TW! : mention/contemplation of substance abuse
AN: this song is the most drag song ever. even if you don't play it while reading, every lyric somehow reflects the story, so i recommend listening! welcome to the last drag chapter before the epilogue, and for stickign with me through it all. i love you and all the love you've given me and this little corner of the universe i've made up. thank you forever and then some. enjoy.
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HARRY
February 14, 2021
Death is something that Bentley Hale always saw coming and accepted.
I didn't. Not for myself, and especially not for her.
I never really processed the severity of her heart condition because I just thought we'd have more time. I was wrong. It feels like I'm always wrong and there's never enough time.
It's been a week since the catalyst to my life left it. A week since the greatest person I'll ever know became the greatest person I ever knew.
She's gone. Lost between the expanse of the universe. Returned to the galaxies and set apart in the stars. She's a constellation again. A nebula. A black hole. An eclipse. A dream.
She's gone.
She came, gave me the most unexpected turnaround of a life, and then she had to go.
I told her she could go.
I told her that because I didn't want to see her hurt from holding on. I didn't want her to hurt anymore, and all that was left of her was pain. She had a smile on her face as she left, and I had her blood on my hands.
If Bentley Hale came in waves, she left like a tsunami.
Everything came all at once, a force so strong it destroyed everything in its path. It wasn't a current that just pulled you away from the shore. No, this was the kind of wave that wouldn't retreat.
It drowns you and everything that surrounds you. There's no ledge to grab onto, no feeling that's constant. There's nothing to keep you afloat. What once was familiar is now a wasteland.
The aftermath of losing her has been unlike anything I've ever experienced. I haven't left my apartment. I haven't eaten. I haven't seen anyone other than Michi, Louis, and Liam, and I don't know if I can. I let them handle everything because I can't.
I didn't even let Emmy in. She didn't deserve to see her older brother shattered on the floor. There were too many pieces of myself to pick up, and there was no way I'd be able to be restored to what I once was.
Not to mention I killed someone in front of her. The one thing I never wanted to happen to my little sister, happened. I hadn't killed anyone in front of her before then, even when we were in London at that club. Hopefully she can forgive me, because I think the only reason she hasn't gone running for the hills is because Dorian is here.
I won't blame her if she hates me and runs, but I don't think I can handle someone else I love leaving.
It feels like a part of my heart and mind were taken away, like it was only half of me that existed in this very moment. I couldn't be whole. I can't function without my other half. I don't know how I'm expected to find that part of me again considering I don't think it existed before Bentley and I crossed paths.
I was already breaking my promise to her that I'd take care of everyone, but how could I take care of our family if I can't even take care of myself?
I showered by force the day after she died. Michi cleaned her blood off of my body in the shower as I wept, debilitating screams leaving my chest at the sight of the tinted water swirling down the drain. I can remember flashes of it, like Michi's black hair sticking to her face. She was crying too and her makeup was running as the leather pants she had on didn't absorb the water of the shower and deflected onto me.
I remember begging her not to clean the blood off of me. If that was the last I'd get of Bentley, I didn't want it gone. I didn't want to wash her off.
She had to though, seeing as I threw up all over myself and her in the shower from how overwhelmed I was when they took her body away. Michi is a good friend. One of the only ones I had before I met Bentley, so I shut my eyes and tried to imagine my life back then to ignore the fragrance of Bentley's body wash on my skin shrouding my senses... but nothing came up.
Everything was marked by her.
Nobody ever talks about this. They say there are stages to grief, but nobody talks about the moments between death and grieving.
I found myself calling her name this morning when I noticed one of the knives in the wall, the one I'd ripped out to fuck around with Apollo on my birthday, had fallen out of place.
I called her name to get her to laugh at my makeshift wall art falling apart, only to hear the echo of it against the walls. The worst was feeling the gravity of it banging against my ear drums and forcing me to topple over when my knees buckled and my chest contracted.
The more I cried, the more I felt her there. If I closed my eyes hard enough, I could feel her fingers running through my hair again, the cool gold metal of the ring I'd given her sending a chill down my spine.
Sometimes, if you close your eyes and breathe in, you can pick up on the feeling of her around you. It's haunting how much I could sense. I could smell her honeyed jasmine perfume and I could hear her voice.
God, I missed her voice. I missed her giggle and I missed the slight rasp. I missed the tones she would speak in. I missed the voice she'd read me poems in and her tone deaf singing. I miss the way she'd say my name when she was happy.
I want to hear her again. I want to hold her. I want to connect the freckles outside her eyes like the stars. I want to dance with her again. I want to feel her skin against mine. I want to kiss her. I want to sing to her. I want to cry with her. I want to laugh. I want to smile.
I want her to call me the devil again. I want to go back to every place she's ever set foot in and see if she's there. Maybe this is a sick dream. Maybe her blood didn't soak through my clothes. Maybe she didn't die that night.
Maybe she's hiding. Maybe she'll come back. Maybe the universe made a mistake. Maybe the galaxies just needed her for a minute. Maybe they wanted to add more freckles to her cheeks, or make her a better singer, or fix her heart. Maybe they'll return her to me.
I always told Bentley she was the product of the galaxies... But I never got to tell her why. I've always thought of Bentley in a way that is past worldly. I've always thought of her as celestial, the type of person that deserves to be embedded in something greater than the life we live.
I always thought that there was no way a world so miserable could give me something as wonderful as Bentley Hale. The cosmos had to be on my side to produce something to the caliber that she was. Perfect. She was so flawed that she was perfect. No one will ever shine the way she did in front of me. I'll never love anyone the way I've loved her, the way I love her now and always will.
This miserable world personified stardust, disguised it as Bentley, and let me love her. Misery gave me the greatest gifts of all: purpose, love, Bentley fuckin' Hale.
