Chapter One- Grief

Life goes on. Whoever originally said that could eat my dust for all I cared. What a ridiculous notion... "Life goes on". I fought the almost unquenchable urge to spit venom at the offending individual in front of me that dared to utter such a nonsensical attempt at philosophy. Portia Anderson gave me her best mournful, sympathetic look that only succeeded in making her look like a depressed camel, with a face made up of the wrong shade of pink lipstick, blue eye-shadow and smudged mascara, she thought herself above the 'common folk'. My cheeks hurt as I forced them into a smile of gratitude.. I imagine I looked like a maniac as she soon waddled off to her next victim after an awkward cough. I wonder if the vicar prayed for a release from her scintillating conversation.

My house... I suppose it really was mine now, was filled with a lot of bodies in a range of black clothing. It was like a sardine can, even with the windows open, there was no air in the modest living room. Yet, there was still enough room to give me a perimeter. Perched on the well-worn window seat, I was on display for all to see. It was quite annoying really, all I wanted was to be left alone with my grief. I had suffered through the procession, the church service, the words washed over me leaving no residue, no comfort. The hardest part was the burial... It felt like something within me had broken when they lowered the coffin down into the ground. Everything just went numb... I don't remember how I got back to the house. I barely felt my best friend's hands guide me to the seat, usually my favourite, or how many times I had heard those iconic 'I'm sorry for your loss' phrases. As I watched Portia be the busy body she always was, something within me raged... Like Smaug awakening in the Hobbit, I was ready to breathe and spit fire.

It must've shown by the way Chriss flocked to my side and pushed a glass of water into my hands. She surveyed the crowd before she turned those sharp blue eyes to regard me. I knew what she saw, my usually clean long hair was lank and lifeless, my skin paler than pale which made my freckles stand out like a pox and my lips were chewed to pieces. She clasped my hand, hers were warm compared to my cool ones.

"How you holding up kiddo?" It was a simple question that held a wealth of meaning.

"Peachy keen." My voice was raw, I hadn't spoken in... I couldn't quite remember, I hadn't spoken at the service, there were no words. She squeezed my hand. "I wish everyone would just go."

"They're here to show support." I raised my eyebrows and snorted. "Okay, mainly they're just being nosy but some people are genuine." she surveyed the room again, her eyes narrowed at the Portia. "She always did open her mouth before thinking."

"You heard her then?" My jaw tightened. Chriss nodded. "I wanted to..."

"What? You wanted to do what?" she pressed and I shook my hand free from hers.

"I don't know! Something!" I hit my hand against my leg, the pain barely registering. "I'm sick of this! I want them out!" Tears pricked my eyes as emotions flooded through me like a tidal wave. "I can't breathe!" I could feel my chest tighten and I panicked. "I c-c-an't breathe!" What was happening? The tears leaked and splashed onto my lap as I began to shake, I couldn't shake the onslaught. I was alone now. She was gone. It was just me. There was a god-awful sound coming from somewhere and everyone in the room turned towards me, their eyes bore into me. My head swam, their faces blurred into a mirage of colours and my stomach heaved. I could hear those words over and over, taunting me.

A voice shouted from somewhere over the faint buzz in my ears. Then it was quiet except for that awful noise. Chriss's face appeared in front of me and it was then I realized it was me making the racket. Her hands rubbed my arms and her lips moved but I couldn't hear her. I struggled and gasped in great gulps of air and wiped furiously at the torrent of tears that splashed into my lap. My mind dragged up all the arguments and fights we had shared together and the flash of guilt that followed almost crippled me. I had been a horrible child growing up; wilful and stubborn, I always knew what was right and did the opposite if whatever she had said. She always hated raising her voice but it became more and more frequent, almost a daily occurrence until I was thirteen. Then it all changed, I changed and everything was fine and dandy. Until the cancer.

"She's gone Chriss." I sobbed into my hands.

"No she isn't" she smoothed down my hair. "Not where it matters."

"Oh Jesus not you too." my voice hardened with sheer irritation, "Cut the cheesy crap will you!? She is gone and memories fade in time. Even if its months or years... I'll forget small details, her face, the colour of her eyes, the sound of her laugh, the smell of her perfume. All those important things will one day disappear and she will be gone."

I waited for Chriss to reassure me, to say anything soothing, even if it would be a complete lie. She never did. Her silence spoke volume. Her phone broke the silence, the latest Little Mix song blared loudly. She grab it and all but ran from the room, talking quietly into the tiny device. I glared at her back before excusing myself to the upstairs. Ignoring the mess as I went. If I ignored it, it would go away. That or fairies would come in the night and clean it up.

The upstairs was light and airy with white washed walls splashed with colourful paintings. The door to the main bedroom was swung open and my heart pounded hard as I approached it. The bed was still unmade, the champagne coloured sheets all rumbled in a heap. The curtains on either side were open and the setting sun cast its golden pink rays off the magnolia and brown walls and along the biscuit carpet, giving the room a still and calm feel to it. I lifted my foot to enter and frowned when it didn't obey. I couldn't enter, I couldn't invade this sacred space. I reached and grabbed the cold metal gold doorknob and swung it shut, it sqeaked in protest and clicked with a finality. A new wave of exhaustion battered through me and I went on autopilot. My feet shuffled the familiar steps to my old room and I flopped down on the small single bed and closed my eyes. Maybe if I woke up tomorrow, it'll all just be a bad dream.
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