Whoa, sorry about the wait. This one took forever. I promise the next chapter won't take so long.
Well, I'll try. I really can't promise you much of anything except that I'll try.
Read, review, and enjoy my friends.
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I watched the sun rise this morning.
I physically sat on the counter in front of the kitchen window and watched as the sun went up, not to mention the three or four hours before and the two after that two minute sunrise. Sleep wasn't an option; my brain wouldn't let it be.
It's really no big thing. The sun rises the same every morning and sets the same every night, regardless of how significant of a day it is. No matter how much you don't want that day to happen, it always does, because the world doesn't stop for anyone.
"Looks like you've been up for a while."
Those Michalchuk kids sure have a way of sneaking up on a girl. Dylan's standing in the door way, looking at me in mild curiosity. I give him a shadow of a smile.
"Yeah, long enough I guess," I shrug. He nods knowingly.
"Well, enjoy the silence while it lasts. I know Marco's awake, and I think I might have heard Paige in the bathroom already," he says, leaning against the counter a few feet away from me.
"Do you always get up early, or is it just today?" I ask. Dylan is a mystery to me, which is weird, considering how Marco and I have been close for a long time. But he's really just the blonde gay guy who always happens to be in the room.
"Nah, I like the morning. It's refreshing to me; peaceful," he answers, leaning back in his chair. Both of us are quiet, because we don't know each other well enough for conversation.
"I think I'll make some coffee. Do you want any?" He says with a yawn, standing up.
"Sure," I reply, standing as well. The kitchen suddenly seems too awkward to be in. "I'm just going to go start getting ready."
I didn't have to say what I was getting ready for. He just nodded with that same look of understanding from earlier.
"Ok, the coffee will probably be ready when you are."
"Not if Alex gets in here first," I joke, trying to be sociable. He chuckles, probably out of courtesy.
"I'll make sure there's some left for you, even if it means cutting off the Queen of Mean when she's caffeine deprived," he quips back. With an obligatory laugh and smile, I excuse myself from the room.
One thing about being a former goth is that, at least in my case, you never really lose you're love of black. So, there's plenty in your wardrobe to choose from when the need arises, and it should make life a little bit simpler on today, a day I would like to avoid.
Unfortunately for me, things are anything but easy and simple today, clothing included. All I can manage to do is stare at the closed drawers of my dresser. It seems too daunting of a task to undertake. But I can't leave the house in sweats today. I have to look remotely nice. After a few long minutes, I finally convince myself to pull the drawer open and at least try to pick something.
Nothing looks at all right, and I eventually just end up pissed to all hell at the piles of clothes around me. The bathroom door opens up, and I jump at the chance to get away from this mess.
Marco shoots me a sideways look as I leave my room, swearing at my clothes. I am not in the mood to explain myself, so I just slip past him and into the bathroom, locking the door behind me.
I make the water so hot, it's almost unbearable. The burn is good though; it takes away some of that underlying numbness. I almost don't want to leave the shower, except I know that I have to. Someone else is probably already waiting for their turn. So I throw back on the ratty t-shirt and sweats I'd been wearing before, brush my teeth, and leave the bathroom, dreading the thought of more rooting through my clothes, but arrive to find my bedroom door is shut.
"No, no that's all wrong Marco." Even muffled through the door, I can tell it's definitely Paige.
"Paige, we're not going to a Milan fashion show here, it's a funeral." There was Marco. This is officially strange. Last time I checked, there was nothing in my room for either of them to want to borrow.
"Well she should still get to look good," Paige defended, and suddenly it clicked. They were picking clothes for me. I didn't even bother to open the door, and just decided to let them deal with it. Less stress for me.
The smell of coffee beckons me back to the kitchen. Alex is sitting at the table, sipping greedily at her own mug. She looks up and gives me a small, tired smile.
"Hey."
"Hey," I sigh back, pulling a mug from the cupboard, looking to the coffeepot and seeing that it is bone-dry. With a minorly annoyed huff, and chuck the pot back into the machine. "That's what I get for lagging, I guess."
Alex shakes her head with a mouthful of coffee, and gives me the "one second" gesture. She points at the wall of cupboards and with a hasty swallow, turns me in the right direction.
"Look in the middle shelf, second cupboard over, where we keep all the bowls."
Sure enough, sitting hidden inside one of the cheap white bowls I remember buying at the second-hand store is a steaming mug full of coffee. I relish the warmth radiating into my hands.
"You're amazing," I say, opening the fridge for milk to add to the mug.
"Dylan said if I didn't save you some, that he'd personally start a fight, and I didn't think anyone would look there" she shrugged. "Plus, I figured that beating up Paige's brother probably wouldn't win me any points in the girlfriend department."
"This is probably true," I agree and take a sip. The heat of the drink radiates through my whole body. I fall into a chair across from her, and we fall rapidly back into the pattern of our silent game. Alex clears her throat, and it makes me raise my eyes away from the mug in my hands.
