GUN IN MY HAND

CHAPTER 14: THINGS AREN'T ALWAYS WHAT THEY SEEM

I dedicate this chapter to the awesome @VanessaApekey because we talked not long ago about our love for Desperate housewives, and this inspired me to write this little wink to our dear Bree! I hope you like my badass redhead too! Love you 😘💕

'The hardest part of leavin' is accepting all the reasons

That somehow we keep repeatin' endlessly

And the hardest part of leavin' is to hold the heavy breathin'

Back from showin' you how hard it is for me

To make it look so easy'

'The decadent youth', I could still hear the northern accent of the grandparents Duncan as I stood in front of that same wooden sign.

Actually, it may have been because I'd heard them all weekend, grumbling at the neighborhood kids and their 'dangerous' roller skates and complaining about the tattooed boys who had dared to go the same drugstore as them.

I wondered if the universe was trying to punish me for my lies. But no, it was just my parents, as even though they hadn't lifted my grounding yet, they had dragged me through a four hours trip to thank my grandparents for their 'generous birthday present', which I hadn't done last Sunday because I'd disappeared 'like an ingrate', in my mom's words.

However, it was indeed a generous gift, and with the money, I'd got a chocolate bar because I was starving, not having been able to have a second helping of Grandma's pie at lunch to keep my ladylike manners, although my growling stomach was even less elegant. The rest of the money would surely be spent here – how ironic was it?

'The decadent youth'! Maybe I was part of it. I had sneaked out of the house as soon as my dad had left for work, and I'd lied to my mom, pretending I had homework to not go to the neighborhood association with her. 

Instead, I'd come here. Well, I'd stopped by the cemetery to apologize properly for my lies. Yet I'd still made my way here after barely a few minutes seated in front of the gray stone, where I had almost heard his calm voice telling me to 'not waste my time crying and talking to dead people'. Grandpa had never liked cemeteries; he'd liked much more the kind of activities the sign indicated.

Okay, maybe it had also always been in the back of my mind, as I'd taken many detours and bus stops to arrive at this place, and now that I was here, I was still staring at the detailed engraving, eyeing the old metal door as hesitantly as last time.

Not much had changed in a week, and so much at the same time. Today, I'd put on blue capri pants to not rip another dress. The weather was gloomier, making me notice the large shadows from the thick woods, the red glow above a door in the opposite street, and the many vehicles in the small courtyard around: trucks, cars, and motorcycles, yet none of them familiar. 

Most importantly, the tiny changes were inside, as there wasn't a chaos of voices, overflow, and emptiness in my chest, just a dull ache, and apparently, also a little caterpillar wandering around my stomach and nibbling it little bites by little bites.

So I decided to enter before it could eat me whole.

Inside, everything was the same, the dim lighting, the counter, even the bearded man behind it, and the magazine in his hands. I could have believed I'd traveled back in time if it hadn't been for the recognition quickly replacing the surprise behind his glasses.