Loving someone so real and simultaneously dreamlike came with a price, and the price was her. Her smile, her heart, her soul, her love. The price of a love like ours was the most vital component— us.
It's been sunny ever since she died. Today is Valentine's Day, the first one I could actually celebrate, and I'm alone. It feels like the sun hasn't gone down since she left. Like the universe doesn't want me looking at the night sky to see if I could find her there.
The sun wouldn't fucking go away. I just wanted the darkness back but the universe— she— didn't want that for me. It feels like I'm drowning in the sun, the blinds on my windows doing absolutely nothing to keep it out.
Nobody ever talks about this. The feeling of suffocating. The weird space between wondering if it's possible to still be in love with someone who's not around anymore. I could feel her in the air, each breath I've taken has been graced with the very essence of Bentley Hale, but I can never truly feel her again.
Nobody talks about the realization that they're actually gone. About the physical reaction. I had thrown up so much I lost count. My hands have not stopped trembling and I can't eat. My lips are cracked and raw, I get chills every few minutes. It hurts to move, to breathe, to think.
I search for her face on the walls of my apartment. When the covers are wrinkled I try to seek the shape of her within them. I turn the sink on and let it run hoping that the water droplets will show me her reflection. I search for her face in the mirror, but I spend too much time staring at my own reflection that all I can see is a monster staring back.
Hollow.
The feeling of emptiness is something else I didn't know was coming as soon as it has. I didn't realize how much Bentley had changed me until that familiar warmth that was part of me now had dissipated to ice.
I searched for ways to cope with the hatred I felt towards myself. She wouldn't want me to blame myself, but a part of me did. There's no alcohol in here because Bentley didn't drink any when we were in Oakland, but there was something else we'd left in my apartment.
All the pills. Every single one of the medications in Bentley's place had been transferred to mine because I was the one deemed responsible enough to handle them back when Rumer died and we worried about Dorian relapsing.
I debated it. Swallowing every last one and chasing after her. Life began when Bentley came around, so I had technically spent my whole life chasing her. Chasing the feeling of her love, her hate. Anything she'd give me was welcome. I chased after her for adoration, and at one point, I could finally stop running because we had reached the end of the trail, and arrived at the zenith.
Bentley and I had unlocked something beyond a pool of honey, we had become honey itself, so no matter the size, whether its a puddle or an ocean, love was there.
I thought maybe I'd be able to chase her again so we could get back to where we were by downing red and white pills. Maybe enough of them would turn pink inside me and I'd get her back.
They were lined up on my counter as if they were a breadcrumb trail to find one's way home, and in a way they were, but I could never do that. She'd hate me if I chased her that far, if I left our family behind.
She wants me here and it hurts, but I'll always do whatever she wants.
Maybe I'm selfish, but I can't help but wonder about everything I wanted. What about all of the things I wanted for us that we'd never get to do?
It was all I could think about yesterday. I daydreamed about another life where we'd be okay. Where she'd finally get confidence in her Japanese and we could spend more time in Tokyo or even Kyoto.
I fantasized about a world where the car shop was still around and she taught me how to work on the cars. A world where we'd race for fun again, teasing bets and taunting words in the air as we sped across the globe. A world where I'd get to watch her facial expressions as she listened to Stevie Nicks songs for the first time, or catch her dancing in my shirt shamelessly after binging kids' movies all night long.
I imagined a world where that ring on her finger came to fruition. White dress. Pearl ring. Cherry blossom bouquet. Stevie Nicks cover band. Emmy dropping flowers with a laugh and Allegra giving a speech where she calls me a hooker again.
Rumer would be with us. He'd walk her down the aisle. Zayn's hair would be black and Apollo would finally get that tattoo fixed. His shirt would be off by the end of the night.
Dorian would be my best man and Louis would bring the rings. It'd be us. I don't know how she saw that ring, honestly, but that would always be my plan. A world where we'd be together like that.
A world where I'd get us that dog we had spoken about that one time in Tokyo. Zumi, short for Irezumi. I could remember that moment clear as day, the discourse about fucking dog movies and dog breeds... it made me smile for a second and then I remembered that Zumi, our hypothetical dog, was the only thing she had ever named our entire time together, and I broke down again.
I had finally gotten myself off the floor to open the door for Michi who came every morning to try and get me to eat. I locked her and Liam out of my place each time they left, and even though they had asked for a key, I refused.
They didn't know all it took to break in was a bobby pin, but it's not like Bentley was around to teach them.
I'd do anything to find the thin black metal clips on the ground again. I wish my air conditioner would break down so I could make her fix it. I wish my things smelled a little more like her.
I wish the unpacked bag she had left here would disappear until I was ready, but I don't think I ever will be. I wish the colorful stack of journals filled with her innermost thoughts would stop tempting me to look at them so I could feel her mind in the air again.
The journals were all there but the pink one was missing. My poems were nowhere to be found and I have no idea where they've gone. I tore the place apart looking for them to complete the set but there's nothing. Michi cleaned up the apartment after I wrecked it on the hunt for her words.
In the midst of my panicked search for the journal, I opened up a can of Diet Coke that I guess we had forgotten to throw away. It was behind the milk carton and left there by Michi when she cleaned out my fridge.
I have never drank something so fast in my life. I didn't get the same feeling I bet she did after drinking them. I always wondered if there was some sort of relief that came with inflicting punishment on oneself, but all that fucking can of Coke did for me was remind me of how her mouth used to taste.
So I found myself in shambles again. I wish the ache in my chest would go away. I wish she was here. I wish she was here. I wish she was here.
Today is the funeral.
Michi planned it alongside Louis, Liam, and Niall, Emmy helping too because everyone else was far too distraught to move. I can't remember what I told Michi when she asked me subtle questions about Bentley, but I know I was an asshole about it.
