Forgotten Promises (The Promises Series Book 2)
Elle Brooks
Six Weeks Post Crash
I CAN HEAR soft piano music filtering through the muggy afternoon air as I cross the threshold, making my way down the cold stone aisle towards the altar. I can feel people staring, their gazes penetrating my skin as if each one physically presses upon me with the intensity of a searing hot branding iron. I’m all too conscious of the hushed whispers floating around in the desolate space. I’m shivering as I make my way to the front; I can’t get a hold on my nerves. Voices that I don’t recognize are uttering, “Is that the girlfriend? She was in the accident too, wasn’t she?” They infiltrate my senses. Are these people really so ignorant that they have all forgotten this place is designed to carry noise? Each comment I catch as I near my destination feels more scathing than the last. I focus my attention on the vast grandeur of the stained-glass window at the front of the church and watch as the sun’s midday rays pass through the colored panes, casting a rainbow that cascades down over the congregation of mourners. The bright hues are a stark disparity against the sea of black suits and white-collared shirts. There doesn’t seem to be a single fleck of color on anyone’s clothing, except the gold and red of the police decorations pinned proudly to the uniformed officers sporting them. Their brightness is a welcomed break in the monotonous army of glum clones.
My fingers are closed tightly around the stem of a single white rose. I didn’t know if I should bring flowers or not, but now I wish I hadn’t. I need to walk over to his coffin to lay it down; I hadn’t thought of that. Bile rises in my throat, and the tears that have formed are threatening to fall. I’m holding my breath, eyes wide, willing them to dissipate as I return my focus once more to the window instead of the casket. It’s too soon to be doing this again. The painful memory of Emily’s funeral, still raw and exposed, sits unwelcomingly at the forefront of my mind. It’s playing on an agonizing loop, taunting me, reminding me. The aesthetics couldn’t be more different from hers, though; Emily’s funeral service was akin to walking into a child’s birthday party. Balloons adorned the ends of each pew in varying shades of shiny pink and purple latex. Cheerful, bright gerberas had been placed on every available surface, and there wasn’t a single solitary piece of black clothing to be found. We had been given explicitly strict instructions to wear ‘happy clothes’ or she would ‘haunt our asses for all eternity.’ Em’s words, not mine. There was to be no gloomy piano music, either; no nineties power-ballads of heartache and pain. Instead, the church was filled with dubiously dulcet tones from One Direction’s Story of My Life. I’d practically scoffed when Em announced to me that she’d found the perfect funeral song. She proceeded to tell me that she’d narrowed it down to 1D or Bon Jovi’s Sleep When I’m Dead. In any other circumstance, I’d have voted Bon Jovi all the way, but I had to concede on this one. I almost smile at the memory before realizing where I am and what I’m doing.
I slow my pace down, not wanting to reach my destination, but there’s no avoiding it. In the next three steps I’ve reached the coffin. I can’t prolong the inevitable any longer; I look down at the long mahogany box laid before me topped with what must be hundreds of roses. My whole body trembles as I reach out to place my flower amongst the other tributes. I catch my reflection against the highly polished surface of the wood and begin to feel dizzy. I blink attempting to refocus my vision as my fingers loosen their grip on the rose. My hand brushes against the cold hardwood and I pause briefly, wondering if it’s time to wake up yet. Wishing for a different reality to the one I’m in at the moment. I hear Ethan’s mom softly call out my name, but I can’t move. I’m frozen in place by…I don’t even know what, fear? Memories?
“Blair, honey…come sit by me.” It’s an order rather than request; suddenly she’s by my side and ushering me to take a seat. I let her lead the way; it’s just her sitting upfront.
“My mom couldn’t find a parking spot; she’ll be here any minute, is it okay for her to sit here too?”