'a bouquet of yellow roses'
Troye's POV
The last funeral I attended was for those I lost the day I lost my eyesight. I remember their faces; technically, they are the last two people I ever saw. I remember how motionless I was that day; how I could barely find the energy (motivation) to move. I was utterly forlorn and now that feeling returns. The oh so familiar grief.
I tug on my suit for Jacob’s mother’s memorial today. Her funeral will be in a month or so, Jacob has already set his mind to planning everything by himself and I doubt he will be giving anyone else a chance to put in their input; I could never blame him.
Jacob is in the bathroom right now, he has been in there for the past half an hour but I am yet to hear a tap running, the toilet flushing or the bristles of his toothbrush moving. I knock gingerly on the door.
“Baby,” I say gently. “Can I come in?”
I do not get an immediate answer but the door does eventually open. I want to reach out for him, I realise that in his mourning state he has never been in such need of touch and comfort from me. He always wants to be near me but he never wants to speak. I realise how he reacts when he is devasted is the very opposite to how he acts when he is mad and in denial. When he is angry he distances himself, but now in this time of sadness all he wants is someone familiar to hold. I am terribly grateful for that at least, even if he refuses to actually speak to me about how he is feeling.
I reach up and place my hand on his face, he hasn’t shaved yet.
I try to keep my sad sigh contained. I run my hand from his face, to his neck and down his bare arm. I then hold his hand.
I wish I knew exactly what thoughts are running through his head because, as I said prior, he is still not speaking to me. It is not in a way I get offended like when we were fighting before this trip. It is more like he is not talking because he most likely does not know what to say or how to portray his feelings into words.
“We have to leave in fifteen minutes or else we will be late,” I whisper. “Do you still want to go?”
“I have to go,” he says quickly, his throat sounding strained but not from crying. That is another thing, he has not cried once. He is merely silent and I think he is feeling numb if anything. “I will be out just now,” he assures me.
I nod and stand back; I shut the door once again with a soft click.
I head downstairs and sit on the second to last step of the wooden staircase. I wring my hands together nervously while I fall into a deep reverie of everything that may be going through Jacob’s head right now. I am so deep in thought that I do not even register that he is coming down the stairs until he places a hand on my shoulder.
"I'm ready," he tells me.
I stand up and lace our fingers once again, leading us to the front door, but only after he goes to the living room to fetch the bouquet of yellow roses.
...
The memorial is being held in a small park just up the street from Jacob’s home so we walk there. I feel like I am the only thing keeping him on his feet at this moment as we stride side by side, the heels of our shoes clicking against the concrete as we go.
The weather is even miserable. The cold wind whips past my ears and freezes my fingers. It makes me imagine a gloomy sky and I swear I can even smell oncoming rain in the air.
We take our seats once we are there, Jacob being greeted by a few people who give him their condolences. He does not really say anything besides a few soft thank yous but it is more I have heard from him in one sitting for nearly three days.
Yesterday he didn’t say one word, not one single thing.
There are a couple of speeches said and a lot of crying, crying on my part as well. Jacob only lets go of my hand once it is his turn to speak a few words.
But my boy must make it right before the podium only to break down entirely. He can barely get one sentence out, I panic, so without thinking I stand and clumsily make my way to him; not regarding that I must look insane (perhaps drunk) to these people as there is apparently little to no indication that I am blind unless I have Bruno with me.
But with only one trip or two I get up there and then I have him back in my arms. I hear a few people “aw” and others sigh sadly and carry on crying.
“Baby,” I whisper softly, only for his ears. “I have you, I’m here,” I tell him. He then leans onto my shoulder, crying for the first time since losing the most important person in his life.
We are stood up there crying onto each other for what feels like hours until a lady leads us away from the rest of the other people. I cannot keep my own tears in. I hate knowing that he is in so much pain. I cry because I do not know what to do. I feel like shit because I do not know what to say to the person I love, the person who stole my heart.
The lady gives us each an empathetic pat on the back and a few words of apology to Jacob. She then walks back to where everyone else is. The memorial ends yet Jacob and I remain on a bench. I am no longer crying and neither is Jacob but he is clutching onto me so tightly.
He still has the bouquet of yellow roses in his hands. I know he is picking at the petals.
I give him a few more minutes to settle down and then I am walking him back home.
He abandons the yellow roses on that bench.
