Chapter Twenty-Seven
Joelle
He knew, kind of, what he was about to do. Who he was about to meet. I couldn't just force him to go with me without telling him what was about to happen. He knew he was about to meet my mum, my real one, and he didn't seem scared off yet. Instead, he held onto my hand like there was no tomorrow. He comforted me, told me he loved me (and crap, how I loved him back) and didn't ask any questions. He'd let me tell him in my own time.
All he knew was that he was heading to a graveyard where he would meet my mother, the mother I never got to know. To say that I was shaking with fear was an understatement, my breath was uneven and my heart was trying to escape out of my chest. I had been there before many times, but this was so different. This time someone outside of my family would hear about the horrible tragedy and how it screwed up my life.
Some would probably ask me how it even affected me, because I didn't know them. I didn't know my real parents, because I was nine months old. But see, that's not fair. It would always haunt me, to think about the life I could have been living.
Not that I didn't totally appreciate the family I did have. I love them as much as I would have if I had grown up with my real parents, but growing up and knowing exactly what happened with my real parents was hard.
Slowly the car pulled to a stop, and Zayn turned to me. "Are you ready?"
"No," I said quietly. "But I guess I don't have a choice anymore."
"Yes you do," he squeezed my hand. "You don't have to show me."
I simply shook my head and motioned that we would head out into the street. So then we fell into that comfortable silence that only we could have, where I never felt pressured to even say anything. My mother's grave was close to the road so it only took a few steps before we were standing in front of the well taken care of stone. There were lilies scattered around the ground and I could only assume my father had put them there.
Marie Melanie Banks
I couldn't help but smile, because every time I saw that name, I pictured a beautiful woman with long brown hair down to her waist. She probably loved to dance and sing, and I always hoped she loved music as much as I did. I could picture her in the living room, holding me as a little baby and dancing to some rock song and my dad sitting in the corner just laughing at the two of us. Oh, how that must have been wonderful. Living as if everything was perfect and nothing would ever change.
"Joelle Banks," Zayn said softly after a little while. I tilted my head a bit, not used to hearing that. Then Zayn kneeled down a little bit to the stone. "Hi, Mrs. Banks."
"Well mum, this is Zayn." I laughed out an introduction. Not exactly what I had pictured, but it worked. Zayn cared about me enough to resort to kneeling in front of a grave just to meet my mum. It all felt a bit too surreal, that he could care so much about me even though I took him to a graveyard.
"It's nice to meet you, ma'am."
"Alright, I guess it's time to tell you the whole story, huh?" I sighed, settling into the grace in a crossed leg position. He followed my lead, sitting and leaning his elbows on his knees as he looked at me with curious eyes.
