Darcy // h.s

37: Funeral

  "We gather here today to celebrate and remember the life of Paul Higgins." The priest began. This was one of the saddest day in One Direction history, the funeral of their faithful bodyguard. There wasn't a sound in the room, other than a few muffled cries.

  "Paul was an amazing man. Father, brother, dad, son, and friend. Everyone who knew him remembered him as a  genuine man. He was a protector. A fighter. A lover." The priest paused to catch a glimpse at all of us. 

  I hadn't even realized that I was tugging furiously on the hem of my dress until Harry laced his clammy fingers through mine. Meeting his eyes, it was obvious that he was drowning in greif. And I couldn't help but believe that it was all my fault.

  "I'd like to ask Paul's wife, Clodagh, to read some verses." 

  A woman who appeared to be in her late thirties stood up at the front, her mascara running down her cheeks, her hands shaking like an earthquake.

  "Revalation-" She choked out another sob. I was secretly crossing my fingers for this woman, hoping that she would be able to continue. "Revalation 14:13. 'Then I heard a voice from Heaven say    Write. Blessed are the dead who die for the Lord from now on. 

  "Yes," She continues. "Says the Spirit. "They will rest from their labor, for their deeds will follow them."

  At the last words, her voice faltered, and she crushed her paper in her fist. I immediately felt sick to my stomach. Watching this woman's pain was almost unbearable, because I knew that her husband died in the fight to save my life. And there was nothing I could do to take that back or heal the pain.

  The priest continued to say things for the next fifteen minutes, but I don't think anybody was really paying attention. We were all looking over at Paul's lifeless body.

  He didn't even look like himself. He looked like he was made of wax. Fake. But it was half true, because he wasn't suffering in that body anymore. He wasn't.

  One Direction was supposed to make a guest appearance, but they declined. They said that they wouldn't want to make it all about themselves. They wouldn't do that to Paul and the family.

  "I need to leave. I can't stay here." Harry whispered, his eyes frantic.

  "Please, stay. Think of Paul." I pleaded.

  "I can't. I can't think of him. I can't think of what I've done to him. Please, Darc', come with me. Please, please." He was begging.

  My eyes darted around the room. There was about a hundred other people in the room, and someone was bound to notice that Harry Styles snuck out of a funeral to be with his girlfriend. What would that look like?

  "I can't stay." Harry cried. I nodded, and he took my hand and pulled me out into the isle, as about fifty pairs of eyes were looking right at us. I told myself that I didn't care. That this was for Harry, and I shouldn't care.

  We swiftly exited the funeral in a mere ten seconds, and everyone focused in on the ceremony now. Harry's tears were free falling down, and his chin trembled furiously. I tried not to cry so hard. I didn't want him to focus on me.

  "I can't do this, Darc'."

  "I know, but you have to."

  "What happens when I don't? What, then?" He asked, looking up into the sky. We were planted on the steps in front of the funeral home. We were the only people here, besides a few people across the street.