Karsten Vantas was attending a funeral.
He was dressed up in a black suit with a light grey tie, his black hair actually combed for once and not a halo of mess around his head, or laying helter-skelter across his forehead. Most of the faces around him were solemn. Others were weeping, some showed no emotion at all. His father stood beside him, looking nothing but uncomfortable in a way that made Karsten want to punch him in the face; punch him and shout at him for having the gall to look so bored, if that wouldn't result in him most likely getting hit. Or shot.
The sky was dreary. Fitting weather for a funeral, he thought. Especially this funeral. Rain petered down in the distance, close enough to see, but not close enough to touch. It was as if she were still here, still alive, and even the skies knew better to rain on her when she wasn't ready for them, because if she were still alive she would look up with disdain and dare the clouds to rain.
But, no. She was dead.
In a coffin.
Karsten winced.
Across from him in the circle of mourners he could see Veronika, the "one that got away". The one his dead friend had spent three years of high school pining after, like an idiot, even though he always said that Veronika would never be relationship material, would never love her. It wasn't shocking when he had been right.
At least she had the decency to look upset, no matter how resigned. Her brown hair was done up in curls, her dress long and black. She looked pretty, even with a black eye and her arm in a cast, and he couldn't hate her any more than he already did. He loathed her. When she looked up, they made eye contact and she quickly looked away, as if she were guilty. Ashamed, even. Well, good. This was all her fault anyway, and she should be guilty. She should be ashamed.
It felt good to blame someone.
It was raining that night too, the road nearly obscured completely by the water. It was slick, and Veronika was speeding. From the back seat Karsten buckled his seat belt, shouting, trying to be heard over everyone else who was already talking, panicking, making noises over his shouts about how Veronika said she wouldn't drink, how he had been right, how Veronika should just slow the fuck down already, but Veronika was listening to none of them.
She let out a long "WHOOOOOOOO!" when they hit a particularly slippery spot. Travis pitched forward, shouting and sobbing. She was in the back seat with Karsten, trying to hold on to the front seat, trying to talk some sense into Veronika, who wasn't listening or couldn't hear her, and Karsten had to wonder if she took some of the drugs people were passing around too, because she didn't seem like she even understood what was going on.
Karsten looked to his left next.
He saw Travis, sitting in a wheel chair now; that would be permanent. His eyes were downcast and there was a slump to his posture that would probably stay with him forever. He didn't even look up, focusing all of his attention on her coffin, dark skin paler than normal, neck brace looking odd and out-of-place with his suit. He, Veronika, and Karsten all had deep, prominent shadows underneath their eyes. Karsten didn't think he'd be able to sleep soundly again for a long time.
He wondered if it would be the same for the both of them.
They swerved dangerously.
The road was slick, and they went over the guardrail. The world went black, and when he woke up-briefly-he could hear crying in the front seat, Travis saying something about being in an accident, giving information on where they were between choking sobs-probably he was the only one conscious enough to call an ambulance. Karsten tried to stay awake for a little longer, but he ended up passing out.
When he woke up he was in the hospital, and it was the first thing he asked. Is everyone alright? The woman he had asked gave him a pitiful look, and only shook her head, eyes sad and mouth etched into a deep frown.
His stomach took a long plummet.
Karsten looked down.
The gravestone was new, only just put in before they had all marched out here for the service. The letters were gold against a brown backdrop, shining brightly in contrast to the mood, like they didn't even give a shit. It was almost offensive.
He could hardly bring himself to read the name.
R.I.P.
Kandace Maryam
Wonderful Daughter
and Loving Friend
1990 - 2011
The coffin was lowered into the hole, taking its time to clear the six-foot distance with agonizing slowness. He felt a chill settle somewhere deep inside him as he watched her disappear-a chill somewhere deep inside his bones. One that he knew he would probably never be able to shake, and certainly one he would never forget. His stomach felt like it had bottomed out as the preacher spoke, and he felt his eyes start to sting. The grass blades beneath him grew blurry, distorted by what definitely weren't tears. No, not in front of all of these people.
When the preacher was finished, the first drop of rain finally fell on their dry little communal. Umbrellas came out left and right, some people began to filter away, wanting to protect their clothes from the rain. Even his dad pulled out a small, black umbrella next to him.
When he looked up again, only he was still left uncovered, exposed to the elements and slowly being soaked by the rain. His suit felt heavy and wet as the rain picked up. More people began to walk away. The service was over, and it was raining, so why should they stay? Karsten's father hesitated, offering an umbrella that was ignored. After a moment, he patted the boy's shoulder awkwardly, and then, hesitantly, he too left.
Karsten was alone.
He waited until he could no longer see the retreating mourners, and then he crossed the wet earth to her grave. They would leave it open until the rain stopped, and she would probably be soaked by the time they got around to it. She would be soaking wet, her dress ruined. He could imagine how she would hate that. How she'd scowl down at herself and demand to be aloud to change. Her make-up would run, too. And she'd be colder than she already was, alone down there in her crypt. Over time she might even get moldy.
For just a second, he wanted to throw himself down there with her.
Just a split second.
But, no.
The most he could do was wait out here and get soaked with her. Wait until he could feel the cold of the rain deep within himself, until it rivaled the hollow chill he felt now that she was gone.
Next to her grave was an early bouquet of flowers, sitting on the headstone and looking extravagantly pretty. He was watching a bug crawl across the inside of the wrapping, and then, all of a sudden, he felt angry. Needlessly, and absurdly angry. He grabbed the bouquet and threw it down to the ground, stomping it as hard as he could over and over and over into the pliant earth, kneeling down and ripping it to shreds because how dare it be pretty and how dare it sit there, attracting attention away from her gravestone, attracting attention away from her death.
He let out a cry of pure frustration then, grabbing fistfuls of grass and pieces of flower and sobbing. He sobbed and pounded at the ground and shouted all manner of obscenities, until finally he was just sitting there, throat sore and eyes puffy. Quiet sobs escaped him now and then, tears leaking in a constant stream down his face, obscured by the heavy rain pouring down. His hands were muddy, and his suit was ruined. There was a thick layer of dirt under his finger nails.
He stayed like that for a long time.
He didn't bother to keep track of how long.
Eventually he had to be dragged up from his spot next to her grave, dragged across the cemetery kicking and fighting by his father. He wasn't done yet, he wasn't ready to leave. He wasn't ready to lose her.
But that was stupid.
She was dead.
When he was finally back in the car and his father was speeding down the road, far over the speed limit and muttering obscenities to himself, Karsten only stared out the window, feeling more distant from everything than he had in years.
The world already looked a whole lot harsher now that she was gone.
He couldn't be bothered to deal with it. Not right now.
So he closed his eyes.