Red Roses 》Valdangelo 》Book 2: The Apocolypse (DISCONTINUED)

🔹🔲▶ Nico ◀🔲🔹

I start thinking about the darkness again. My thoughts travel to my sister. Then, for the first time in a while, they travel to my parents' friends and their kids, to the mother's death, the father's cancer from sorrow, the three children separated in foster homes and one gone missing and later found murdered.

Emily, Corinth, and Jade. They were more of Bianca's friend than mine, but they were there for me when I lost my sister. I was there when they lost their mom. My parents and I moved away, but I heard from them through my parents. I didn't know that their father died until a week later. My mom went to attend the funeral. I was too selfish to go.

I didn't know they would be placed in foster homes until my parents explained that process to me. "Adopt them!" I offered, I begged, but at the time, do you think we had the money for that? No.

I didn't know about Jade's death until one day I turned on the news. Jade died a horrible death; gagged, beaten, suffocated, coming from school and walking home alone, since she was in middle school and Emily and Corinth were in high school, which got out thirty minutes later.

By then, I was old enough to feel the pain, the real pain. I still do, but I've let go of it a little; if only I knew how manually, and it wasn't just natural.

I'm left alone too long with my thoughts too many times a day. So my thoughts drift to my old crush on Corinth, he beautiful blond hair and compassionate smile. Always childish, cheesy, and goofy. Like Leo.

Then I think of Emily. She was closest with Bianca than Jade or Corinth ever were. She knew Bianca almost as much as I did; almost.

I choke back a sob, feeling my Adam's apple bobble. I blink back stinging tears, and feel the cool air against the water in my eyeballs. I feel like I've finally gone to their father's funeral, like I've seen Jade's death on the news again, like Bianca kissed my cheek and disappeared once more. Like my world of pain has just started, all over again.

I should've told them I loved them. I should've been there. I should've held Bianca tighter, I should've let her ruffle my hair and call me her buggy and let her hold my hand on the way to school. I should have, I should have, I should have.

I should have loved you all more!

I feel like screaming, but I refrain. Even if I did scream, I couldn't scream loud enough, or I couldn't scream hard enough. Resurrection does not come from screaming; it comes from dying yourself.