Tranquil Falls

Peace. Together.

There were people who came to his funeral that I didn't know. Not a single person had a bad thing to say about him, but wasn't that how it always went at funerals? In real life, people seemed to focus more on the negative pieces of a person. At funerals, people who had once torn the person apart suddenly had nothing but good things to say.

I spent the viewing on the back porch of the funeral home, avoiding everyone's fake tears and fake apologies for our loss. If everyone had felt that way when he was alive, there wouldn't have been a funeral. I didn't know why it was that hard of a concept for people to grasp.

I made my way through a carton and a half of cigarettes in the five hours they held the viewing. At home, I finished the rest of the second carton as I lay on my bed, still dressed in my suit, staring at the ceiling.

The next day, my parents tried to get me to speak at the gravesite, but I wasn't going to. I didn't even want to stand up by the casket. The day before, before the viewing, I had barely been able to look at him. They'd fixed him up to where you couldn't tell where he'd shot himself, but the Taylor lying there wasn't the real Taylor. The real Taylor had died long before this one had ever shot himself.

I stood with my hands in my pockets as the preacher droned on. My parents stood on either side of me with Gabby between my mother and me. She held her rabbit to her chest, her other hand gripping the sleeve of my suit jacket. My dad was gripping my shoulder tightly, his fist held to his mouth. Around us, people were sniffling. The team was there, all dressed in their letterman's jackets like anyone gave two shits. The people from Finley's house were there, huddled off from everyone else. My grandparents were there along with my dad's brother and his family. There were teachers from school and other people I didn't know.

As the preacher finished speaking and the casket was put into the ground, I pulled away from Gabby and my father before people could corner me with final prayers and thoughts.

I pulled my cigarettes out of my pocket and lit one with shaking hands as I hid behind a tree. I hadn't cried and I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. My body felt numb. The anger was subsiding, being replaced with a hollowness.

I took a long drag of the cigarette and closed my eyes, resting my head against the tree. I didn't open them as I heard footsteps approaching. I already knew who it would be.

Finley reached out and took the cigarette from my hand, taking a drag before he pressed it back into my fingers. I opened my eyes and watched as some of the mourners headed towards their cars. There was supposed to be a meal at the church, but I wasn't going to be able to deal with them.

"I'm not going to ask if you're okay," Finley said softly as he leaned against the tree next to me, our shoulders touching. "We both know that you aren't." I watched as two kids ran around, laughing as they picked dandelions. "I don't know if it's any consolation, but at least you don't have to endure his abuse anymore."

I snorted. "No?"

He sighed, shaking his head. "He can't hurt you anymore, Gat."

I rolled my eyes, taking another drag of the cigarette before I answered him. "Just because he's not physically here anymore doesn't mean that he can't still hurt me."

I pushed off the tree, set on trying to convince Brody to take me home, but Finley reached out and grabbed my hand. My body tensed as my eyes darted around to see if anyone was watching. He drew me back against the tree gently, lacing his fingers through mine.

"You're not alone in this," he said softly. "I'm still here. I never left."

I swallowed hard, staring straight ahead. "But you kind of did."