If You Loved Me, Why'd You Leave Me?

Chapter 8

The funeral was the next day.

I was stood in front of my mirror, pulling on the black blazer with shaking hands, looking at the mess I had become. My hair, once a lovely brown swept to one side, was sticking up in all different angles, and I could still see the part that I had torn out in anger. My chocolate eyes were dull and empty, and my tanned skin was whitening to the point where my face looked like a ghost. A green flush had spreak across my cheeks, too, matching the nasty colour of my eyelids that drooped slightly. Once upon a time I had smiled, now I could barely manage a small smirk.

Phil stood behind me, arms on my shoulders as he turned me around so I was facing him. He looked concerned, and I couldn't blame him. "I'll be here the whole time." He told me comfortingly as he undid my tie and twirled it around his fingers. Silence fell and the only thing I could hear was my ragged breathing. I hoped my breath didn't smell awful, because Phil was getting a good waft of it.

"I shouldn't be going." I said quietly, looking down at Phil's pale hands. "I killed him; murderers don't go to their victims's funerals."

"You didn't kill him, Dan. It was an accident." Phil redid my tie and straightened out my blazer. He was dressed in a black suit too - I had begged my mum to let him come, for support, and she had agreed, knowing it would be better for me. But then I realised she had no one; who was she going to cry with, mourn with. "Sit down. Let's straighten that hair of yours." Phil pointed at my bed and I sat, staring at the wall in front of me. Phil plugged in the straightners. "Are you gonna sit there and let me do it, or...?"

"Yeah." I nodded, earning a sigh from him and my hair being threaded through his fingers. I closed my eyes and let him do it, enjoying the sensation of his hands running through my hair. "You are doing it to the left, aren't you?" I asked.

Phil paused, and I opened my eyes to see his hand frozen in midair, eyes wide. "Um, close your eyes again."

"Phil!" I moaned, doing as I was told. The tiniest laugh escaped my lips. I found it remarkable that this boy could make even me laugh, despite the fact that I had killed my own father and was now attending his funeral. After wondering how on earth he did it, Phil told me he was done and stood beaming at his work. I blushed under his gaze.

"First time I've ever done someone else's hair - I'd say I've done pretty well." Phil nodded in approval as I narrowed my eyes at him mockingly. He had done a good job, leaving out the part where he got my fringe the wrong way at one point. Before I could compliment his work, a shout from my mum came from outside, telling us it was time to go. I lowered my head as I walked to the door, but Phil caught my arm and spun me around to face him. "Can you do this, Dan? If you feel like you're about to break down at any point, tell me, okay?"

"I'm not a child." I snapped at him, yanking my arm away. Then I groaned. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, just ignore me." I told him and opened the door. Phil remained on my left hand side the whole time, and when we reached the bottom of the stairs it was filled with people dressed in black, talking with each other, some crying whilst others offered tissues, most staring at us as we came down. My eyes flicked over each and every one of them, and as they looked at me I could see how accusing they were; how they knew it was my fault. I swallowed, biting my lower lip to stop it from trembling. My hand gripped Phil's sleeve.

"Daniel, how much you've grown!" An old woman appeared in front of me, smile small and eyes sad. At least she was making an attempt, I thought to myself as I stared at her blankly. "It's me, grandma Norma, your dad's mother."

"Oh, yes!" I exclaimed, pulling Phil a little closer so our shoulders were touching. I could feel the awkwardness radiating off him from being in a room filled with strangers. "I - I'm sorry about my dad." I croaked, still attempting to keep a normal face, but grandma could see right through it and she caressed my cheek.

"It's ok to cry, Daniel. Sometimes we cry to wash away the pain of today, sometimes we cry because there's nothing else we can do. We cry because we feel hopeless, upset, angry... and that's okay. Understand that, and you'll be fine." Grandma smiled warmly, but I could see the water forming in her eyes. I tried to wet my dry throat, nodding at her words. Soon she excused herself and I pulled Phil into the corner, away from everyone, trembling.

Phil wrapped me in a hug; he always knew what I needed. "Go on, cry." He whispered, but I shook my head.

"Not in front of all these people." I protested, pulling away as the door opened and people started spilling out to get in the long black limo thingies. There was a funeral car with a large wooden coffin in the back; looking at it made me want to throw up. I pulled Phil into the car, taking my seat next to my mum who had a bunch of wet tissues in her hands. She was sniffling, and her cheeks were tear-stained. Guilt pierced me like an arrow, and I doubled forwards. Phil pulled me onto his chest where I cried into his shirt, the car pulling away and driving to the graveyard.

***

The funeral lasted for what seemed like hours, and by the time we got home I was falling asleep in Phil's arms, completely exhausted and emotionally drained. My mum went straight upstairs without saying a word, tearing my heart out of my chest. She blamed me. They all did. I wasn't accepted there.

Phil dragged me up the stairs, heaving and grunting with the effort, and when we were in my room he began taking my blazer and tie off. I let him, unable to process the fact that he was literally taking my clothes off. We were close, but not that close. "Bum up." Phil ordered, and even though I was on the verge of sleep I was alarmed by this and stared at him in confusion. "So I can take off your pants, dummy! You're only wearing boxers, it's not like I can see your -"

I lifted my bum up into the air so he could easily take off my trousers. He folded them up neatly and slowly took off my shirt, and I could see his eyes flicking over my body. I shifted uncomfortably, my eyes closing ever so slightly as the shirt was unbuttoned and pulled off. Quickly, he threw the covers over me and put my clothes in a neat pile on the floor beside my bed. He then proceeded to lift my head and plump the pillows, trying to make it comfortable for me. "I want to write..." I yawned to him, but I knew there was no chance of that. I was far too tired.

"Sleep." Phil insisted and I obeyed. "I'll be here when you wake up, Bear."