I thought of this after I read Coulrophobic Pinwheel's The Color Red (which you should check out, after reading this.)
This story is kinda written weird, but at the same time I like it. Hopefully you'll enjoy it?

There she is. Just standing there.

She looks nice, for someone who suppose to be in a state of depression and confusion and shock and those other words those old ladies were using.

Actually, not nice. She looks incredible; like she's about to hang at the mall instead of about to speak at her boyfriend's funeral.

Her blonde hair looks bright and sunny. Her attitude matches it. Instead of going for the dark, 0hmigesh-my-whole-world-is-ovvvvverrrrrrrrrr! look like the rest of us, she paired red heels with a white dress, even through its way pass labor day. If there was a picture for every word in the dictionary, (not only would that be a big ass book), her picture would be next to "aesthetic".

Then there's me. Me, who can't speak up, who can't breathe right now. Plain me, who nobody has cared about since they hooked up and I threw my career out of the window.

At the current moment, I'm sitting in the back, Ray-bans cladded on my face. Even from here, I have a perfect view of perfect little her (and his casket).

If it wasn't for her phone call that woke me up, I would have never remembered today, which I've been attempting to forget. Thats why my brown hair is knotty and smells like cigarette smoke, my fingernails chipped and dirty, and my baggy dress un-iron.

And no, I'm not wearing my 'bans because I'm crying or whatever. Thats just foolish of you, thinking I'm still able to cry.

No, it's because of my dilated eye, which is a side effect of the coke that i just needed to snort if i had any chance of staying up through the funeral.

And I really am not in the mood to talk with the police.

Her mouth is now open.

Now words are flowing out of her lip, words that translate into sentences and sentences that transforms into stories. About how she still can't believe that he didn't walk away from that car crash, unscratched, like she prayed he would have. How the first time they really met, everything just seemed to click. Those obligatory banal "romantic" couple stories.

I'm just sitting here, trying my hardest to stop fidgeting. Just waiting for her to stop dawdling and start talking about the real important fact- how she was never worthy of him.

Or maybe I'm still the only one that notice?

I mean, it wasn't that hard to pick up. If it wasn't for me and my fucking huge mouth, she wouldn't have been aware of the stares he gave her and all the little task he did.

Just for her.

(And never for me).

I guess she didn't even notice his commitment to her, even while they were dating. I can still recall how he used to come up to me, whining about how she never calls him back and never says anything when he gave her her choice of starbucks (Triple Grande, Extra Shot, Extra Foam, Cinnamon Dolce Latte) before school started each day, except when he fucks up the order.

And I would tell him the same monotonous answer- suck it up or dump her.

Always crossing my finger that he would pick the latter.

Except this is my life, where i don't get a happy ending.

Oh no. Because the next day, I'd arrive at school to the sight of them thrusting their tongues down each other throats.

And with me either wanting to sob or burn my eyes.

I hope she realized it when she begged him to pick up her dry cleaning, and he accidently ran that red light.

And that red mini-van accidently smashed into his white volvo.

Snapping out of my thoughts, I realize that she stopped talking; that the funeral is over and now everyone is making small talk while they wait for the "party" to start. Then, it dawns on me- she didn't mention it at all. She didn't say a single sorry or "I now realize that I never treated him right and that I really did not deserve his love" or "I'm sorry that I stole your man". Instead, she decided to keep her speech drama-free.

Or farfetched, in my eyes.

I only have two choices- I could rob the bar of alcohol and drink my pain away in one of the bathroom stalls, or I could call her out.

I slowly get up. Attempting to smooth out my dress, my eyes quickly dart around the sun-lite room.

Finally, they locate the back of her blonde head. Resisting my wanting to just sneak up to the bar, I make a bee-line to her and the older gentleman she confabbing with.

I patiently wait, eavesdropping on their conversation. Their topic; about what a shame that Oliver died at such a young age and how brave she was and how he had the perfect therapist for her.

You know, just in case she still feels "down in the dumps" a few months from now.

Finally, he notice me and the "hurry up old timer cause I need to bitch her out" look. He makes up some excuse, and leaves.

I try to take a deep breath, (slowing inhale and exhale through the nose; something i learned from a yoga teacher that i once had) but to no avail. Finally, I muster up the courage to tap her on her back.

She immediately looks me up and down, like the bitch she is, and put on the smile that match.

"Hey Mikayla, I'm so glad that you could make it." She says in her candy-coated voice, striving to lean down and choke me in a hug like a cobra.

Except I interrupt her, since I am a girl on a mission.

"Lily." I gulped, trying to stop my rushing mind and shaking hands. "You never deserved him, no matter what you think. You treated him like shit when he worshipped the ground you walked on. And I guess it was too late for both of you and everyone to realize it."

She now looks like I just slapped her in the face. And now I got the attention of everyone.

It's like I said I kill puppies in my past time

And not the damn truth.

I'm done with this.

And as she's screaming my name, yelling at me to "-get your fucking ass back here, you druggie" I walk out of the church, into the busy street.

Where I can finally breathe.

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