Murphy's Law ✔️

Chapter Four.

February, 2020.

It was, perhaps, a little strange to some outsiders that Murphy preferred to spend her free time at the cemetery.

Caretakers spotted the blonde at the top of the hill almost daily for the past ten years, sitting beside the same grave with a cigarette between her lips and two bottles of beer- one on the ground, the other resting between her knees. The weather didn't matter- she showed up almost every day, sat in the same spot with the same solid look on her face and chain-smoked a few cigarettes until the sun went down and she collected her things and left- but not without pouring the other beer into the grass beside the grave. Some days she spoke, and some days she didn't.

That day in particular was brutal. It wasn't snowing, but the wind was biting at her face until the tip of her nose and her cheeks turned rose-colored and her knobby knees repeatedly bumped against each other as she trembled against the wind. She took the cigarette from her lips and blew the smoke into the wind, a loud exhale that was lost in the noise of it all.

"I haven't forgotten what you made me promise, you know," she spoke, her eyes zoning in on the horizon in front of her, "I know it probably seems like I have, but I haven't."

No answer was given to her, but she was used to the silence she received when talking to the wind. Her eyes shut and her head fell back as she sipped on the beer in her hand. Placing it on the floor she sighed and opened her eyes, looking down at the grave she sat beside.

Everything turned to shit the day her Pops died. It felt like she was balancing on a chair and an unforeseen force ripped it out from underneath her, but instead of landing on the ground beneath her she fell through it and has been tumbling through space ever since. He passed two days before her sixteenth birthday and spent that birthday in a funeral home, sitting on a chair surrounded by strangers- people who had heard about the girl in passing but had never been in her presence. He was so loved, that was for certain- but had no family to pass what was left of him down to. After spending the last of his 25 years in the fire department, he came across so many walks of life but never had anyone who stuck around- besides Murphy, of course.

The number of people who walked in and out of the funeral home was close to a thousand- from other first responders, to neighbors, to bands, friends, and even the people who he helped save during his career. Murphy sat in the uncomfortable chair from the second they opened the doors until the second they told her she needed to go home. She sat there without any tears flowing from her eyes, just angrily stared at the body of her Pops, cursing whatever higher power was out there for taking the only sense of stability she had away from her. The next day, they buried his body in a plot on the top of a hill, a large forest directly behind him.

"I don't know how to follow out your promise," she stated, taking another swig of her beer, "I know I let you down, but I don't want to anymore. I just don't know how," she sighed, taking another puff of her cigarette and stubbing it out on the ground, being mindful of the property and shoving the butt of it in her front pocket.

A frown appeared on her face when she felt an unfamiliar, hard piece of paper against her fingertips. She pulled the card down and squinted her eyes at it, blinking in realization.

Harry Styles.

And it was windy that day, but the gust of wind had the thick paper in her hand shake violently, almost knocking it from her grip. Murphy wasn't superstitious, but she couldn't help but blink and glance down at the grave beside her- her Pops' grave. She huffed.

"Point taken, Pops," she grinned, taking the extra beer from the ground and turning it so the amber liquid soaked into the grass before his stone.