It Started With A Shattered Heart

》Prologue《

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》Prologue《

It's funny how one mistake can change your world upside down. I mean, I took one wrong footstep and now I have to live with the biggest mistake of my life.

It had led up to this moment. Standing by an open casket with a red rose in my hand, feeling like the world had betrayed me and completely turned its back on me. It could have just swallowed me whole already, but no, it had me stuck in this cruel reality where I had to watch what had become out of my misstep. Looking at the pale and stiff body in the casket, I could hardly believe I was seeing my brother. It looked like him, but it wasn't Mason. It was just a lifeless corpse. He wasn't there anymore.

But I still was, and I suddenly felt all too much at once.

Pain. Regret. Love. Hate. Nausea.

Extreme nausea.

I cupped my mouth before I put the rose down on his cold chest. Staying here, in this suffocating room was not possible anymore. I didn't care if I was making a scene, that my parents, relatives and a lot of close friends were watching me, I still ran through the aisle of the church, making my way to the nearest toilet. When I reached a booth, I collapsed down on the bathroom floor, throwing up the little food I had left in my system.

It was surreal seeing him again after the night of the car crash, it was overwhelming. Especially in that horrible way, looking at his face all drained out of colour and his skin so cold to the touch. I was feeling my insides being torn apart because he was not part of this world anymore.

He was the person closest to me, the one I cherished the most. His heart was one of the purest I've ever seen, the most caring soul, yet he didn't flinch back if he had to use force to protect something he loved. He was clever, thoughtful and protective, heartfelt to his very core. The guy who would hurt anyone who'd lay a finger on me or even look at me in the wrong way. He wasn't meant to die at 20, but he did, and the worst part is that it was my fault. If I hadn't been for me, he would still be alive. My brother is dead because of me.

Little did I know just how much my life would change after that. After the funeral, I decided to tell my parents what really happened that night... what I had done. The guilt was eating me up from the inside, amplified by the fact that I now knew how much they blamed themselves for what happened. I told them a few days after the funeral that it wasn't just an accident, but that I was the one who caused it. I told them what I did. I thought, maybe they would understand and that they'd finally stop blaming themselves.

And they stopped alright. In fact, they traced all the blame back to its rightful owner. Me. I was prepared for that. But what I wasn't prepared for was the disgust in their eyes that never seemed to fade away. They despised me the instance I told them and after that, they only saw me as a wretched human being who once sadly enough used to be their daughter.

They hated me. And honestly, I couldn't blame them. It's my fault their only son died. I'm fully aware that if this would have played out differently they wouldn't have minded if the places were reversed. I also wish I could have taken his place.