice without even having to look, glacial intensity sending a shiver down my spine.
“Didn’t I ask you to leave?” Liam says.
My heart races, and adrenaline floods my mouth. I don’t turn around right away, not ready to face his control and the unfairness of his unreasonable dominance despite the infiltrating guilt he tries to have me swallow.
“I left the funeral. Is that not enough for you?” Finally, I spin around to face him, locking my gaze to his piercing stare, hands buried deep in his pockets, and eyes like shards, he might appear almost relaxed, but the palpable violence within him seethes beneath his suit, a volatile force. His body coils with tension,ready to unleash, just from the proximity of my presence. In this moment, I realize the hatred is completely mutual.
“That’s not even close to being enough, so why are you here?” he says rigidly.
“Same reason why you’re here. Talking to the dead.”
“Don’t play smart with me, Sara.”
“What? Now I have to ask you for permission to visit my brother’s grave. Get over yourself,” I say the words too quickly. He’s so close I don’t know how he closed the distance between us. For a split second, he seems pained.
I chuckle. “I don’t need your pity,” I hiss, and he grabs my wrist, his fingers closing tightly against my skin, searing his mark, and somehow, I let him.
“You’re going to do what I tell you to do, Sara.”
