•T E L L I E•
It was cold. A perfect day for a funeral. Although I somehow knew Gramma would've wanted her funeral to be on a hot sunny day rather then a completely ice cold one. As I waited in the back room for everyone else to come down I felt like a million tiny blades were stabbing me all over. We were burring Gramma. She was actually gone. Whenever I thought about her all I could think of was her in the hospital bed, wires all over her limp body as she laid there looking weaker than I'd ever seen. Dad was right. I couldn't handle it. It was to much to process, seeing her that way and now that's my last memory.
"Hey."
I looked up at Max, he looked different in a tux, his hair actually looking like he at least attempted to make it look good. He was holding a bunch of sheet music in his hands as he sat on the lounge next to me. We probably looked like a funeral sitting next to each other. Me in my shot black dress, my blonde hair out in ringlets because that's how Aunt Wendy had told me to have it. My eye shadow was dark, my lipstick was red and my heart was numb. It was a perfect day to have a funeral.
"What's that?" I asked looking to the sheet music in Max's hands.
"It's the music Gramma said she wanted played at her funeral." He shrugged.
"Can I see?"
"Sure."
I took the sheets from Max's hands looking at it closely. It looked pretty easy to me-but then again I've been playing piano since I was six.
"Do you have a piano?"
"You play?"
"Usually everyday."
"I don't know where the pianos gone now..." Max muttered. "You're going home tomorrow right?"
"Maybe today, depends what Zayn and Darian do. I'm just wondering, why was your mum so mad last night?"
Max but his lip and stared at me as if he was about to tell some sort of secret.
"You know how everyone says that our family used to filthy rich?"
"No..."
"Right-I only heard it of great uncle Andrew-"
He's alive still?
"-but apparently Gramma's parents had all the money. And they wrote in their will it all goes to Gramma, none to any of their other children. So that pissed half the family off and now all Grammas brother's and sisters got their kids on to the idea of the money and that's about the only reason most people are coming today."
"What's that got to do with Aunt Wendy?" I questioned looking at Max intently. Maybe he expected me to have some sort of reaction to the idea of there being a lot of money, but really I don't see the big fuss about money...but then again that's coming from a celebrity's daughter...
"Well, it was all true. The money story and that, and Gramma put in her will it gets split three ways, gets separated to each of her daughters. So, my mum thought her and Darian would each get half of your mums share since she's..." Max trailed off.
"Dead." I finished curtly. "Max it's not like she died yesterday you can say my mothers dead."
"Yeah sorry, but anyway. Your mums share doesn't get split. In Gramma's will she put that if your mother died-which she did-It goes to her children..."
"Her children being me..."
"Exactly. So, long story short once your eighteen you're filthy rich."
"Once I'm eighteen?"
"Yeah, when your eighteen money's yours. Until then... I don't really know what happens to it..."
"That's cool." I reply with a shrug. Max gaped at me.
"I just told your like a freaking millionaire and you say cool?" He asks.
"You know it doesn't really matter... It's just money..."
"Money. You know how everyone says money makes the world go round? It's true."
"Yeah well it's not like I grew up without it."
From the corner of my eye I could see Wendy coming down into the room. Is she really pissed that I got money? Really?
"Well, I thought you two would be the last down here but obviously I was wrong." She said plastering a fake smile. "Although I've been wrong about a lot of things lately..."
I bit my lip as Max rolled his eyes.
"Uh Tellie,"
I looked to Wendy. "Yeah?"
"Could I borrow your phone? I need to talk to your dad about something and I don't have his number."
"Yeah."
I reached in my handbag sitting next to me pulling out my phone and handing it to her.
"Passcode." She said holding my phone back out to me. I took it from her and entered the password before handing it back to her. She soon left the room.
"Believe me now?" Max questioned his eyes narrowed.
"I never said I didn't believe you... I just don't find it weird-you know I don't even want the freaking money."
"What money?"
I snapped my head towards the doorway, biting harder on my lip as I saw Zayn walk in. Ryder was behind him smiling wide as if it were a wedding we were attending instead of a funeral.
"Two bucks we found on the ground." Max replied instantly. "Chaim took it."
Two? Max you could've at least made if twenty at least that seems logical to argue about...
"Tellie have you go all your stuff packed?" Zayn asked. He didn't look satisfied with Max's answer at all, but did look like he was by going to persist on it.
"If having everything on the bed counts as packed then yeah." I replied sheepishly. "Why?"
"We're gonna go back to London after the funeral." Zayn replied.
"Why?"
"Reasons..."
I nodded. It was the perfect day for a funeral.
I hated it. Every second of the dang thing. It was a small thing, only family and really really close friends who I always assumed were family.
It was an open coffin. And as far as I was concerned that just made it all tens times worse. Looking at the lifeless body.
