Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊° .☆
Tallulah stared into her reflection.
The girl wore a simple black dress that hugged her chest but flowed around her waist in an almost 1950s-esque fashion. She wore black heels with it, her feet already slightly aching from the points of the shoes. Her once curly ginger hair now flowed down her back in a pin-straight manner, framing her face.
In the mirror, she could see the faint brushstrokes of freckles along her cheeks and on the bridge of her nose under the layer of foundation and blush she had spread across her cheeks this morning. The mascara she had put on mere moments ago made a slight imprint on the eyelid above it.
She searched her own eyes to try and see something that wasn't there, longing for an answer to why people must all eventually go away as she was flooded with memories of her own parents. Tallulah remembered back to the night it was all taken away from her.
The girl's small fingers danced along the window of the old car her parents owned. She watched as small droplets of water beaded down the window and chose which one she was ultimately rooting for in the race.
She paid no attention to her parents' conversation in the front seat of the car, nor the little bits of jazz playing from the tape in the front. Though now to this day whenever Tallulah hears the song "Bring It On Home To Me" by Sam Cooke, she feels sick to her stomach. But she remembers bright headlights.
She can still feel the rain pouring down onto her, seeping into her clothes and down to her bones.
She still feels the white pain of the other car crashing into her and breaking her arm, which still, years later, aches occasionally when she plays for too long on the guitar or leans her head on that hand for long moments.
She remembers the screaming. The raw, loud, angry screaming of her own throat. The screaming at her parents to get them to move, shaking their unmoving bodies, trying to wake them from a sleep that would last forever.
The girl was shaken from the memory, a hot tear spilling over her cheek.
Jamie had already left after getting ready and dropping off a bag with a blueberry muffin tucked inside. The team was supposed to be arriving together, and Tallulah had insisted it was fine for her to walk to the service, being only a couple of blocks away. However, standing looking at her reflection in the mirror made her feel small. She needed him, but somewhere in the back of her mind, she couldn't bring herself to call him. The girl still refused to tell him what had been offered to her, still scared of making the wrong decision.
