"Kate, are you ready?" I hear my mum asking me downstairs.
I look at myself in the mirror of my closet. The black dress I'm wearing is beautiful. I can't be wearing something beautiful to my fathers funeral. I can't. I also can't be going to my fathers funeral. He isn't dead. He can't be.
My eyes begin burning again and I can feel the first tears forming in my eyes.
Suck it up, Kate. You've cried enough the past week. You are not going to cry at the funeral.
I go downstairs, where my mother already awaits me.
"You look pretty." She says. I can see how hard this is for her. "Mummy, I miss him." I say, a single tear escaping my eye and silently rolling down my cheek. "I know. I miss him, too." Then she pulls me into her arms and hugs me tightly.
When we break apart she wipes the tears from my face and kisses my forehead. "We should go now." She says.
My mother stands on the podest and says things about my father.
"He was so much." She begins. "He was a son, a father, friend, brother and my husband. Not only has he been my husband. He also was my best friend."
I can't focus on what my mother is saying. I hear my blood boiling in my ears and I feel dizzy. Everything blurries infront of my eyes. I need to steady myself. I feel someone taking my hand and slightly squeezing it. My heartbeat slowly calms down and I look at who's taking it. Harry.
During the whole funeral and the ceremony he doesn't let go.
When we stand infront of the closed coffin, where my father lays in, he still holds my hand. Keeping me from losing my mind.
"We will visit you again on your birthday." Harry says to the closed coffin.
The moment I wake up I know what day it is. It is my fathers birthday.
"Happy Birthday, Dad." I whisper.
I feel numb when I wake up. I don't feel like doing anything today. I don't want to go to school, but when do I? I don't even find the strength to laugh at my own stupid joke, as I usually would do.
This is a bad sign. If my own jokes can't make me laugh, then this day indeed is ruined.
All caused by the little fact, that its my dead fathers birthday.
Okay, no. Talking about the death of my father as if it's nothing, doesn't help too.
I lazily get int the shower. I feel my face getting wet. Water or tears? I don't know. I don't really care.
I don't care.
That's what Harry said after the incident where he threw me out of the car.
It was in school.
"Harry, I'm sorry. For what I said yesterday." I say.
"Don't bother. I know you're just being polite. I just don't care what you have to say. I know you don't care and I don't care."
Why am I feeling like I need Harry to survive this day? I didn't need him the last 7 years, that he hasn't been talking to me.
You weren't talkng to him either. A small annoying voice says inside my head.
Well, it is a lot easier to blame others. . .
Once I'm prepared for school I hear the doorbell ringing. "Kate, it's Logan."
