Broken

• Chapter 160 •

May 29th, 2017.
Hassan Cuntosaurus, proclaimed dead at 12:03 am.
Derek Charmant, proclaimed dead at 12:03 am.
Brandon Charmant, proclaimed dead at 12:03 am.

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"Oh my dear Clementine... I am so sorry for your loss... You're badly bruised, sweetie," Dona tells me.

I stare at her blankly, and she shakes her head, "You're going to be fine. I can see that someone already cleaned out your wounds?"

I lift my eyebrows slightly, indicating that she's correct. It's the most I can do with my face, at the moment.

"Right... Well, you're going to need to rest for the next two days. Apply ice to your bruises as much as you can, okay?"

I stare through her. I know she's speaking to me, but I can't register a word.

"Good news, though! The twins are born, and very much alive! We managed to get them out on time."

"And mom?"

She smiles, "She's just fine. Resting in the next room... Did you... Um, do you know what he wanted to name them..?"

I blink once. Twice. Three times, "No."

She winces in pain, her eyes dance with grief, "Listen, sweetie... I know it's painful, but—"

I hop off the examination bed. "If you'll excuse me," I cut her off and walk out the door.

My mind is blank. My heart is numb. And I'm thankful for it.

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The next couple of days pass in a blur. Cops bombarding me with questions, the Paparazzi sticking their noses where it isn't wanted and rubbing salt on the wounds... Needless to say, they're swarming the hospital and house trying to interview mom and I. The headlines read Clementine Charmant finally revealed at the hospital after step-dad Brandon Charmant's death. The only thing that angers me about that is that they called him my step-dad.

I don't give a shit about anyone knowing my identity anymore, neither does mom. The danger is gone, but so is dad. Mom's putting up a good front, for my sake. But I know she's breaking. People come by and tell us how sorry they are for our loss. Our loss... Huh, it's as though my dad's life is an object we had lost. Lost things can be found, if one looks hard enough. His life cannot.

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I swallow the lump in my throat as everyone turns to me expectedly. It's his funeral. And it's my turn to speak. I've dreaded the entire thing, I don't want to go up there and say good-bye. I just want to be alone.

"You ready?" mom squeezes my hand. Her eyes are bloodshot and drained, her nose is red, her face is pale.

I put a strong face on for her and nod before standing in front of everyone. I look around to find The Dark Knights, Tony, Mikey, Aya, Eric, all of mom and dad's friends, and Ashton. I clench my jaw and stare down at the floor. I don't want to stare at their faces, their pitiful expressions. Their heartbreak and sympathy. I don't want to lose it. I don't want to feel.

Saying goodbye to him on his deathbed, kissing his hand as tears well in my eyes, attempting to say something meaningful through the terrible tightness in your throat... Well, I didn't get to do that. Even though I don't want to be here, or do this, I owe it to him to tell him everything I didn't get to.

I clear my throat. "Thank you all for coming," I'm surprised to find a steady voice.

"My dad, Brandon... Was an amazing man. He was the type with an ever-green soul... The type of guy you could go to for anything... And he'd be there, with an open ear and an open heart. He was the kindest, strongest, funniest, most amazing person in this world," I bite my lip and shake my head.