I couldn't talk, I just grumbled in response and I knew how frustrating it was to deal with a zombie of a person, but I can't help it. The only thing on my mind has been Bentley Hale and the only thing on my tongue was the sour taste of inner turmoil.
It's ironic, isn't it? The day I'm burying the girl who made me out to be pink happens to fall on the day the word decides to go pink. Valentine's Day.
What's more romantic than burying the rest of your life?
She'd hate to see me like this. Dilapidated, isolated... she'd hate the fact that I've been acting like this. That I'm crying over her.
Her narcissism might enjoy a tear or two, but she'd probably poke fun at me a few times for throwing up over it. I could hear her heckling if I focused hard enough.
C'mon devil, are you really going to barf over the girl who saved your life? Respect me a little, won't you?
At least eat something, yacking stomach acid has got to hurt... need a band aid for your esophagus?
Are you pregnant? Is this morning sickness? I'll go get a test for you, baby. Oh- it's too soon to say baby isn't it?
"You're an asshole, Bentley." I whisper, thinking she'd hear. "M'doing this 'cause I love you."
Yeah, yeah. I'm going somewhere else as soon as I'm done here. Gotta find me, baby. Gotta love me for what I'll be. Even coming back as something you'd like.
"As soon as you're done here?"
There's no way in hell I'm missing my own funeral!
Maybe I'm going crazy, but if it meant the distorted echo would lead me to her, then sanity sounds overrated.
Bentley believed that we came back after our death. She was convinced her mother was a tree and her father was a bird, but I never thought to ask her where she thought she'd end up.
I'll look for her soon.
Three pounds on the door draw my attention, and I drag my feet to open it.
"Harry darling, why aren't you dressed?" Michi says. "We have 15 minutes until we are supposed to arrive."
I take a moment to look at Michi. She's in a black jumpsuit. Her hair is slicked up into a ponytail. Her face is bare of makeup which is unlike her. Her nails are still sharpened and her shoes are black.
"I'm not going." I say defeatedly. "I can't."
"Harry, it's her funeral... you have to go." She reasons, eyes soft.
"I can't, Michi. I can't look at them. I can't do it." I whisper. "Tell then I'm sorry."
"Then I'm not going either." She says, sitting down across from me. "I'll stay here."
I sigh, lifting heavy eyes up to look at her through my curls.
"How are they?" I ask reluctantly.
"Not good." She returns. "They could use having you around, you know. You're the only one that got to be there for her."
"She would've die- left by herself if I took the time to break their cuffs." I say, thinking back to the moment I broke free.
I was racing down my specific route when I caught a glimpse of Allegra and Zayn. It wasn't long before Emmy and Dorian were pushed onto the pavement in front of me, Louis right behind them. There were two different traps set up, and he knew we'd take three different paths.
No matter who went where, something was set up to catch us on side roads. For her route, it was the spike strips, and for mine, it was our family.
Once they were all out on the road ahead of me, Russell walked out with his hands wrapped around a gun. I was unarmed. I couldn't protect them properly, but by the power of something a little greater than myself, I did. Allie had a gun in her jacket that she pulled and shot, but she missed.
The shock of it all caught Russell off guard and it was enough time for me to grab the gun from her and shoot him down. I had to get back to the race though, so everyone climbed in my car until we reached just before the finish line. That's when Victor came and had his minions hold us at gunpoint.
Sure, I had a gun, but it was only one. I had to obey because one shot at him would equate multiple shots at everyone else. So I did as told. I let them cuff me and tow us out to the trap laid out for Bentley.
I thought we were going to die. I thought that Victor was going to succeed and Bentley would have to be alone after the crash, but I should've known better. I should've known that she'd never let that happen.
I always thought her heart problem would be what killed her, but it wasn't. It was the heart she had for us that did her in. Love took Ben. Love saved my life.
A double edged sword. That's what love is.
Then it all happened. It's a blur and I don't remember it well, but it was only seconds after Bentley died in my arms that the red and blue police lights lit up the sky. The sirens were muted and all I could hear was my heart ramming against my chest, an intense ringing in my left ear from the collision and following explosion.
The car, Flo, is alright. Michi drove it back from the scene and all there were were some light scratches against the roof from some shrapnel that flew, but it was okay. I couldn't think about it without seeing it as a goodbye gift. It's the ultimate reminder of her. Cherry wood detailing and white leather, navy blue exterior that looked black at night and shone brightly in the day.
I caught a glimpse of it through the blinds of the apartment because I couldn't bring myself to park it back in the garage. I didn't want anyone in the garage because it is where the Bronco and the Pontiac are parked.
It looks like Bentley and I even thought of similar gifts for one another, because the cherry red car that once belonged to her father was delivered this morning.
Happy Valentine's Day, Bentley.
Louis did the exchange for me, giving the seller all the money and putting the canvas cover meant to protect it over the car. It's parked right where Arlo used to be, Flo stationed right across from it and the sage green Bronco that was once hers as well remained on the opposite side of it all.
Her Mustang, the one she had rebuilt, was destroyed in the wreck. The police had trucks tow it away and sent it to a junkyard. The junkyard is basically the first graveyard a piece of Bentley went to, even though she didn't love that car the way I loved mine. Today would mark the second graveyard. The real one.
Michi calls my attention, and I look at her. Her eyes aren't as round as Ben's are- were. Her skin is less tanned, hair less feathery. She doesn't have any freckles. Her lips are shaped differently.
Here I go again. Searching for her face in things... in people. I blink a few times to refocus myself before letting my bloodshot eyes connect with Michi's somber ones. She's looking at me the way I looked at Dorian when Rumer died. It's a gaze filled with many things, be it sadness, or sympathy. Maybe a little bit of her pitied me, but the one thing that was undeniable in her eyes was pain.
