Written in the Sand: Book 1 of the "Written" duology

Funerals

In this, Trigger Warning for Gore!! Literally stop when it starts to go italicized and pick back up when it's not!! 

Happy reading!!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

A week went by after the incident. Hamish, Lilith, Randall and I were all in the living room of the den, just hanging out. It was warming up already, a warm front being early in spring this year. I was wearing one of Randall's sweaters that he gave to me as a present, and one of Hamish's shorts that just went down above my knees.

The deeper of the cuts were almost healed, but I still had bandages wrapped around in case I did something to reopen them.

Hamish and I were on the couch; I had my legs across Hamish's in a comfortable manner, and Lilith and Randall sat in the cushion-y chairs. I had a glass of water that I was sipping on.

I was only allowed alcohol if I was being supervised, and with at least one of three present. We were all talking about Trevor.

"You think he'll actually go after us?" I asked.

"Doubt it," Lilith said. "He'd have three very pissed off wolves to deal with before he gets to you," Randall gave a nod at what Lilith said. Hamish was looking down at my legs, frowning as he did so. He must be lost in thought. I moved them to get his attention.

"Hey, Mish, you there?" I asked. Hamish snapped his eyes up to me in response. "Uh, yeah," He said. "What were we talking about?"

"We were talking about the douchebag," Lilith said. "Where were you off to in your head?" She asked, curious.

Hamish only shook his head. "It's nothing, just thinking," He gave us a reassuring smile as he patted my legs. "Want to go somewhere?" Hamish asked me. Randall gave a 'ooh' like it was something inappropriate.

Such a child. I thought as I gave Randall a look. "Sure," I said, giving a confused smile as I moved my legs off of Hamish's so he could get up.

He got up, and held out his hand for me to take. I got up, intertwining our hands together, and walked out of the den and to Hamish's place.

When we got there, Hamish told me to change into something nice. I put on my black and white plaid pants, a black shirt, and Hamish's long coat he let me keep. Or more accurately, I stole despite his wishes. I wore black boots and tossed my hair up in a ponytail that I am sure that I'll take out later.

I walked out to see Hamish in dark clothing like I was, his shirt a dark grey button down, his pants black and his blazer matching, and a silver tie tied the look all together. "Where are we going?" I asked.

Hamish only shook his head, grabbing his coat.

He walked me to his car, opened the door for me, and got in the driver's seat. On the way he had music on low, so it wasn't blaring like how Randall usually had his. I listened to the soft music—'Everybody's Got to Live' by Love—as I stared out the window.

I felt Hamish grab my hand, holding it over the middle console. I gave myself a small smile at this security I felt.

When we got to where we were going, I opened my door and stepped out of the car, looking around to see gravestones. "Why are we here Hamish?" I asked, looking at him with confused eyes.

Hamish gave me a sad smile, and right then I knew.

Lydia.

The funeral.