The Angel in Hell

3, 2, 1

Something In The Way by Nirvana<3

~

It was the day of Oliver's funeral, an extravagant occasion in which the Cattons had offered to fund as their form of condolences to the Quick family. Delilah woke up feeling sick as normal, spending the first half hour of her day curled up by the toilet. She found herself rapidly declining into a depression as one day without Felix suddenly became two weeks without him, not a word. She laid on the cold marble floor, closing her eyes and escaping into her brain where Felix was there rubbing her back and placing kisses on her shoulders as she felt the full force of their child growing inside her. When she finally made it to the shower to wash herself she had imagined it was Felix, desperately trying to mimic the comforting sensation of his hands against her skin.

There had been talks of where he might be, Elsbeth assumed he was back at Oxford but since the school had said he wasn't, all trails sort of ran dry. They knew some of his clothes had gone from his wardrobe. Delilah remembered the exact moment she found that out. Two days after Oliver died she was finally able to go into Felix's room. She noticed his wardrobe was open and a shirt hanging out of a drawer. She rummaged through his clothes and noticed some of his hoodies and jeans were gone from their places, as well as his 'live strong' bracelet from his desk. She had to sit down when she found out, up against the bedframe of his bed, to steady herself, half relieved that he had run away and not died, half utterly gutted he was still gone.

Delilah pulled on some black stockings and layered a loose black, long sleeved dress over the top. It was raining outside, one of the only gross days this summer. She slipped on some black shiny ballet flats and pushed a black headband adorned with little pearls through the curls in her hair, before making her way down to everyone.

The funeral was bleak and unfamiliar, a small group of his family and friends from Prescot were there all sticking to one side of the church. Delilah and the Cattons stood on the other side, keeping their heads down, avoiding eye contact with Oliver's family, a smell of guilt reeking off all of them. Venetia hadn't really stopped crying since Oliver died, and today was especially bad.

About a week after Oliver passed, Venetia came into Delilah's room in the early hours of the morning having sobbed through her entire nightgown. Delilah gave her a spare and the two cuddled down into bed. It was there that Venetia told Delilah everything, about her and Oliver. 'He made me feel like I could eat, Lilah.' She had sobbed into her bestfriends arms which struck yet another dagger in Delilah's heart and it was scary when tears leaked from her eyes too, because she didn't know she could care for Oliver. Not like this.

And so naturally, with Venetia coming as close as she ever has to some sort of love, Delilah held onto V, supporting her by the waist and placing gentle kisses on top of her head everytime the crying became louder. The service was normal, much like Delilah's fathers'. Some prayers, hymns and a chance for family to speak. His mother gave a nice speech, ultimately disproving the whole lie Oliver had spun about their drug addictions. But none of the Cattons reacted because, what could be done now?

She remembered the eulogy she gave at her fathers funeral, how she cried and cried through all of it only to finish the last line feeling as if she was an imposter. As she urged how much she missed her father, how much of a great man he was, how much he loved his family, the words left a sour taste in her mouth. It was as if his ghost was pouring lemon juice onto the ulcers on her cheeks where she had been anxiously chewing at them, laughing at her lies. But when Delilah looked at Oliver's mother, who spoke of him so lovingly and with such pure care, Delilah felt a sense of mourning for her father. She didn;t mourn him as a father but rather she mourned for him because he couldn't be a father. She thought about the small life growing secretly inside her and began to understand what Oliver's mother meant when she described her son in such a way, and she pitied her father for never being able to experience that.