I thought I had experienced pain before, and then I woke up the next morning after losing her. That was pain. Everything I had experienced this far was pure pain.
"Do you remember what you told me two days ago?" She asks me, and I swing my head low again. "You told me that you promised her you'd take care of them."
I stay quiet, thinking back on all of it. I wipe a rogue tear from my face and breathe in harshly through my nose, a choked sniffle moving between my breaths.
"I don't know how." I admit, looking down at my hands.
The rings that were mine and then hers were back on my hand. It hurts to look at the pearl but I can't seem to take it off. This ring is meant for love and unless Bentley magically appears through that door, this ring won't go anywhere.
The Grateful Dead bears were also on my hands again. I found myself pressing it into the thin skin of my hands to mark them just like she would. Once they were pressed into my hands I'd move my fingers around and make them dance.
Bentley loved dancing.
Bentley loved a lot of things, and I love her. Fucking Hell, I love her more than anything. More than I think they'll hate me for the rest of our lives.
"They hate me, don't they Mich?" I ask shyly.
"They love you. They want— need you around." She tells me softly, rounding the counter to place her hand on my shoulder. "You need them too, you know."
"I don't need anyone. Just her, and she's gone now."
"She's in all of them. She is all of them, Harry. I've seen them, darling. They need you just as much as you need them." She reiterates. "Please get dressed, we're already late."
"I can't wear black." I whisper. "I can't. Nobody should."
"It's a funeral." She returns, but I shake my head in refusal.
"It's Bentley's funeral."
"Okay... then what do you want us to wear?"
"Pink." I shrug, thinking about how fond of that damn color she was.
The devil is pink. My journal is pink. The cherry blossoms are pink. The Oakland skyline at sunset is pink. Her lips were pink and so was her sweet tongue. Everything she did was pink. Delicate. Dangerous. Love. Madness. Chaotic and calm. Bentley was oxymoronic, just like the color pink.
"I'll call Allegra. Why don't you get dressed?" Michi reminds me, and I move to get dressed.
White trousers. Pink silk— the very pink silk button up that she spent the last two weeks on the hunt for. Black shoes. Gold buckle on them. No belt. No watch. Two rings. Her rings. Loose curls. Puffy eyes. Sore throat.
Michi drove us to the graveyard. It was to be a closed casket service from the damage done to Bentley's face by the flames, which meant the last time I saw her face was when I told her I loved her for the last time. She kept talking softly after that but I didn't reply. I just pressed our bodies together and let her go.
I could see them all from a distance when I got out of the car. It was sunny out, not a cloud in the sky. Dorian's head was the first thing I saw. He is in a pink shirt I'm almost certain was Bentley's, his hand clasped to my sister's. She's in a white dress but there are pink details on it.
Allie is the next person I see, holding Niall's hand and I can hear her sobs with every step I take. She's in pink too. Niall is in a striped shirt that alternates between pink and white. I can see Zayn's pink head wearing a short sleeved pink button up. His tattoos are on complete display through it. Apollo was in a pink polo shirt with blue jeans, which is expected. He doesn't dress up too often. Louis had a pink sweater on that was definitely from Allegra's closet and Liam had some pink trousers on with a white shirt. Michi had switched into a pink jumpsuit as well.
My feet are heavy as they approach the grave. Rumer's is here, and so are her parents' graves. They're all within the same area, a blank plot of land with three gravestones sticking out, a fourth one residing across from Kenji and Sara's and right beside Rumer's.
Technically Rumer's grave is just a gravestone over a patch of earth considering we never were able to retrieve his body, but the proper memorial of him being here is all that counts. It's all that matters.
The grass under my feet is dry and crunches with every step. It's a nice day outside. Light breeze and an eager sun shining down on us. This is the type of day she'd love. This would be one of those days where she'd drag me into No-Name and take us to San Francisco for Irish coffees and French toast.
French toast with no syrup. She doesn't like syrup.
Didn't.
My footsteps halt as the coffin comes into view. She's in there now, and that terrifies me. There's a man there to the left which will pull the lever and lower her down, a mound of dirt beside him to cover her up.
"I'm scared." I whisper to myself. "I'm fucking terrified, Ben." I say, chin angled to the sky.
You'll be fine. Rumie says hi.
God, I'm hallucinating voices now.
"Harry, three more steps... Come on darling." Michi encourages, her hand sliding across my broad shoulders.
One.
Two.
Three.
I sniffle loudly as I join the circle, eyes on the green grass that seems much nicer than the one on the pathway here. It's fresh. Lush. There's dew from the grass on the leather of my shoes, some of the water droplets soaking through the edge of my trousers.
"Harry." A creaky voice breaks through, and I recognize it just as arms engulf me.
Silence. Just a whimper or two. Desperation. Arms are wrapped around me and I haven't been able to even attempt at distinguishing who it is.
I open my eyes and inhale shakily, taking in the body that's gripping mine as if I was all that was left. Allegra.
My arms travel around her instantly, feeling instant relief from the lack of fear that they'd hate me. I can feel her damp cheeks against my neck as she cries.
"Allie..." I trail off, opening my eyes to look at everyone for the first time.
Dorian. Bloodshot blue eyes and his blond curls. Hand interlocked with Emma Leigh's. I don't look at her. I can't.
Apollo. Deep purple bags. I can see the clear wrapping around certain areas on his arms. New tattoos. I can't make them out but I know they're there. Bentley had mentioned once that Apollo was quite impulsive when it came to inking his skin.
Zayn. He doesn't look at me, and that's okay. Zayn is the type to bottle everything up, or attack on command. He'll talk when he's ready. He definitely blames me.
