A R I A
"Shortcake, we're here," My eyes flutter open to meet with Miles' mischievous ones. He shoves the car keys into his pocket and smirks. "Had a nice nap, beautiful?"
I whack his forehead with the back of my hand and wipe the drool off my face, shooting him a glare. Jerk. I never made fun of him drooling in his sleep! Sure, maybe that's because I've never seen him drool while he was sleeping . . . but he doesn't have to know that.
Miles winces while rubbing his forehead. "Remind me to never say anything sweet to you the next time I'm trying to wake you up."
"Your definition of sweet is my definition of sarcasm," I roll my eyes at Miles playfully.
"Aw, come on, Shortcake. I was just teasing you," He grins, walking around the car to open my door and help me out.
My legs are still a bit limp, but they're much better than before. It's becoming easier to walk, and this time I don't need Miles to help support my entire weight. Instead, he slips his fingers through mine and lets me try walking on my own, with the occasional tug when I almost fall. When we get to the entrance, I leave Miles by the gates to purchase flowers.
The ride to the cemetery was longer than I thought. It's already five in the morning. It was half an hour's drive, and even though we aren't supposed to be outside at all, I had insisted we go. This is the first time I have enough courage to visit my parents since they died, and I'm not going to back down now. Especially since today is a very special day.
After retrieving two bouquets of blue tulips from the small flower shop on the other side of the street, I join Miles at the entrance of the graveyard.
"Tulips?"
I nod at him with a sad smile. "The blue ones were Mom's favourite."
Every single room in my old house had at least one bouquet of blue tulips. Dad would bring one home every Wednesday night, never failing to remind Mom about the first time they met. Now, in my current room back home, a vase packed with the flowers rests on my bedside table right beside a framed photo of the three of us.
"Not to ruin the moment or anything, but isn't tulip season in March? It's the end of December, practically everything is dead." Miles points out, examining the petals.
"Ever heard of global warming? It might as well be spring." I shrug and take hold of his hand to pull him towards where my parents rest.
The weather is perfect for today. It hasn't been snowing lately, but rather raining to give life to the dry vegetation. Clouds overhead turn dark grey and dominate the sky, blocking out all sunlight as they prepare to cry along with me. The crisp air of the winter season fills my lungs with each breath I take, accompanied by the scent of freshly cut grass and the slightest sounds of the crinkly, dead flowers rustling as the wind coos.
The eeriness of the cemetery sends chills down my spine. There is not a single soul in sight except for Miles and me, other than the one gravedigger we passed two minutes ago. It isn't that surprising, seeing as the sun hasn't even risen yet. In fact, the few workers must have been confused when they saw us here, at this time in the morning.
I hold the bouquet closer to my tightened chest with one of my shaking hands, the other entangled with Miles' fingers. We tread lightly over the soft soils that seem to have been revealed after the snow crusts were shovelled and piled to the outer areas of the graveyard.
The tiny hairs at the back of my neck stand as we pass by rows of tombstones; some are crooked and crumbling while others seem like they were only recently placed. Most of them are made out of white marble. Polished crosses and statues of angels are scattered all over the cemetery, as well as weeping willows and dry yew trees.
From what I remember, Mom and Dad have their own little section of the cemetery. Their graves are surrounded by plenty of plants and a black iron fence. I scan the names engraved on the headstones as we move by them and ignore my racing heartbeat that somehow gets faster with every step I take.
Eventually, we reach the gate. My throat goes dry and my breathing becomes heavy. Miles must take notice of this because he gives my hand an encouraging squeeze. I shoot him a small, grateful smile before taking a deep breath and open the gate door.
When I was fifteen, I wouldn't have imagined I'd be visiting my parents' grave so soon before they were taken away from me. Everything I'd ever known, gone. Destroyed and over with like it didn't even happen. My perfect world turned into a crippling mess.
This is my reality. This is my life.
My feet stop moving, bringing Miles to a halt with me in front of two graves. My eyes rest upon my parent's names, dropping to the shrivelled bouquet of white tulips Lydia and Paul must have left the last time they visited, and then I let myself fall to my knees.
KYAN BROOKS
April 27, 1975 - September 14, 2016
Beloved father, husband, side chick, brother, & friend
EMERY GRACE BROOKS
July 4, 1975 - September 14, 2016
Beloved mother, wife, best boyfriend, sister, & friend
Memories play in my head like a movie. The beating of my heart quickens, a lump forming in my throat as I trace the outlines of their names. The thin layer of dirt on the chalk-like headstones have coated my fingertips already. I repeat my actions, following the smallest loops of the letters over and over again.
