❝ dancin' around the lies we tell. ❞

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Dancin' around,
The lies we tell.
Dancin' around,
Big eyes as well.
Even the comatose,
They don't dance and tell.

"Team" -Lorde

It was weird, listening to people talk about Olivia. About inside jokes they had with her, her lovable habits, cute quirks, everything.

I hadn't known Olivia well– at all, really. I had only known she had been a bubbly, popular kind of person who took a lot of selfies and had gotten involved with the wrong people. Though not in the way most people would assume.

I had been to funerals before, of course. But they had been funerals of those close to me, like Avril and Blake, where I had been the one on the podium, staring at a solemn crowd and struggling to find words to say. I had known them well. I knew next to nothing about Olivia.

It felt a little like I was intruding on a private moment.

Listening to her friends and family recount their favourite memories of her, and talk about the kind of person she had been and could've been, and not being able to share any of it.

After the ceremony, it was announced that you could go up to the coffin, say any last words you had for Olivia, and speak to her family. Most people did, even Devon. I stayed where I was.

There wasn't anything I could say.

I glanced around as people stood up, accidentally meeting the eyes of stranger across the room.

I froze.

No, not accidentally. He had already been staring at me. And not a stranger, either, I knew him.


Why was he here?

He tilted his head towards the door, raising an eyebrow. I glanced at Devon in line, then turned back to him and nodded.

There wasn't anyone in the lobby once we got there. I opened my mouth to speak, then stopped when the door creaked and the muffled sound of voices came from the other side. I sighed, grabbed Ashton's arm and pulled him into the washroom.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I hissed, turning around to face him.

He was staring at the light pink walls. "This is the girl's bathroom," he pointed out.

"I don't care. Why are you here?" I repeated.

He raised an eyebrow. "I could ask you the same thing."

"I asked you first," I said, being the oh-so mature person I was.

He rolled his eyes. "Mature, Elle."

I frowned. "Don't call me that."

"What am I in the doghouse for?"

I gave him a flat look. "You're not funny."

"I wasn't aware I was supposed to be," he said, with a slight smirk.


"Why are you here?" I asked again.

"I'm attending a funeral." Duh. He didn't say it, but his tone implied it.

"I thought you said you didn't love her," I pointed out.

He sobered instantly, losing the smile. "That doesn't mean I didn't care. I'm not heartless."

"I wasn't aware you were supposed to be," I said, throwing his words back at him.

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