I don't focus on anyone else. Our small circle is gathered around watching Allegra hold onto me for dead life. She's crying but her breaths have evened out, and she's inhaling deeply with each passing second.
"You smell like her." She croaks, burying her face into my shirt and effectively sending me over the edge.
The best friend and the boyfriend. Mourning. Crying. Standing up. Falling to our knees. Fresh cut grass. Deep breaths.
I smell like her.
"I-I'm so sorry Allie." I choke out. "I should've- I c-could've-"
"S'not your fault Harry... it's not- it's not your fault." She reassures me, fingers running through the bottom end of my hair.
"It feels like it is." I return.
It's not your fault Harry. I love you.
"It's not your fault Harry. Never will be." Allie speaks.
I stay quiet in return, feeling her breathe me in. It feels like an eternity before I'm able to separate from her, and finally look up and at the grave stone.
Bentley Hale
November 10, 1996 - February 7, 2021
Beloved.
One word. That's all it takes to let the silent tears fall. Beloved.
Normally people make a statement. A quick little sentence summarizing how the person that just passed away was a great sister, a great daughter, a great friend... But there were no words to describe Bentley Hale. Calling her a great friend would be an understatement, and calling her a great sister could never do her justice. Bentley was sacrificial in nature, everything she did was for those around her.
She's beloved. Priceless, even in death. I don't think anyone in this world will experience love the way that she has, even if she had a hard time accepting and processing it. She always knew she had the capacity to love people, difficulty inevitable, but it was there.
So that is who Bentley was. Beloved. I loved her with every fiber of my being, unforgivingly and wholly. She had all of me, she always will. She has all of us, from Allegra to Apollo to Rumer and her parents. She'll always be the most loved individual I could ever think of. Everything I'll do from this point forward will be for her.
Purpose. I always thought my purpose was to take care of Emmy, and in the way it has been... But I think it took losing Ben to realize that although I love Emmy with everything in me, I had a new purpose. It's taken me awhile to accept that Bentley's family is mine too. My purpose had extended and I hadn't even realized it.
Christ, this is grim. Could you tell Dorian to wipe his upper lip? He's got snot all over his face.
I breathe out lightly at her intrusive voice before turning my head a bit to find exactly what Bentley had said.
I know it's just my subconscious disguised as her, but a part of me wants to believe that it's just her. Checking in. Making fun of me. Shining some light through all the darkness, even though the sun continues to beat down on us. It's a cruel joke in a Bentley shaped voice.
"Uh, I think if anyone wa-wants to say anything... Now is your chance." Michi breaks the silence, and I turn my head back to look at everyone.
"I'll go." Zayn says.
"Okay." She returns, stepping back so Zayn can stand in front of our semicircle.
"I uh- I'm not going to cry anymore." Zayn speaks, clearing his throat. "She'd probably punch me for crying while talking about her." He jokes, a gentle chuckle emitting from almost everyone.
He knows me so well.
"When we lost Rumer all those months ago, I didn't know if he'd be okay on his own out there... wherever we go after we die. You see, Ru was never good alone. He seemed like it but he was good at hiding that side of him. It's why we w-were inseparable."
Wind rustles in the distant trees as he holds on for a moment to continue talking.
"He was my best friend. He didn't like being alone, and now... Now he'll never be alone." He exhales. "He has her. He finally has someone, I don't need to worry about him being alone anymore."
Z was never sentimental, at least not this way. After Rumer died it was more of a silent aggression, an internal smolder in the occasional sniffle.
He lost his two best friends. And he's sad about it, it's evident in the reddish tint of his eyes around deep brown irises. But in the end, Zayn has something I wish I had right now. Acceptance... the kind only someone like Rumer could possess in a time like this.
"And I know it sounds like I'm making this about him instead of her, but I know that a lot of us are afraid that she's struggling o-over there. I'd like to think they found each other already, because I can't hear him anymore."
He hears Rumie just like you hear me. Her voice is clear in my head and I think back to her, questioning why she told me she'd be gone soon but Zayn had been hearing Rumer all this time.
Rumer knew I was coming. He always knows. He waited for me.
"Anyway, I just wanted to say that she uh- she might be gone, but she's not alone."
"Thank you Z." Allie says. "I-I can go."
"Go ahead."
She moves slowly towards where Zayn was, standing with shaky hands.
"Benny is my best friend. I was mad at her for what she did-" she croaks, inhaling sharply. "I thought... I thought it was selfish. Like, why on earth would she leave me behind? We- we were supposed to do it all together. I submit my Stanford application without her last night out of spite, and then I woke up next to Ni and it all cl-clicked."
A strange pan of jealousy rings through my chest at the mention of her getting to wake up next to someone. I know better than to let it overrun me, but I can't. I just want to wake up and reach across the mattress and feel her there, but every single time I try, my fingers meet the curved edge of the bed. There's no one to hold, no hair to run my fingers through or snores to laugh at when I can't sleep. There's nobody there but me, and I don't even think I count as a person sometimes.
That jealousy is replaced by a slight rustle in the wind, pulling my hair back into my face annoyingly. Part of me is trying to convince myself it was Bentley telling me to stop thinking like that about myself, to stop the jealousy because I know better... And I take a deep breath before listening to Allie keep talking. I run my fingers through my hair to fix it, but eventually the curls flop over my forehead.
"It all clicked." She repeats in a subtle reflection. "She did what she did so I could chase after my dream. So I could wake up next to someone I love every morning."
Hey devil, I think my best friend just told Niall she loves him for the first time.
I turn my head to look at Niall. His blue eyes are wide and although I can tell he's been crying, Allegra's confession seems to have knocked him short of breath. I can tell he doesn't know what to do with himself, whether or not it's appropriate to reciprocate the words or say something.
