Painting Flowers // Ashton Irwin [au]

Sixteen

Emilia's POV

There are very few reasons why I would willingly miss school. I could have a fever and I would still push myself to go to class. I would either have to be consumed by the plague or visiting my parent's grave in order to skip. Today is one of those rare occasions. I made sure to call the financial aid office last week to ask for today off, which wasn't an issue because all student workers are given three sick days per semester. Despite my hatred for missing school and becoming behind on my work, today, I could care less.

As Ashton and I walk down this familiar path, I send small smiles to the families we pass along the way, silently giving my condolences. Though we don't know each other, I've seen many of these people visit the cemetery on this day and over the years have become familiar with their faces. It's comforting, in a way, to witness their loyalty to their lost loved ones. No matter the circumstance they always make time to visit and for that, I respect them greatly.

Ashton doesn't talk much as we continue walking, but his eyes say everything for him. He's wary of my calm demeanor even though he shouldn't be. I'm not sad. I'm not angry. I'm at peace. I'm able to wear a smile in a location that is known for frowns and tears. But there is always another side to cemeteries, a livelier side. One where you can toss the mourning to the side and be happy despite your loss. I don't expect Ash to understand this feeling. I don't think it's something he'll be able to comprehend until he experiences it himself.

"You okay?" I ask, giving a light squeeze to his hand.

"Are you?" he says.

"I'm great."

"So am I."

"You're being awkward."

"I'm still a little dazed from last night."

"You could have stayed home."

"I wanted to come," he says. "And I didn't want to have to wake up with you not there."

"You do it all the time when I don't spend the night with you."

"Doesn't mean I like it."

I don't really like it either but unlike Ash, I actually like having a bed to myself. It's mostly because I move around a lot in my sleep, and I can sprawl out without having to worry about accidentally pushing someone off the bed. Poor Ash has woken up on the floor on many occasions because of me. I'm not particularly a heavy or light sleeper, so every time Ashton falls off the bed, I hear him plummet to the floor and groan in pain. It's not the best thing to wake up to but he always brushes it off and climbs back into bed.

"Try to look alive," I encourage.

"That won't be hard given the place we're in is full of dead people," he says. "That sounds rude...how about full of non-living humans?"

"It implies the same thing, you idiot," I joke. "Maybe you should take a nap when we go back home."

"Naps are for wimps." He covers his mouth as he lets out a loud yawn. "But it might be wise for you to drive when we leave." I laugh at his tired self, loving how he can rely on me for something as small as driving.

The large, bare oak tree that sits in front my parent's gravestone comes into view, but my gaze quickly diverts to a familiar couple cleaning a gravestone a few feet away. Cara, the mother, sits cross-legged in front of a small grave with her husband, Theo. They are arranging wild flowers in a thin vase, the bright array of colors livening up the lifeless grey slab. Hearing our footsteps in the grass, they turn their head to us.

"Emilia," Cara says with a smile, the faded scar on her cheek stretching up with it. She stands up and brushes the grass that sticks to her jeans. "How've you been, sweetie?"