Storm
When the world would end, Kat imagined that it would resemble what was happening to her at the moment. The glaciers would melt thoroughly, like the tears streaming down her face. The Grand Canyon would crumble, like her insides. Many natural disasters would occur at the same time, like her moods imitating the several reactions and facial expressions captured as different people went up and down, riding the same roller coaster. The war between Good and Evil would take place, much like the one between her and her family. Everything would die without warning. Like her mother.
The news had hit Kat like a tidal wave at first. She had found out through the media because her mother hadn't died of natural causes. It was newsworthy, and it made her sick to her stomach. A drunk driver, a semi, and her mother's car. Put two and two together, and you received an explosion; a tragedy exemplary of the nation's knowing.
Kat hadn't contacted any of her family members or friends since she had left her home for Sarah Lawrence, but they knew that she liked watching the news. They knew she had figured it out. They thought she didn't need them.
Although nobody would have guessed it, Kat had looked up to her mother. The way she had dressed; casual yet not too sloppy. The way she had told it like it was, no matter the context of the situation. The way she would fix hot cocoa every Christmas, just for Kat. No puny, pathetic marshmallows swimming around the hot liquid like disgusting floaties in a soda. And since her mother had left, things had gone downhill. Kat had had sex with Joey so she could do what everyone else was doing (literally). She "de-popularized" herself (as Bianca liked putting it), and no longer cared what everyone else was doing. She hadn't cared what anyone else thought. She became stronger, but had also let herself go. She wouldn't let anyone in.
Her father had slowly driven himself insane with his one rule about her and Bianca not dating until after graduation. Then, he changed it to, "Oh, Bianca can date. When Kat does." Following those idiotic sentences came Patrick Verona, Kat's first love. He had broken her heart once when she found out that he was being paid to take her out so Bianca could start dating (it was always about her). They had gotten back together shortly thereafter. But, then, she decided she would break his heart before leaving; for no real reason either. He was too good for her, but she reversed that and told him that she was too good for him.
Now Kat's mother was dead, her father and sister refused to talk to her and she couldn't bring herself to call them, and she was bitterly alone. Life wasn't what she expected anymore. There were so many overwhelming paths to take, but she demurred them. None of them seemed right.
Nothing ever lasted.
Kat had no intention, to begin with, of going back to her birthplace for the funeral. About twenty four hours after she discovered her mother had died, and after a good, long cry, she decided she would go. She wanted to see her father's pale face as he died along with Elizabeth Whittaker-Stratford. Bianca would cry her beautiful eyes out, leaving hollow wounds. Kat would watch the destruction from afar. What would her family look like truly breaking down? Her mother hadn't tried calling them or writing them. She had hated them, it seemed, just as Kat's family hated her. Kat had yet to decide whether the feeling was mutual or not.
Kat packed her bags that night and drove. It was a long weekend, so there were no classes for a few days at Sarah Lawrence. She stayed at a nearby hotel; the closest one to the church that she and her family used to go to. Her mother had forced them, and after she had left the family behind in a trail of dirt and dust, they had stopped going. Kat never thought that her father had believed in God anyway. Her mother was raised that way, but Kat didn't think she truly had a religion either. Since Kat stayed, most of her time spent "home", cooped up in the hotel, she watched the church parking lot for black outfits and turned backs. She knew they would be there. She didn't want to call. She didn't want to find out when the funeral took place through the media again; the newspapers.
On the day of the funeral, Kat slipped on her darkest ensemble. A black camisole, a black button down shirt, a black skirt, and black flats. She let her hair hang loose, not bothering to put it up. She did straighten it, though, taking up about two and a half hours. Maybe her family wouldn't be able to recognize her without her tangled, messy head of hair.
Kat had seen early mourners on that day. They had arrived around seven AM. Their shapes did not look familiar, but she knew that that was indeed her cue to get ready.
She hoped she could get inside without being pestered by a possible familiar face. She hoped that the funeral wasn't too private. She hoped that she wouldn't be recognized. Most of the people who were going probably hadn't seen her in a few years anyway.
Kat walked up the ramp leading to the church's entrance. She carefully intruded, feeling as if one noise could alter her plans and ruin everything. She took a few steps inside and was greeted by a mob of sobbing, absorbed-in-their-own-sorrow church-goers. Nobody looked familiar so far. Dismal colours drowned her eyesight. Nobody knew her.
It was a closed casket service. Her mother would probably be cremated. Who would want to look at someone who had been in a terrible car accident? Especially when there had been fire? Too much pain. She was disfigured, no doubt about that. Perhaps she was halfway to cremation already. Kat hated thinking about it. It was a miracle that the person driving the semi was alive, even if he was in critical condition. The drunk driver had died as well; a usually unusual case.
The right ends of the pews held tissue boxes. Kat hated that with a passion. It made her feel like she had to cry. What if she wanted to not feel bad? What if she didn't want her emotions exposed to complete strangers? What if she wanted to re-live the happier moments and not the sad period in which many found themselves? What then?
She decided to stand in the back. The crowd had molded into a thick fog. People stood next to Kat, but no one talked to her.
Kat didn't find her family until after the pastor had given the eulogy. They looked worse than she had imagined. Bianca was resting her head on her father's shoulder. His back shook with sadness. The side of Bianca's face, whenever she lifted her head to properly wipe her tears away with several tissues, was smeared with mascara. She looked empty; almost empty of the salt within her wounds. She still loved her mother. Cameron was sitting next to them as well; Bianca's beau. They were a happy couple. Elizabeth and Walter used to be.