Apollo trudges over to him and swings his arm around his, helping him artsy calm and allowing Allie to finish.
"Uh, so I guess- I mean- fuck this would be a lot easier if she wasn't fucking gone." She says to herself. "I owe her a lot. M-my whole life, actually. The future. So, thank you B. I'll catch you on the other side someday."
"D, do you want to say something?" Emmy speaks up, distracting from Niall's wide steps towards Allegra.
He pulls her into him, her cries surfacing once again and quieting when he pulls her face into his neck. I watch as he mouths out those three little words back to her, her arms gripping him even tighter.
"Babe?" Emmy attempts to call Dorian's attention again.
"I don't have anything to say." He retorts.
"Come on D..."
"Nothing I say is going to bring her back!" He grits.
"The point isn't to bring her back. It's to try and start letting her go."
You can go. You can go. You can go. The words I spoke to her ringing in my ear. The image of her life draining slowly before my eyes was unwelcome yet serene.
"I can't." He admits weakly. "Not now." He adds, shaking his head reluctantly.
"I'll talk." I say, clearing my throat and swallowing roughly, hoping to keep my crying under control for a minute. I gather myself for a moment before looking at everyone. Taking them in.
"You guys are my family now. You have been for a while, actually." I state, lips pressed into a line as they look at me. "That's what Bentley told me before she left. That you lot are my family, and that we take care of each other."
"I'm sorry you didn't get a proper goodbye. I'm sorry you had to watch all of that... but you have to know that she was alright. She was smiling. She's okay. I can still hear her." I finish, looking at Zayn with that last line.
His eyes perk up at the mention of me hearing Bentley, and I don't feel so crazy anymore.
"I don't know if I'll ever be able to go back to who I was before that night again, b-but I do know that I told all of us that we'll be alright. And I meant that."
"We'll be alright." Dorian repeats, the anger that was on his face now gone.
Dorian was known for his mood swings in times of high emotion. When I first got here he was hugging me, and then he was snapping at my sister over not wanting to talk about Bentley... And here he was now, reassuring himself gently.
"You all know how I feel about her. I know you all are hurting too... but I— I swear on the universe that I will make sure that we'll be alright. For her, for you. Please just be patient with me." I finish, voice cracking.
Before I know it, it's over. We all took turns scooping the dirt back over the polished coffin until it reached the very surface. Michi brought the flowers. Specific ones that I had probably mentioned to her during one of my rants while tearing apart the room searching for the pink journal. Cherry blossoms. Everyone got a branch of the cherry blossoms.
The pink flowers covered the entire area of the fresh soil. We'd be meeting back up at her apartment soon, and everyone took their time leaving the graveyard. I told Michi I'd find my way back to the apartment soon, but I just had to sit here.
I had stopped crying, surprisingly. That wave of nausea had passed too, and all that was left of me was this idle longing to be alone with Bentley for a little bit. I just wanted to talk to her.
So here I am, white trousers on the grass it's dried, my ankles crossed over one another in my arms resting on my bent knees. My hair blows in the wind of it, a cool breeze from the bay blowing over in our direction.
"You're being awfully quiet, sinner." I say aloud.
If I was any better at impressions I'd be making cricket noises right now.
"Idiot." I laugh, sniffling.
Occasionally. Are you okay?
"Is that another joke?" I say, eyes traveling towards the gravestone.
Beloved. Beloved. Beloved. Cherry blossom girl. Honey. Honey. Honey. Electric sinner. Celestial. Celestial. Celestial. Love of my life. Sinner. Sinner. Sinner. Bentley fuckin' Hale.
Not this time. I like the word choice by the way. Beloved, huh? I feel special.
"You are. It suits you." I shrug. "Allegra chose it, I think."
What's with you calling her by her real name?
"Not a time for jokes."
Oh please, I'm dead, not boring.
"Don't say that." I wince.
I'm sorry.
"For what?"
I'm sorry you're hurting. I didn't do it to hurt you. Maybe this is just how you get another chance.
"Another chance?"
At love.
"You're funnier than I thought if you think I'm loving someone else after you."
Absolutely not. I'm a selfish bitch Harry fuckin' Styles, I'm talking about a different kind of love. The best kind.
"Yeah? What's that?"
The kind of love you can only get from family. They're all yours now.
Silence. That's what ensues the conversation of sorts I seem to have had. Reflection. That night we lost Bentley, I didn't think twice before saving them. Last spring, when I arrived in Oakland, I would have laughed if they told me that I'd be making decisions with people other than myself and Emmy in mind.
You've grown a lot more than you think you have, baby. Go to them, please. They can't hear me when I try to talk to them.
It takes me a while to get up and start walking back towards the apartment. I feel like I'm dragging my feet half of the time, my hands running through my hair neurotically every few seconds. I know that we had an emotional moment when I first arrived at the funeral, but maybe they had time to put it all together. Maybe me sitting and looking at all the cherry blossoms covering the dirt a few feet over Bentley's body gave them enough time to piece it together.
Before I know it I'm at her door, and I can hear light chatter behind it. All I can think about are the memories this building has given us.
Meeting Rumer while I was moving in. Getting physical in the laundry room. Stumbling up the stairs in a bloodied Gucci suit, drunk off my ass. Her picking my lock. Sloppy kisses in the hallway and storming off dramatically after bickering.
Creaky floors. Slamming doors. Avoiding each other as we went about our day. In the beginning I could hear her stomping upstairs to piss me off and I'd play my music louder in retaliation. Peeling wallpaper. Knives on the wall and a mattress on the floor.
Now I'm just thinking about my place while standing outside of hers.
Everything about it is her. The lock on my door is practically useless from how much she'd try to break in. My sheets smell like her. Her body wash is mine.