"So, uh , the fashion twins are in your room playing dress up Barbie or something huh?" She says, trying to fuel a conversation and break the quiet.
"I don't exactly know what Dolce and Gabbana are doing in there, but I figure they're the right ones to let pick out my clothes," I resign. She nods, catching my drift.
"Yeah, be careful though, Nash. It could scar you for life," she warned jokingly. "I told Paige that I liked this one pink shirt she had, and I even meant I liked it on her." I choke back a small chuckle, knowing where this story is headed.
"But next thing I know we're at the mall and she's making me try on pink everything from these companies whose names I can't even begin to pronounce. I was lucky to come out of it with only three new articles of pink clothing, and any money left in my bank account."
"Yet you still look so good in pink," Paige finished, with amusement in her voice, from where she stood in the doorway. Marco ducked past her and started bustling around to make himself a bowl of cereal. "Better grab a shower now or you'll make us all late Alex."
In that instant, I recall what it is we would be late for, and it puts a damper on that short-lived almost good mood I'd found myself drifting towards. Alex flashes a glance at the clock, and books it out of the kitchen. Marco falls into her chair.
"Hey Ell, I heard you cursing your wardrobe earlier," He says between bites of his breakfast. "So me and Paige took the liberty and picked out something for you if you wanted it."
"Right," Paige pipes up, walking in to join the conversation properly. "No pressure though, hun. If you had something else in mind, it's totally ok."
"Yeah, we kind of lunged at the chance," Marco half laughs. "It was fun."
It shouldn't have been fun. As much as I know that anything to do with clothes is absolutely riveting for Marco, this should never have been fun for him.
I mumble some sort of response, and look at the clock. We have to be at the funeral home at nine-thirty. I have roughly forty-five minutes to get myself ready to go, and even though I know I could do it in ten, I decided now is the perfect time to make my exit.
"I'm gonna go, y'know," I say, standing from my chair and bringing the mug of coffee with me.
"Ok hun," Paige says, managing a hopeful smile. Marco nods with his mouthful of cereal, and I duck out as gracefully as I can, trying not to draw any extra attention to myself.
I don't want them to see me crying.
Tears flood my face, and trail down my cheeks as I dress myself in the clothes my friends have picked out. The outfit is not too far outside my taste. It's a quietly dignified button down black blouse I can vaguely remember buying years ago, and a familiar black skirt. Someone, presumably Paige, has left a baby pink bracelet laid out on my bed to go with my outfit, but I can't bring myself to put it on. It makes me feel cheap, like a user.
It's not her fault; she doesn't know that I am a murderer.
I don't look like old, as I would assume my mother will look. The clothes actually make me feel younger. I feel like I'm twelve years old again, watching my life unravel, day after day after day. I feel like the child I was, watching my mother drink herself half to death, and feeling like it was my fault for not stopping her.
I haven't seen my mom in nearly two months; not since right after Annie was born. I remember that visit all to clearly. She met her granddaughter while smashed drunk. She'd nearly dropped my barely a week old daughter, and sent me home with money to buy her more liquor. That was a promise I made, but did not keep.
Ever since then, she's said over and over again that she's so sorry, and she's gotten better, but she's been saying that my whole life, and I don't necessarily believe her anymore.
Needless to say, I am not really looking forward to seeing her today. I know Marco will have told her about everything, and I know that she will probably show up for the funeral. If she's not too far gone, she will be there, and it will make it all the more awkward and uncomfortable.
Once I am dressed, and ready enough to leave the house, I lay down in my bed, wishing I had gotten some sleep. I feel like I am going to need it today. I feel like today will be the kind of day that drains me dry, but I have nothing left to give.
I wish my dad was here, and that he could hold me in his arms like when I was little. When my mom would get herself trashed, he'd tuck her into bed, then watch TV with me, his arm wrapped over my shoulders. He was my only real protector, but now he's far away, by his own choice.
"Ell?"
My eyes snap open, and once again, I have no recollection of ever letting them shut. Alex is standing in the doorway, dressed all in black, and obviously ready to go.
"It's time to go," she says. I nod and sit up, feeling my head swim as I do.
"Hey Alex?" I her myself ask groggily. I suddenly realize that not only do I feel like I need sleep, I sound like it too. Hell, I probably even look like the mess I feel.
"Yeah Nash?" She replies, politely ignoring my pitiful tone of voice. For a split second I almost tell her how much this hurts. For a moment I almost spill my stupid aching guts and tell her how responsible I am for everything.
But I can't bring myself to do it.
I don't want her to realize that I am really am the failure of a mother that I imagine myself to be. I don't want to lose one of the only friends I have left. Instead, I pick that baby pink bracelet up and hold it out to her.
"Would you give this back to Paige?"
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