Love Sucks

Love Sucks - 35

Wattpadders and all whose who are reading this,

Heeeeeeey!. I wrote this chapter on the same day I wrote the last chapter, but I didn't upload it because I didn't really find the time. I'm going to try my best to write in these upcoming days, but I have exams coming up and so much coursework to do, so I thought I'd upload this while I have the time..

Hope you're all good<3.

Lottielovesyou!(:

~

Chapter thirty-five;

The next few days passed by in a blur to me. Alex was often quiet, as were the rest of the clan, and I began to wonder if they weren’t telling me something. Nonetheless, I went back to my house and eventually packed up all of my mum’s old things, and Alex tucked them neatly up in the loft. We were yet to decide where I was going to live, but Alex said that until the Others were off their backs he wanted me to live with them. Any other girl would surely be flattered, and a part of me was, but it didn’t come as news to me.

But in the days I sat on the window sill in the spare bedroom, staring out at the pouring rain, they were the days I thought about upcoming events. Well – my mother’s funeral. Before I could register what day of the week it was, I was flicking through my wardrobe back at my own home, the home she died in, searching for a black dress to wear to her funeral. Alas, I picked one that was just plain black silk, with a big black bow tied around the waist. I didn’t linger on preparing myself; I coaxed my lashes with black mascara and added a touch of eyeliner to my eyes, alongside some dark eye shadow. I curled my hair so that it was in long golden locks down my front, and clipped my slight fringe off to the side of my head with a clip that had a black bow on.

If I was going to my second funeral in under two years, I might as well dress sensibly and properly.

I pulled on my black high-heels and made my way downstairs, breathing deeply and slowly to stop myself from crying. The whole gothic someone-just-died theme didn’t help be hold back my tears.

It was only when the hearse with her coffin in the back slowly pulled up outside my house that it hit me; staring at the flowery bouquets that were arranged to spell ‘Mum’ on the side, I remembered how just over a year and a half ago, the bouquets spelled ‘Dad’.

I’m an orphan; left in this cold world with nothing but bloodsucking vampires, a bunch of damned people who want to kill me, two dead parents to bury, no friends and seven other dimensions – not including Limbos – I’ve yet to visit. I couldn’t help but scoff to myself as I shut the front door, thinking about how parents always say they’re going to be there for you; well, obviously they lie.

Where were they now?

One was six feet under, and the other was lying in a wooden box in the hearse parked before me, soon to be six feet under too.

Just one limo had tagged along the back of the hearse. I climbed into it, and the second I buckled myself in, it slowly began following the hearse to the church. I was alone in the backseat of the limo, my heart breaking; my eyes stinging and my throat clogged up with lumps the size of golf balls. I stared out of the blacked-out window of the limo at all the people who stopped in the streets just to cast the hearse a wave of farewell, just out of respect. As we drove at the speed of a snail, I couldn’t help but think of my father’s funeral; how the two limos we’d booked were packed to the point where I had to sit on my aunt’s knee. My mother never turned up; she arranged it all, the music, the time, the place, but she never showed. Instead, she sent the church a bunch of dying roses to throw onto his coffin for her.