I can think of all the things we've been through in there and it crashes through one of the levies in my world. The floodgates are destroyed once more. Memory after memory after memory overwhelms me.
Ripping green lingerie from her body. Her shooting one of the legs of my couch. Quick showers together. Chaste kisses in the morning. Her stealing my clothes. Us packing for the next destination. Naps on the couch. Crashing onto my mattress, the drop almost daunting since it's just on the floor. Cheesy jokes. Screaming matches. Touching and loving. Takeout food and laughter.
Poetry on the floor, in the air, in my hands. Guilt ridden confessions followed by absolute adoration. Throwing away diet cokes. Facing our fears. Walking out the door for the last time. Kisses. Countertop kisses. Angry ones. Desperate ones. Dauntingly wonderful and ridiculously consuming ones. The kind that feel wrong and reckless and the kind that feel like breathing— necessary, almost unnoticeable. Irrevocably unforgettable.
Bentley knocked on doors when nobody was home before we'd leave town. The first few flights we'd catch out of Oakland I caught onto it. Whenever we'd leave people alone in the apartment, or leave our weapons at home for once, she'd tap on the wooden door twice as if it would cast a protection spell over us.
She didn't knock on the door before we left, at least I didn't see her knock. I don't think she ever knew I had caught on to her little ritual of knocking on the door for good luck, but I had. I think it's why she refused to knock whenever she came around, knocking was saved for something greater than coming inside. Knocking was for luck, knocking on my front door was for hope.
Maybe it's my turn to knock. For hope.
I extend my right hand shakily towards her door. Knocking twice just like she would and reaching for the handle to push it open.
It's like I'm slammed with everything that is her. Her bookshelves. The bunk beds. The kitchen. The curtain that divided her room. The couch we bought together where she listened to Stevie Nicks on for the first time. The dinner table. The bed she trusted enough to let me sleep with her in.
"Finally." A voice says, noticing my stance in the doorway.
I'm pulled back to earth by it, eyes scanning and looking for who could've reacted like that to my arrival.
Dorian.
He crashes into me, more freely this time, and holds me tight. His face buries itself into my neck and I stumble in reaction to the sudden embrace, my arms holding his body to mine. Dorian has always been the more sensitive one out of the bunch, even with his killer sense of humor.
Everyone here has trauma from losing her because they watched helplessly. I can't heal them. They can't hear her, at least not the way I do. Maybe I'm going crazy but my mind has just been scattered all over the place.
"I should've said something back at the gr-graveyard." He stutters, voice tainted with regret. "I- fuck. I want to say it now."
Everyone sat in silence. Bottles of alcohol are spread across the coffee table and everyone has their own bottle within grasp. I watch as Apollo takes a swig of bourbon, face unmoving as he swallows the caramel colored liquor.
I step forward a bit more until I'm within arms reach of a bottle of scotch, gripping it tightly and tilting my head back until the burn trails down my throat.
"I'm listening, puppy." I say. His eyes soften at my use of his nickname before I sit down beside my sister.
Emmy and I have things to talk about. Today isn't the day, but eventually it'll come. I dread it. I fear it, actually... But if Bentley ever taught me something in this world, it's honesty.
"Benny has been the most stable thing in my life. She never really gave u-up on me even when I was a fucking junkie-"
"Don't call yourself that." I interrupt, thinking about how much Ben hated that word.
"S-sorry." He sputters, eyes shifting from nerves to slight comfort.
He definitely thought he could get away with saying it now that she isn't here to correct him, but if I know Dorian the way I think I do, he likes having that reminder. He's not a junkie, never was.
"I didn't give up on myself because she didn't let me, and I know it's hard for her to care about other people, but I think it was easy with me. She made things... hm, she made things easy. So I just wanted to say that I love her... uh, and thank you Benny. You've saved my life more than once, even if I feel like I don't deserve it all the time."
He finished his statement, sniffling strongly and shoving his hands in his pockets before looking down at his sock covered feet.
"Thank you Benny." Apollo says, eyes traveling towards the ceiling to look up.
"Thank you Benny." Zayn adds, and everyone follows.
I watch as it happens, everyone raising the bottle in their hands to the sky before thanking her and taking a swig of the alcohol.
"Thank you, sinner." I say, lowering my voice at the pet name.
We sat around for a few hours after. The only sound that would spread was our feet against the ground. Little by little we left until I was the last one in her apartment. I start cleaning things up, avoiding looking at the personal items out of fear that I'd break down. I'm trying my very best to keep my composure right now and it's getting more difficult every minute.
I sit down on the couch, hands running across the cushions as I take in the empty loft. It's too much, taking in everything that surrounds me at this very moment. She lived here, this was her home... One of her safe spaces, and we had very few of them.
It doesn't feel safe without her. I should feel secure. Everything should be falling into place but it's just falling apart. She should be here now. We should be looking at houses or other shit to spend all this newfound money on. We should be racing. Fixing cars. We should be kissing and laughing. She should be wrapped up in my bedsheets. Hands intertwined. Making dinner and listening to Stevie or watching a movie.
We should be here. We should be together.
"I can't be in here." I say aloud, grabbing my shoes, three of the bottles left of alcohol, and started shuffling back down to my place.
I expect to be alone once I get to my floor, but I'm not.
"Dorian?" I say, approaching him carefully.
His fist was against my door, about to knock again but his bright eyes flash when they realize I wasn't inside in the first place.
I look down at my watch, seeing it's around two AM. I didn't even realize I'd spent all those hours just sitting in her place after they'd all left.
"Can I sleep here tonight?" He asks. "I-I can't sleep. I don't want to be alone."
"Where's Apollo?" I ask, approaching the door and pulling a key out of my pocket to unlock it.
"Coping."
"Oh— so he's-"
"Getting laid, yeah." He says, and I gesture for him to come in. "Were you going to..." he trails off, looking at the liquor in my hands.
