Bruised and Scarred [short story]

Part Five: Awakening

"i always knew looking back at the tears would make me laugh. i never knew looking back at the laughs would make me cry."

"Be safe, okay sweetie?" My mother whispers, gazing at me with a worried yet understanding look. "Take as much time as you want, but don't be too late."

I nod in reply, feeling the lump in my throat grow as I hop out of the car, landing on the pavement with a slight thud. My mother waves at me from the window of the car, mouthing be strong before driving off.

I can see the funeral drapes in the distance, standing out starkly against the drab colours of the everyday. His family invited me to his funeral, stating that he had left behind some things for me, and that he would have wanted me to attend.

I walk briskly towards the rippling colours swaying in the wind, unwittingly gripping onto the hem of my black dress as I near the site. I must be strong for him. I remind myself silently.

When I finally reach the funeral site, the first person I see is what appears to be his mother.

She's willowy, with soft features, a rosebud mouth and glossy honey-brown hair tied back in a neat fishtail braid. She would look nothing like him, if it was not for her sparkling brown eyes, the eyes that are almost identical to his. A nametag is pinned to her lapel- Isabella Gold.

"Hello, Mrs Gold," my voice comes out small, wavering as my words hang suspended in the air. Without saying anything, she sweeps me into a hug.

"Just call me Isabella," she smiles as she pulls away. She smells of caramel, and a hint of her son. "I'm so sorry about what happened," she murmurs caringly. "He loved you so very much, and you, him. It must've been so horrible to-" She cuts herself off, before adding quickly, "But you must know that what happened wasn't your fault. Okay?"

"Okay," I mumble, staring down at my polished black pumps. I can't speak, and I fear that if I do, I'll break down entirely.

"Is it all right with you if you make a speech later?" Isabella asks anxiously. "If you wish not to, it's perfectly fine." My mind is screaming at me to say no, but I know that I have to do it. For closure.

"Sure," I plaster a fake smile onto my face. Isabella smiles, relieved, before bidding me farewell and hurrying off to greet more people.

I walk inside, feeling fear grow in me as I notice the vast amount of people. It's like a wave of black. I shrink into myself, keeping my head bowed as I scurry past the seemingly endless rows of people-some seated, most roaming around or gathered in clusters, talking with hushed voices.

Suddenly, someone grabs my arm and pulls me to the side. I almost shriek in terror, when a hand clamps over my mouth.

"Shhh, it's just me!" The mystery person hisses. "If I let go, you must promise not to scream, okay?" I nod hurriedly in response, and the person releases me. I whirl around on my heel, my mouth falling open as I see who it is.

It's Genevieve Ryan, one of the more popular girls in my school, as well as one of my tormentors. She never directly said anything to me- she only smiled at me in passing, or waved at me from across the room if our gazes met- but I would pick up whispered murmurs, stolen gazes injected with contempt.

She's beautiful in the traditional sort of way. With buttery blonde locks, dewy cornflower blue eyes, she's the perfect poster girl.

And she's talking to me.

"Hey, uh, I just wanted to say something," she looks down at her feet nervously. "There were rumours going around that you were...." She hesitates, biting her lip. "Anyway, I just wanted to say I'm sorry if I caused any trauma of any sort to you. But you must believe me, I never meant any of it. I guess I was just deluded by the amount of lies Jessika told me." Her words are sincere, and I can tell that she's truly sorry. "I'm really glad that my cousin was able to meet someone like you."