Kat half-listened to everyone who spoke about her mother. It was all "sunshine and rainbows" anyway. The music that played blurred in her mind. Her mother's favorite song was Plainsong by The Cure. It was an odd choice for her, but many people misunderstood her mother.
Kat had more in common with her than she had previously thought.
Before she knew what was happening, the gatherers began conversing in hushed tones. Kat thought that, maybe, they were insulting her mother. What if her mother heard them? Hmmm? Oh, they could never raise their voices in a church! Kat was just surprised that so many people decided to come. How many people had Elizabeth fooled?
Kat walked away from the racket and headed for the door. She wanted to go back to New York and be by herself again. She didn't want to invade foreign territory any longer. As she gradually made her way through the gobs of bodies that seemed to stick together like gum (it still shocked her that she recognized no one, and vice versa), out of the corner of her eye, she saw him. His curly, messy, tangled, ratty hair. People began to leave, but he was there. He was next to her family. He was talking to her father. Did he still think he was a part of them? Where had he gotten the right?
Why couldn't she be in his place; a whole once again?
Kat found herself heading toward them; away from the entrance/exit, where she belonged. She was in a daze. Hot tears stung her cheeks. Her head pounded erratically. She had told herself she wouldn't cry or make a scene at her mother's abandoned church. She had broken yet another promise with herself.
Unexpectedly, Kat had gotten through the small clusters of beings rather quickly, glued together like black gumdrops, and stood in front of them. She didn't look at them. She looked at him. She saw a red, hand-shaped stain swell across his cheek. Had she slapped him? She couldn't remember. Were people finally looking? She didn't care. She was eighteen again.
"Asshole," she stated through gritted teeth. She had never sworn in Church.
She was the asshole.
Kat pivoted around, away from the people who mattered most in her life, and ran outside. She didn't stop running. She wished she never had to.
Memories hit Kat like a train wreck as she let them flow inside of her once more. She was back at her high school, on top of the castle-like structure. She had ran all the way there, up the stairs, and then some. They had never locked the entrance, so why should they start now? Her school was too trusting. She closed her eyes after searching the ground below.
Prom. Patrick. Sonnet. Loneliness. Awkward. Love. Kisses. New. Unwanted. Everything came to her in tiny spurts; one-word frenzies.
Why couldn't life be like high school? There were the cliques that a person with common sense knew needed to be avoided, grades were easy to keep up, and people, truly, were easy to please. Everything seemed unfairly easy.
Kat progressively opened her eyes and looked down again. The grass was green and beautiful. The sidewalks were new. Everything sparkled.
For a moment, Kat was pondering why she was there in the first place; an odd choice. Was it to get away? Was it to bring it all back?
But as she switched her irises and pupils left and right over the landscape, she knew the answer, and she took a few steps backward.
This was where she would die. This was where she wanted to die. This was her choice, and nobody could take that away from her. Not a drunk driver. Not God or Satan. It was all her.
Ironically and coincidentally, it began to rain. She hadn't noticed the skies darken. It was a hidden message from Satan and a painfully clear, blinking, neon sign from God. She ignored everything. She was good at that.
Kat's cheeks throbbed as more steaming tears drooled down her face. She scrubbed them away with the backs of her hands. The liquid falling around her helped dry them as well. She took a deep breath and shut her eyes again, feeling her see-through surroundings. She squeezed her eyelids over her eyes harder, and harder still, and saw a bright light. At last, she smiled, and gently, she moved forward. She didn't want to rush. She needed her death to be perfect in her mind.
Footsteps interrupted her gradual process. She stood stark still for a split second, but then continued on as if she could no longer hear, darkened sight still seeing that white, angelic light. She walked toward it, almost reaching out. She needed to feel its warmth and its welcoming atmosphere. Its tight embrace.
There was suddenly a tug on her waist and the light simply vanished as she unwillingly opened her eyes. The moment was wasted. Her feet were firmly pressed on the ledge, toes pointed forward. Hands harshly swiveled her around, and arms were wrapped around her back.
The person's smell enveloped her and she knew instantly that that was the cologne she had gotten Patrick two years ago when she was happy. She didn't want him there now. She had once needed him.
Kat began pounding on his chest with her fists as if she was still in her dream-like haze. She willed him away, but he kept put. Why couldn't he just leave her alone?
"Why?" she asked over and over. He never said anything back and she despised it. He was a tissue from a tissue box at the end of a pew, soaking up her invisible tears. She stopped hitting him and fell into his warm body. He automatically stroked her hair that was starting to frizz. He stayed silent; something Kat never realized until now that that was what she wanted. Someone to listen to her whine and not react. She saw things in a new light; newer than the milk that fed the light she had seen not even five minutes before.
Kat cried again, bringing back that wasp sting, but why, she wished she could answer. Patrick let her go so he could help the rain wipe the salt away. He used the back of his thumb. "I'm sorry," he whispered, not saying anything further. He could mean anything. Her mom. Her pathetic suicide attempt. Anything was possible.
Kat stared at him. She stared blankly at his eyes. She crushed his mouth against his; she couldn't explain this action either because the daze she had been in had disappeared. Somehow, she knew that the aimless kiss would be their last. He deserved better, and she would tell him that. She would somehow find a way out of the storm that she had created. She would learn to love again. Her bitterness would be completely washed from her mind. The first step was Acceptance.
And, for now, Kat knew that Patrick's lips on hers and the feeling of being found were all that mattered.
I know, I know. I kind of ended it open-endedly. But isn't that the best part about stories that end this way? Anything is possible.
I hope you enjoyed it. Reviews are amazing to me. (:
A/N i got this idea from a friend so beware it is a bit random sorry for that ;) there will be more soon