This is real, my mind repeats. They're really gone.
"Hey, guys," I whisper, running my fingers down the sides of the smooth white headstones. My lips already begin to quiver. "Happy anniversary."
If they were here, today would have marked their twenty years in marriage. I lay the bouquets on the soil, replacing the old, withering ones that I found earlier.
I feel Miles' presence close behind me. I turn my head to get a glimpse of him, but he's keeping his gaze on the ground. I focus my attention back on my parents, thankful for the silence.
"I brought you f-flowers," My voice is hoarse and croaky, but I still manage a small smile. "they're blue t-tulips. Our favourite kind."
Something light hits my head, and soon the raindrops roll down the side of my face. It doesn't bother me in the slightest. My vision starts to become blurry. I can't tell if it's the raindrops getting into my eyes or the tears I've been trying to desperately hold back.
I feel it all over again. Sadness. Hollowness. Shock. Agony. Heartbreak. Everything.
Before I can even think about what's happening, a small, quiet moan of grief escapes my lips. The rain and my tears merge as they run down my cheeks in waterfalls. I curl into a ball, hiding my face with the sleeves of Miles' hoodie.
Why? Why them?
Mom and Dad's faces flash across my mind. They were beautiful in every way possible. Their stunning eyes. Their joyful laughs. Their kind smiles. All of that, transformed into a mess of crushed bones and open flesh. The only thing they left behind was a broken girl. Her screams and wails that echo through my ears hold a familiar type of pain full of anger, confusion, and disbelief. I watch the whole scene play in my head as the hole in my heart expands cruelly, leaving an eruption of a burning sensation in my chest.
I replay different memories, remembering when I was barely seven years old. Dad had bought me my first set of acrylics as a birthday present. It was then when I discovered my love for paints. Dad was always the one drawing or painting along with me whenever he could. I remember trying to get Mom into helping us, but she gave up after one stroke of her brush. She would always complain about not having a single artsy bone in her body, but she would still have the most fun when she'd attempt with us.
Little Miss Artist.
That's what her nickname was for me. For as long as I can remember, Mom would always call me that.
Why them? Why Mom and Dad?
"Why? Why w-were you t-taken from m-me?" I cry out, lifting my head the slightest bit. I tug at my hair, pulling the strands in hope of feeling something other than the ache in my heart. I bite down on my lower lip, but no physical pain can overcome the one in my chest.
"I'm so s-sorry," I barely choke the words out as I release another sob. My eyes are shut tight, stinging from the trapped tears. "I'm so sorry I-I wasn't t-there to s-save you. I love y-you. I love you b-both so much. I'm s-so sorry. I . . . I miss y-you so m-much. I w-was such a c-coward. I s-should've b-been there at the funeral. I'm so sorry . . ."
My fingers curl to form fists. I dig my nails into my palms, desperately wanting to break the skin, but my dull nails do nothing. Frustration builds up inside me, causing a series of gut-wrenching sobs to tear through my chest.
Please, I silently beg, whimpers of grief releasing from my parched throat. Please make the pain go away.
"I . . . I . . ."
I'm so sorry for running away at the funeral. I'm sorry I wasn't there. I'm sorry for all those times I chose to hang out with my friends instead of you. I'm sorry for not saying I love you to you that morning, Dad. I'm sorry for the times when I acted like a brat to you, Mom. I'm sorry for not being there with you guys in your last moments. I'm so sorry for not being brave enough to visit you.
"I miss you," I wipe at the salty hot torrents of sorrow that continue to stream down my cheeks. "I miss y-you so much. I'm s-so sorry. Please . . . please forgive m-me."
Please forgive me.
Miles doesn't say anything when he wraps his arms around my small, fragile frame. I whimper and scream into his chest while he rocks me back and forth, weaving his fingers through my hair. He holds me tighter, letting me release all of my tears and wails. After a few moments, my painful cries slowly turn into quiet hiccups. My breathing steadies. I gather enough courage to lift my head and look into Miles' ocean blue eyes with my tired ones.
"Miles?"
He hums in response, tucking loose strands of hair behind my ear. Miles cups my face in his hands, wiping away a single tear with his thumb.
"Please d-don't leave me," I barely say the words, attempting to stifle a sob. I've never felt so vulnerable in my entire life.
Miles frowns at me. "Why would I do that, Shortcake?"
"I . . . I don't know. But it feels like I'm slowly losing everyone important to me. Mom and Dad left. H-Hailey almost did." I lower my gaze fiddle with the strings of the hoodie. "I'm scared, Miles."
