Alexis

Rosso

<< Red >>

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Song-- The Way I Am, Eminem

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"C'mere, Marie," dad called. I jumped out of my brown wooden seat and grabbed his hand. His black ring felt cold against my hand. He bent down to grab me. I wrapped my small hands around his neck, hugging him. "Good, Bambina. Freddie, can you give me my jacket?"

Something was placed over me and a hand was placed on the back of my head. Dad exited the restaurant. Dad removed his hand from the back of my head once we stepped out of the restaurant. He grabbed Freddie's hand.

"Mr. Leo!"

"Michael!"

"Michael Leo! Can you answer some questions?"

"What is your opinion on Henri Cummins leaving Josten Union?"

"Can you confirm your members are planning to go on strike?"

"Get out of my way," dad grumbled. "Can't you fuckin' see that I'm with my kids?"

"Can we get an answer?"

"Can you confirm that you were involved in the Gumila Fraud?"

The jacket covering my face and tiny body was ripped off of me. The air wasn't cold but the jacket suddenly removed made me feel cold.

"Don't touch my kid!" dad yelled.

I turned to see what dad was yelling about and who at. Cameras flashed in my eyes, and I went blind for a second.

It was cold and wet. The sky was dark. The whole world was gloomy. Rain was beating down from the sky. Thunder rumbled, not far from here. The priest was chanting in Latin.

I knew, as a person that liked history, that people, mainly in the Victorian era, believed that rain on or after a funeral was a good thing. It was supposed to represent the deceased going to Heaven.

It didn't feel like that.

It felt tragic.

A lot of people had umbrellas. There were so many.

I didn't have one. It wasn't right. My father was hurt. Water would do nothing to me.

Vincent was on my right. My aunt was on my left. At one point, Vincent attempted to grab my hand but I pulled it away.

The tips of my fingers were cold.

We were asked to rise as they lowered my father's casket into the ground. My eyes couldn't leave the red roses. They rested on top of the mahogany casket. Water droplets sat on top of the petals and the dark wood. They stood out.

I had the strange urge to look up. I wanted to make sure everyone was respecting my father: bowing their heads, hands folded and dressed in black.

Except when I looked up, I met a pair of eyes. A scar rested down his face.

My hair stuck to the side of my face, kissing the top of my eyebrow and sticking against the skin down to my chin. Anger bubbled inside of me. Any denial that I had evaporated with the hot fury that was growing inside and out of me. My cold fingers formed fists. I felt my nails dig into my skin. I couldn't stop. I kept digging. My jaw was tight. My teeth were grinding against each other.

Red came back to me.

Rose.

Crimson.

Blood.

Blood that drenched my face. Blood that coated my hands. Blood that caused me to faint in my bathroom. Blood that stained my clothes. Blood that ruined the white tiles. Blood that slipped down my shower drain. Blood that belonged to my father. Blood that was taken from my father.

I wished that I had a gun on me. I wanted to shoot him. However, I knew if I had a gun, I wouldn't have moved. The hot rage in my body was burning the soggy ground below me, keeping me there as if I was in quicksand. I was immobile.

This strange feeling took over. It was suffocating me. I couldn't breathe properly. I didn't know how.

His eyes stayed on mine. I was disgusted and offended.

Who let this fuck in? It was MY DAD'S funeral. HE did NOT deserve to be here! Why was he? I needed answers! The fucking Secret Service was here and they let my father's murderer in?

I pulled my eyes away when I heard a collective "Amen". I quickly mumbled it and made the Sign of the Cross.

The red roses stood out against the blackness of the deep hole.

Red.

Red.

Red.

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A/N

Just a reminder:

I know a lot of you (if not all) hate Alexis and see her as extremely immature.

For the people that voice that, you know I usually respond with something along the lines of "it's all about character development".

That small progress is going to be put on pause-- I'm letting the lot of you know now because some of you have not experienced grief and don't know the setbacks that it comes with. Please keep that in mind if you express your emotions.

Also, since I feel like I'm now late about mentioning things: yes, the chapters are short. Yes, they do matter. Yes, they will get longer. Yes, I have a plan.