Chiara Daveys is living a good life in England - if you ignore her constant struggle with food, lack of a guardian and how she's constantly working to pay the bills.
At 17 years old, she's been unaware of her 6 brothers who have spent the 14 years o...
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Two weeks later, Chiara sits in a church, her brothers surrounding her as a protective unit - keeping her going both physically and mentally.
A funeral; a celebration of life; a chance to say goodbye.
Chiara didn't want to say goodbye, she wanted to go to school the next day and sit in maths with Florence sitting in front of her. She wanted to message Florence, and get a reply. She wanted the picture of blood to get out of her head.
She didn't want to be traumatised.
When her shoulders started to shake and her steps faltered outside of the church, Oscar was there. He didn't push, he didn't force her, he simply reminded her that he was there.
He hadn't personally known Florence, he'd only really seen her in an Instagram post from Halloween and various stories Chiara posted. However, he did know the impact she'd had on Chiara - he knew Florence made the whole 'new school' process a lot smoother for Chiara.
Chiara spared a cautious glance towards the Grahams. Wearing mourning black, even the usually joyful eight-year-old Rory stood with his head down cast as his parents received condolences.
Giovanni had told her of Mr. Grahams' kind words at the hospital, his offer for Chiara to come around. She didn't know how to accept it when she was the reason Tyrone's gang sought retribution.
'A life for a life'.
Sometimes, randomly, she hears the shot. She feels Florence flinch back, hears her strangled gasp. It keeps her up at night, haunting her. Maybe, she thinks, it's her punishment.
Giovanni had been relentless in finding the gang, wanting to stop them from trying to hurt Chiara again - they'd already done more than enough damage towards his little sister.
Everyone stands when the doors open a polished wooden coffin being carried in by Florence's father, some of her uncles and her oldest cousin. Rory stands next to his mother, wishing he was big enough, strong enough to carry his big sister. To make her proud.
Chiara faces forward, not daring to turn back and watch as Florence's coffin slowly makes its way towards the front.
She wonders if this could've been the church Florence would've gotten married in when she was older. Florence had told her it was the same one her parents did years ago.
Mr. Graham should've been walking her down the altar in years to come - not carrying her coffin.
That's not going to happen though, she has to remind herself. That can never happen.
She swallows roughly when the coffin passes her, eyes stinging with tears and desperately wanting to close. To hide away from this brutal reality.
Oscar, beside her, feels the exact moment her breathing changes. He clutches onto her hand with both of his, grounding her. She reacts by holding on to him just as tightly, if not more so.
Noah, to her right, interlinks his arm with hers, keeping her close to his side.
Unanimously, everyone sits before Florence's dad gets up to read an eulogy.
Whilst he speaks, Chiara glances, dazed, at the coffin. Light brown, polished.
She clutches onto Oscar's hand tighter.
'Do what you can', 'Don't stress yourself out', 'Eat what you can, don't worry', 'It's okay'. Her brothers had all been repeating these to her, hoping to save her from her own thoughts. Trying to prevent her from crumbling when she was only just beginning to recover.
She just wanted Florence back.
That's all she wanted.
But, at the front of the church, a light brown, polished coffin is propped up.
She wasn't going to get Florence back.
She was shot. She was killed.
The rest of the funeral passes by as a blur to Chiara. Weeping relatives spoke, hymns were sung, and Chiara wondered whether she should've gone up and spoken. Did she fail Florence again by not?
But, then again, how could she put into words the joy that Florence was? A girl, so full of life, had her life taken from her. A future that's no longer attainable.
When people start to leave, she glances back and sees an eight year-old boy still sitting in the pew, alone.
Oscar waits by the door, watching as Chiara takes a deep breath and goes to sit next to Rory Graham.
She sits to the right of him, putting her arm over his shoulder and resting it there. It's Rory who decides to get closer to her, tucking himself into his dead older sister's best friend.
No words are shared, only the familiar feeling of grief flows between them where words failed.
After moments of quiet reflection, they get up, holding onto each other's hand as they walk to the door.
As she walks past him, Oscar squeezes her shoulder in pride; he knew she had been avoiding the Graham family as a self-imposed punishment.
Maybe this was the first step towards her forgiving herself - even though he knew there was nothing she had to forgive herself for.
When the coffin got lowered into the ground, she held onto little Rory still as he hid his face.
She wanted to look away; her eyes began to sting and she felt as though her throat was closing up. She wanted to look away, but she couldn't. She knew, soon, ground would cover the coffin. Soon, the land would go flat again. Soon, a headstone would be put up.
And Florence would be lying six foot underground.
Ground would separate the two girls. Time would separate them further.
Her memories of Florence would get tainted by age as she got older.
Rory would have to look at photos to remember the exact way his older sister's hair seemed to glow.
Chiara would watch videos, and then rewatch them, to remember how full of life Florence's laugh seemed to be.
Isabella and Inara stand there too, although Chiara had distanced herself from them recently - another form of her self-imposed punishment.
Their group of four was now three. Chiara had thought of this often: although there was four of them, there were two duos.
