meghan trainor oneshots // m.t

5.4 • Freckled Skies (Re-Draft)

A/N: This is the redraft that I did to 'Freckled Skies' to show my teacher. I'll probably take this down later, but for now, I have nothing finished to publish. It's about double the size and I changed a few things, so it's not exactly the same.

(P.S: I changed the names in the one I'm showing to my teacher, so if you see any 'Noah's or 'Alyssa's, that's what it is)

Two hours had ticked by like days or even years had passed. He was still in a state of pure shock, and confusion. Numbness had immobilized his body since he'd broken down and then he had to tell his beautiful daughter the news. The news that her mum had gone, and she wasn't coming back. He remembers vividly, the doctor striding into the room with a sullen look on his face. Somehow he already knew his wife hadn't beaten the odds and was still breathing despite everything stacked against her. It was a gut feeling, but not the good kind. He sat as hour after hour trickled by, and then as the doctor swung open the door, and opened him to the concept of living without her. A concept he didn't like, not at all. All this had occurred whilst her lifeless body lay on a hospital bed, pale faced and emotionless. Her brain had ceased to function and her chest didn't rise or fall consistently. Her lips wouldn't curve upwards into that smile he'd fallen in love with, they would sit in a straight line for the rest of forever.

Charlie's mind wandered to the child they'd had together. A gorgeous baby girl, named Brooklyn. She was just three years old, not old enough to remember, yet not quite young enough to forget everything. There would always be a lingering image of her mother's blonde hair and deep, emerald green eyes. He made a promise to himself that she would never not know her mum, whatever it took.

Now in the car, Charlie was practically left alone to be plagued by his haunting thoughts. Images of her flashing into his mind like bolts of lightning, setting fire to the trees, and then spreading like a wildfire in his mind. Despite his inability to feel most emotion, poorly stifled sobs often shook his body as they silently escaped his mouth. "Why did we have to leave mummy?" Brooklyn innocently questioned, sucking lightly on her thumb and curiosity illuminating her eyes.

"Well, because, she's moved away Brook," he explained weakly, not really trusting his voice to hold out for the muddle of a sentence he managed to string together somehow. Confusion knitted in the toddlers eyebrows and she wrinkled her nose cutely, as her mother had done.

"With the angels?" she asked her father, unsure. He just meekly nodded and gripped the steering wheel so tight his knuckles turned a ghostly shade of white and his breathing became laboured. The small girl nodded her head once, making her light brown pigtails bounce on the top of her head. A small smile spread across her face, shattering what was left of his heart.  She looked away from him and stared aimlessly out of the window, her blue eyes drooping slightly.

When the car finally pulled into the driveway, his eyes started welling up again, thinking of all the memories they had together in this house. Wiping under his eyes, he turned to his daughter, who was now peacefully sleeping in her car seat. He switched off the ignition and the car fell almost entirely silent, the only sound being his heavy breaths flooding through the car. His child's lips were rigged upwards into a light grin as she slept and he couldn't help but sadly smile at the sight. She was so oblivious to everything. So oblivious to the evil in the world; the evil that took her mother away from her. "Oh, Brook," Charlie sighed sadly. He dragged his body from the car slamming the door a little loud. He pulled open the side of the car where his daughter was sleeping, she'd stirred at the noise from the car door, but was sleeping peacefully again after a few moments. He gathered her limp body in his arms and lugged himself to the door. He fumbled with the keys and the door for several minutes before it finally opened. Swiftly moving up the stairs, he admired his sleeping child and committed every feature to memory.