I didn't stay with everybody else staring at Gramma's grabs in the cemetery. I went where I had the morning of her death. Mum's.
"Thought I might find you here."
I looked over my shoulder, grinning as I got to my feet.
"How'd you know?" I questioned.
"I come here too." Uncle Kill replied.
"I came here on my birthday," I said looking at the headstone. "That's where I was when Gramma died..."
"Must suck aye? Having to know your grandmother died on your birthday."
"I never really thought about that... I didn't know you came to the funeral. I got told it was only close family and friends."
"Yes well, I come under the close friends category because of your mother."
"Uncle Kill, you went to school with my mum and dad right?" I asked. I looked up at Uncle Kill who nodded.
"I did." He confirmed.
"Did they ever... You know act like they had feelings for each other?"
Uncle Killian laughed. "Other than hatred?"
"Hatred?"
"They were friends up until high school. Then they never spoke to each other, and if they did it was to say something rude and totally inappropriate and if I told you everything they said you'd be scared for life. At least, until the year before you were born, they started talking again and making out in hallways acting all in love... Then your stupid excuse of a father dumped her and told everyone it was just a dare. So, yeah hatred describes it pretty well."
I stared at him in confusion. He has to be lying. He has to be.
"But-"
"He told you a whole different story didn't he?"
"Yeah." No, I didn't get any story.
"Your mum would've been proud of you."
"I get told that a lot..." I replied truthfully.
"Do you believe it?" Uncle Kill asked raising an eyebrow.
"No... I don't think she would be proud of me."
"Why's that?"
"Is this an interrogation?" I hissed.
"No, but maybe it should be since I haven't seen you in a while." Uncle Kill replied with a smirk.
"Don't blame me."
"I don't blame you, I blame your son of a bitch father."
Somehow I felt like I was breaking some sort of rule as I nodded in agreement. I didn't have an arguments against what Uncle Kill said. After all fact was fact.
"She would be proud of you Tellie." Uncle Kill said breaking the silence. "No matter what you do, if you robbed a bank she'd have been proud of you."
"Sure." I replied a small grin playing on my face.
"She would've."
"Why though?"
"'Cause you're her child."
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The list of notifications were endless. All that my iPod had done on the whole trip to London was flash with notifications. Some good and some bad. My favourite comment had to be the one telling me I should kill myself. Yeah, I love reading those...note my sarcasm...
As I sat on my bed, All Time Low blaring in my ears I looked at the Instagram notifications still popping up. I don't get some of it really. I can't even post a picture without someone saying "Die." and what? Because my dads in a gay boy band? I really wish I understood...
It was nice being back home. Summer had already started and the heat was picking up, meaning one thing;no sleeves. I groaned and looked out my bedroom window. When I got back the sun was only just setting, and now it was complete darkness besides the lights of the city.
My phone vibrated loudly on the bedside table, making me glance away from the open window.
Damn who's texting me now?
New Message From: Dad
Kitchen👇👇👇 now. I'm sick of yelling up the staircase.
Dammit.
I pulled my ear phones out dropping them to the bed before getting to my feet and stalking out of the room.
I was more comfortable with my hair plaited on the side, and in skinny jeans a sweat short and ugg boots then I was in the tight black dress. Heels are most certainly not my thing. I walked down the staircase, my eyes burning into my wrists. I wanted to cut, and had ever since Zayn said Gramma was dead.
"You wanted me?" I asked walking into the kitchen. Dad had his back to me but still nodded.
"Are you gonna eat now or later?" He replied. He'd hardly spoken to me since I got back. Maybe it was because I'd gone upstairs and blasting my music.
I shrugged. "Later." Or never.
"You sure?"
"Yeah, I'm not hungry."
"That's been happening a lot lately... Any particular reason?"
"Um... I don't think so... Did you want me for anything else?"
"No, you can go back upstairs if you want. Just let me know me your hungry."
I nodded, even though I knew dad couldn't see, he still had his back to me his hands on the bench.
"Dad..." I started. "C-can I ask you something...? About...m-mum... And get a real answer...?"
I nervously pulled at my sweat shirt waiting for him to answer. But he didn't, he just turned around and looked at me for the first time since Zayn dropped me off.
"After I ask you something Cristell." He replied sharply, his eyes burning into me which only increased my nerves. I flinched at the use of my full name. I hardly ever got called Cristell, unless we had a substitute teacher who didn't know I had a nickname-even though most of them did...one of them even asked me to get my dad to follow them on twitter... That was definitely a weird day...
"What?"
Dad looked over his shoulder at the bench before swiftly grabbing something. In his hands the blades from razors and pencil sharpeners each covered in blood. My blood.
"Explain these."
(A/N
IM NOT EVEN GONNA SAY ANYTHING.
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