"Get sloshed? Yep." I admit.
"Can I join you?"
"Thought you wanted to sleep."
"If I close my eyes for too long I can see it." He tells me. "I was just going to fake it while you slept."
"Sleeping is the only way I get away from it." I return.
"So what's the alcohol for?"
"Distraction." I shrug. "If I get drunk enough maybe her voice in my head will come on out and let me see her again."
"Voice?"
"I can hear her." I whisper, undoing the cap. "But she hasn't said anything in hours... I'm afraid she's gone. Again."
There's the quiet again. I slide the bottle over to Dorian and open my own, drinking rapidly and hissing at the burn. His face is contemplative as he takes a swig, slamming it back onto the counter top.
"She wouldn't leave without saying goodbye." He shakes his head as he speaks.
"I lost her journal." I say, changing the subject.
Dorian reacts differently than I expected however, snorting and coughing to hide what seems like a chuckle.
"What?" I ask, voice snapping a bit.
"Nothing! I uh- I choked on the whiskey."
"That's tequila, Dorian." I deadpan.
"Oh." He says plainly. "So you lost it?"
I nod, jaw clenched and eyes focused on my hands against the countertop.
"Do you- do you happen to have mine? The yellow one."
"Yeah," I start, walking backwards towards the stack of journals and bringing it back to him. "Here. All yours."
"Thanks." Dorian returns, smirking kindly.
"Hell of a Valentine's Day, huh?" I say, more to myself and Ben than him, but he bums in reply. "Did you get Emmy anything?"
"A necklace." He answers. "Did you have something planned for Benny?"
"Mhm." I nod.
What the fuck am I going to do with that fucking car? I already have mine. I'll never drive anything else ever again, I don't think. Flo is too personal to me now. Cherry wood and white seats. Bentley written all over it.
"What was it?"
I turn around again to grab the keys from the drawer, holding them up and tossing them to Dorian.
"Pontiac keys?" He asks rhetorically.
"Kenji's." I confirm. "I bought it back."
"She would've loved this." He speaks solemnly. "You know, this was my favorite car of hers. It pissed me off that she didn't drive it as much... I stayed quiet when she sold it."
I watch as he toys with the keys, face in the midst of reminiscing something. He's humming lightly and I recognize the song instantly.
Listen to the Rain.
I remember that day when we faced Bentley on the highway, Dorian's driving skills were impressive in combination with my singing out the window to distract her. She had my yellow sunglasses on that day, the devil embellished scarf that was in her hair was used as her makeshift white flag when she conceded.
Dorian can drive. He can race. A little bit of practice and he could be better than Bentley without my token distraction.
"Keep it." I say, taking another swig.
"What?"
"The Pontiac, it's yours. She'd want you to have it." I elaborate. "Keep it. Now you'll always have a piece of her."
"B-but what about you?" He stutters.
"What about me?"
"Isn't this your piece of her?"
For the first time since Bentley left, I find myself smiling. Maybe I understand that last expression she had on her face before her heart stopped forever. This smile isn't painful, it's accepting.
I know I have a ways to go before I can truly live my life, but I know I'll get there some day. It's a huge weight lifted off my shoulders, a fear I had of falling stagnant in my own life fizzles away slowly. But moving slowly is better than not moving at all.
I look down at the ring on my finger, the pearl shining against the dingy light of my kitchen, and I swear I see her reflection in it. Freckled face, sleek black hair, pouty lips and kind eyes... Slow smile emerges on her features and I can feel my breath hitch.
I close my eyes for a moment and I see her there, the smile on my face even wider. She's in a silk shirt, long legs exposed and cheeks rosy. Her hand comes up in the air and she waves at me, walking backwards for a moment before turning around completely. Her brown eyes are some of the last things I see before her hair flows in a light breeze, her back to me. There she is in all her glory.
Pure electricity. Pure love. Pure rage. Pure adventure. Pure stardust. Pure pink. Pure red. Pure white. Pure emotions. Pure cherry blossoms and pearls. Pure sinner.
She's just standing there now, waiting for me to do something. I catch her turning her head to the side until our gazes connect, and in my head I wave back at her.
"Harry?" Dorian's voice cuts through, and I pay attention to him but keep my eyes closed, indulging in what feels like the last glimpse I'll ever catch of Bentley that isn't a memory.
"Yeah?" I say in return, her smile growing.
"You won't have a piece of her if I take the car." He explains, but I shake my head, watching her intently.
I love you, Harry. Forever and then some. I'll see you when I see you. Come find me, alright?
In my head, my hands are tucked into my pockets and I'm answering her with a single look. That's how well she knows me. She was always the one with the words, and I was the one that conveyed my emotions in a simple glance.
So with that, she turns away, her voice a far echo as the image of her changes carefully. From her feet to her head she turns to pink petals, and as they form, every part of her gets blown away in the wind.
I've always heard the saying that we come from ashes and turn to ashes, the idea that we are dust and will dust once more. I've heard it all, but none of them do the idea of losing Bentley Hale justice. She's more than ashes. She's more than dust. She's cherry blossom petals and simple glances as goodbyes.
She's pink, she's petals, and she's gone, but I know that eventually, that'll be okay.
My eyes open, tears racing down my cheeks, but my breathing is even and my smile is still there.
"I already have a piece of her." I say.
"You do?" He returns, pale skin a bit rouge from the alcohol and eyes innocent, just like hers were a few seconds ago.
I nod, licking my lips of salty residue before answering.
"Yeah." I breathe out. "I've got you."
***************************
AN:
just an epilogue to go!
thank you once again for everything, i'll probably get all sappy on twitter once the epilogue is up (rbllstyles is the user, btw!)
i love you
ARABELLA.