Murphy's Law ✔️

Chapter Twenty Four.

It wasn't unexpected for the people in Murphy's life to die, but she was just so tired of it.

Kitty Píere, or as she was named at birth, Katheriné Marie Píere, died on a Tuesday morning, alone. She was survived by no known family members- but a lanky girl with short brown hair and sad brown eyes and her tall, curly haired boyfriend were of the only two to show up at the funeral home to pay their respects. Murphy didn't cry once.

She was unable to- it seemed as though the tears that she'd cried for those she had lost had completely run out. What was one to do when one of their entire
worlds had died? What was she to think?

She was mad- of course. The reports showed that Kitty had died due to blunt force trauma to the right side of her head. Murphy couldn't help but reminisce about the times she ran her fingers through the older girl's curly hair, braiding it and rubbing at her scalp to offer some sort of comfort during their darkest days. How anyone could hurt a girl like Kitty was just beyond her.

The day she found out was a few days after Harry's 31st birthday- Kitty had been at the celebration as she always was; luminous and loud and so very full of life with eyes that a young Murphy had always looked into for comfort and a sense of familiarity shining with excitement, with happiness- with vitality. Murphy was just so happy that Kitty was an unforgettable person- she didn't want to forget the way Kitty looked at her best. Rest assured- she wouldn't.

And again- Murphy didn't cry. Harry delivered the news to her reluctantly and with a gentle nature. Murphy had stood up, found her way to the balcony and smoked a cigarette in silence with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. That night, Murphy broke her index finger after punching a door. As Harry wrapped the digit up in gauze after sterilizing it, he looked up at her in concern: Murphy still didn't cry.

Loss was just becoming a part of her daily routine at that point- and while confused about her inability to cry, Murphy rationalized that she'd become numb to the idea of losing her loved ones. She suddenly became aware of how fragile every life was, and how at any moment, anyone could be ripped from her grasp for the rest of eternity. Murphy realized that it was, inevitably, pointless to mourn her losses.

Instead, two days after the funeral, Murphy found herself absolutely wasted on the couch in the apartment- a joint held delicately between her fingers as her other hand (broken finger and all) clutched a fading Polaroid of her and Kitty. She tipped the bottle back to her lips, took a generous sip of wine, and exhaled while placing the picture over her chest. Niall and Harry, who sat beside her completely sober, shared a worried look with each other.

That night, she had fallen asleep and dreamt of her hands in curly hair, light brown eyes, a raspy French accented voice and musical laughter. She slept soundly curled up beside Harry.

Weeks had passed and Murphy's anger had subsided and the bruises along her hand had faded, and Harry had planned something special for the two of them. Both were aware that it'd been a year since Murphy moved in with him, and Harry was astonished to discover that Murphy had never been to a beach.

"I cannot believe you have never been to a bloody beach, Murph."

"They didn't care for taking field trips in orphanages, babe," Murphy replied with a roll of her eyes, kicking her feet up on the dashboard. Harry barked out a high pitched laugh and placed his left hand over her thigh, squeezing it tightly. Murphy had to bite back a grin.

The windows were cracked ever so slightly as spring began to fall over England once again. Wind lifted Murphy's shoulder-length hair and tossed it around over her shoulders as a pair of sunglasses sat low on her nose. 'Here Comes the Sun' played loudly through the speakers and Murphy smiled into the sun that was beaming down on her face. For the first time in weeks, she felt a moment of peace wash over her.