"Aria," He says, lifting my chin. The gesture forces me to make eye contact. "You're not going to lose me, I promise that to you. I'm right here. I will always be right here, okay?"
Somehow, with just those simple words, I know he will be.
"Okay," I nod with the faintest of smiles. There is no energy left inside of me—my crying had drained it all.
"I love you, Shortcake." Miles murmurs against my forehead, planting a feather-like kiss on my temple.
My cheeks grow warm at his words. I pull his hoodie up to cover my grin, all stresses and worries forgotten. How he manages to have this effect on me, I'll never know.
"I love you too," My voice is mumbled because of the hoodie, but Miles hears me clearly and hugs me again.
We sit in silence for the remaining few minutes. I study my parents' graves, the ache in my heart returning momentarily. I'd do anything to see their faces again.
"They would have loved you," I tell Miles, nudging him. "In fact, they'd probably be giving you their blessing by now."
"You think so?" He grins. "I wish I could've met them in present time. When I actually have control over what I say. I didn't exactly have a filter at four years old."
I raise a brow at him. "Who are you trying to lie to? Me, or yourself? Because we both know that you still don't have a filter."
He gasps dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. "Your words wound me, Shortcake."
"And your words are the most cliche thing you've ever said." I retort, laughing.
"Touche," Miles says, checking the time on his phone. The sky is now a light shade of pink, and the rain seemed to have stopped a while ago. I bite my lip and collect the dry bouquet of white tulips.
"We should go," I tell Miles. He agrees and jumps to his feet before taking a few steps back to let me say goodbye to my parents.
I crouch by their graves once more, bringing two fingers to my lips. I press a kiss against the skin and touch the soil. My eyes flutter closed for a brief moment before opening again.
"Bye, guys," I say to them. "I'll see you soon, I promise. I love you."
With a sigh, I turn away from their headstones and grab Miles' hand. After disposing of the dead flowers, we get back to the car. I pull my seatbelt on while Miles starts the car and slump in my seat. The digital clock reads six in the morning. I shut my eyes and try to ignore the throbbing in my head.
"Aunt Lyd and Uncle Paul are going to kill us if they know we left the hospital," I groan.
"Oh, crap. I forgot about them," Miles cringes, taking a left and switching the radio on to a news channel. "They definitely know. The hospital must've called them."
Damn those nurses.
A sudden realization dawns upon me, making me laugh. "Holy shit, what do you think happened to Mrs Cockroach?"
Miles tosses me his unlocked phone, unable to check his texts while he's driving. There's one from Hiroshi, the young nurse.
"Oh my gosh, she was arrested! Do you know what that means?"
"I don't have to listen to her screeching anymore?"
"No, you idiot! Well, actually, yes. But not just that!" I exclaim, frowning. "It means I won't be able to piss her off anymore!"
"Tragic," Miles says, chucking.
"I—"
. . . has turned himself in. Police say he is responsible for the murders of Kyan and Emery Brooks, a couple that was found dead in . . .
It's as if the world around me pauses. My eyelids are flung open and the throbbing in my head is suddenly faster than my own racing heartbeat. My words are caught in my throat, and suddenly I get the urge to hurl.
"Aria . . ." Miles comes to a stop at a red light.
His phone buzzes in my hands, pulling me out of the mess in my head and bringing me back to reality. Satan is placed as the name of the contact. At any other time, I would've laughed. But the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach only gets worse. I quickly answer the phone, tapping the speaker button so Miles could hear.
"Miles? Miles? Where are you? Where is Aria? Are you with her? Wait, that's a stupid question, of course you're with her, you two ran off in the middle of the night! We need to—" Kristen's voice is full of worry as she rambles.
"Mom! Stop, Mom. Tell us what's happening."
"I-It's . . . Oh my God, Miles, it's . . ."
I say what they both cannot.
"It's Michael."
●●●
HOLY. FREAKING. SHET.
I myself am having a hard time registering the ending of this chapter. Oh. My. God. I've never been so excited at the end of a chapter lmao. What do you all think of that?
Okay so, damn, I started crying a little bit while writing this because I was hurting my poor baby so much 😭😭 Was it sad? Did you guys feel anything? Please tell me, I wanna know if I'm capable of writing emotional stuff XD
Also, I've been thinking about writing a spinoff about Aria's parents. Let me know what you think!
We're almost at 60k!!! Ahhhh!!! I love you guys so much <3333 Thank you 😭😭😭
Chloe ❤