Love Sucks

Sincerely Abigail - Alternate Ending

"The truth is, unless you let go, unless you forgive yourself, unless you forgive the situation, unless you realize that the situation is over, you cannot move forward." ― Steve Maraboli

~

Vampires weren't supposed to have funerals. Their corpses were meant to be seared to ash, stored in an urn, returned to the sea, used as the hearth for some old fisherman's fireplace--that sort of thing.

Yet, Patten managed to pull off funeral very well for the undead.

Abbi knew that he'd prefer the becoming-ash to this sort of juncture, draped in thick, shady oaks and tucked away where no one would disturb their sad little ceremony. Patten, with his twinkling eyes and bright grin, wouldn't want to see his friends and family crowded around a casket. He'd prefer to go with the wind, to explore places unbeknownst to man and sail high through the clouds, everyone waving their handkerchiefs as he disappeared with a gust.

Instead, Abigail watched as they lowered his shiny box into the ground and thought sickeningly of vampires sleeping in coffins. Her hands wrung together, clammy, sweat collecting at the back of her neck. The group of mourners were all adorned in black, dark blotches that mottled the pretty surroundings, muting whatever beauty Patten wouldn've enjoyed as he was laid to rest.

She looked away from the hole in the ground, her heart anchored heavily in her chest. The weight of Patten's death submerged her in guilt, his voice still a vivid memory, but unlike before, he didn't blame her. He was sailing in the winds, after all; an explorer.

A week ago, Abbi had been in a much different state.

Her cheeks had been blotchy from old tears, eyes red and weepy from new ones. Her room was an explosion of broken picture frames, shattered glass, scattered sheets, and torn book pages; she'd gone on a rampage in her desperation and sorrow, destroying her possessions because they somehow made her feel like she could control something for once.

What she really needed, wanted, hadn't been there. And that was on her, too.

Abigail hadn't known what she planned to do, now that everything important to her had disappeared. She was irritable toward her father, who was trying his best to act like a stay-at-home mom, whipping up microwavable dinners and laundering clothing that only reminded Abbi of Nate. She would scream at him, slam her door in his sallow, tired face, and sob the rest of the night. Her mother had still been closed up in the master bedroom, trapped in a comatose state, barely eating, stripped of her voice, and left with hollow eyes; a woman that didn't know how to pick herself off the ground.

Abbi could relate.

When she wasn't crying, she was punching the walls, calculating whether the fall from the window would kill her or severely injure, listening to the phone ring. The phone rang quite a lot, each time Todd had screened the caller and then claimed it was a wrong number. Abbi didn't care enough to pursue.

It was one particular Sunday that they got a visitor, after what felt like decades of solitude and used tissues. Abbi hadn't left her room, but she could hear the door open, hear Todd's meager sigh, and a familiar, tinkling voice.

She tried to rationalize that this was just another figment of her imagination. Abbi had nightmares instead of dreams, seeing only Lucifer's face, hearing Patten's cries of distress, imagining that Nathanial had somehow been crumpled under that house. All of them ended in death.

There had been a commotion in the foyer, then. She had frowned, squinting as she tried to listen to the words filtering down the hallway. They had gotten louder, coming toward her bedroom.