Wild Girl ✔️

chapter 1: grey

Rose

After a certain amount of time, there comes a point where the condolences and the apologies all begin to blur together into one big mess of meaningless crap.

As I watched the sun begin to set behind the clouds, I decided to tune out the apologies being whispered around me and lose myself in the sky's natural beauty. It was a blend of breathtaking colours, like the perfect painting sitting atop a canvas and waiting to be sold to the highest bidder.

It was twilight, my favourite time of day.

I had the sudden need to paint it -- to close the blinds on the world around me and feel the brush move as an extension of my arm, swirling colours onto the canvas and capturing the beauty of the sky permanently. But I could no longer paint.

And I now knew that nothing was ever permanent.

My attention broke away from the setting sun as a pair of cold hands grabbed mine. "I'm sorry for your loss, Rose," the voice said, urging me to look up. Blue eyes, wrinkled skin, white hair. Another nameless face in a crowd of many.

I nodded emotionlessly. The stranger sulked away, sniffling into a tissue.

The disgust I felt for the scene around me was slowly draining all my energy. My patience was wearing thin, like a rubber band about to snap. The fake apologies were eating away at me. As if any of these people cared. As if they knew him. They shook my hand, said their piece, then went along to their warm houses and happy hearts.

I envied their ability to leave the sadness here because I couldn't do that. It followed me everywhere I went, trailing behind me like my own dark shadow; pressing down so hard that it felt as if I were drowning in my own grief.

I averted my gaze from his grave. I didn't want to see his lifeless eyes, dulled by death and never again holding their sparkle. Or the suit his parents had chosen for him to be laid to rest in.

The suit I knew he hated.

I don't want to see any of it.

So, I walked away as the crowd's eyes bored into my back — the back of the tragic girl I had become in the past few days: stricken by grief and prisoner to a broken heart.

I ignored the murmurs as I disappeared behind the tree line, seeking refuge among the greenery. I sank down into the damp earth and, finally alone, I cried. I cried for him and the love we shared. I cried for myself and the love I would never feel again.

I cried until the sky turned black and my sobs were nothing more but a whisper in the wind.

* * *

"What on earth was that, Rose?" My mother spat, glaring at me from across the kitchen table. "How dare you behave so irrationally!"

Right, how dare I behave irrationally at my boyfriend's funeral.

What was the proper term for him now? Ex-boyfriend? No, we never broke up. Deceased love one? Hm. My mind wandered as I was vaguely aware of my mother's voice shouting throughout the kitchen.

"Rose!" She snapped, pulling me back to reality.

"Yes, Mother?" I replied simply, cutting the chicken on my plate and chewing it slowly.

"You stormed off in the middle of his funeral --"

"I didn't storm off, I sulked off." I corrected, her voice continuing over mine.

"-- like an immature child! You have no respect whatsoever for his family during this time."

"His family?" I scoffed, my chair screeching against the wooden floor as I stood up suddenly. "I was his family, Mother! Me," I stressed, my voice raising with every word. "My boyfriend is dead. I'm sorry if my actions are a little too irrational for your taste."

My mother's mouth hung open as I stormed out of the room, running down the narrow hallway towards my bedroom as tears stung my eyes. I tried my very best to hold them back but they overflowed like waterfalls as I slammed the door behind me.

I couldn't breathe. My throat ached as my eyes frantically searched for the photo. Where is it?! My gaze landed on my desk where the delicate silver frame sat. I ran to it, pressing the photo tightly to my chest. My tears dripped soundlessly onto its cool surface.

Wiping my eyes with the back of my hand, I gently held the frame in front of me and felt my breath come back as I stared into his green eyes.

Caleb.

My Caleb.

We didn't have a care in the world when this photo was taken. His arm was wrapped around my shoulder, pressing me against his chest. The two of us were smiling so brightly at the camera, happiness radiating off our bodies.

I stared at his face. Dark brown skin that made his green eyes shine like emeralds. Messy black curls that I loved to run my fingers through. He was beautiful and he was mine.

Now he was decaying in the earth, his lovely smile buried five feet under ground.

I felt my strength vanish as I fell back onto my bed. I tried to tell myself to breathe but how could I breathe when I was alive and Caleb was dead? His laugh, his smile, his voice ... It was all just a memory now and one day, those too would be gone.

He was too good. He deserved so much more than the short life he had lived.

It should have been me that died instead. I would have gladly taken his place if death worked like that.

"Oh, Cal." I sobbed, hugging the frame to my chest.

I cried into the night. As the moonlight seeped in through my bedroom window, I wrapped myself in my blanket, one that still smelt faintly of him, and drifted off to sleep, the photo of Caleb resting on the pillow beside me.

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