Cigarettes and Ashes

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• øne

it didn't rain that day like it always did in movies and books during funerals. it wasn't a sunny day either. i woke up the fourth day, praying that it all was a bad dream. but like the days before, i woke up somewhere different, the bed positioned different, the window present on my left rather than right, the walls an off white, instead of the beige i was accustomed to. the walls were so bare it sometimes suffocated me.

i also woke up that day, still unable to cry. people were saying that i'm still in shock, but i felt nothing. i was literally numb inside, and there was a hollow in my chest i couldn't exactly situate.

i tried though. crying i mean. several times, recalling memories of my mother holding me, laughing with me, getting takeout together, and what not. it just never seemed to affect me. i did feel sad, constantly even, but i couldn't seem to cry. i put on my black dress, which i spent useless money on yesterday, i knew i was never wearing it again.

langdon called me every hour, everyday since the day the accident happened. four days really, but i never picked up. actually a lot of my friends keep calling, and leaving condolences on voice messages and how sad they are for me.

fuck those shit.

the funeral felt like it took forever to finish. i had already asked them from the very first to not call me for a eulogy. and they didn't. there were people i didn't know, people i never saw, people i hardly knew, crying on their respective seats, which made me angry but i kept my emotions to myself. i stayed silent throughout the whole thing, only nodding or whispering a "thank you" whenever people came up to me to offer condolences.

langdon and my other friends showed up. they tried to talk to me, but gave up when i ignored them for the sixth time.

living with my uncle after my mother's death has been hard. they are always way too nice to me, and always telling me how sorry they are, and constantly making me miss my mother's presence. on the fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth and ninth day, i visit my mother's grave to feel sorrow, but the only thing that riles up in me is anger. anger for leaving me when she knew she was the only family i had. so by the sixteenth visit, i decided to give up on going anymore.

my father died of a kidney stroke when i was five years old. my elder brother left our house when i was eleven, claiming to hate this atmosphere and that he needed to go away. he was also a drug addict, so my mother didn't really mourn his leaving very much. i haven't seen him since then.

it has always been my mother and i for the past six years. and it was probably the best six years i could ask for. which was worse. living with my uncle and her wife and their three kids have been so... different. it's always so noisy and crowdy and too much people on the dinner table and just, so different.

with my mum, it was always a peaceful quiet and we always knew when the other one needed space, and when they didn't.

these particular few days were my "needing space" days. which obviously went unnoticed by uncle and his family. i hated it here. and i think it would be impossible for me to get adapted here.

all i needed was a getaway, so one particular night, i sneaked out of my bedroom window, earning a fair bruise on my knee from the jump, and used my fake ID to get into a club.

which is pretty much where it all started.

a.n // hi whoever is reading this, i finally started another story and i really really hope i will continue writing this and all (unlike my last two stories smh WDCT sucks agh)

also dedicated to olga bc she's probably my only motivation to writing a book (thanks, you hoe ily)

anyways, i hope you all enjoy! don't forget to vote and drop your feedback if you do :)

-ash x