𝑌𝑜𝑢'𝑟𝑒 𝑂𝑛 𝑌𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑂𝑤𝑛 𝐾𝑖𝑑

The Funeral; Part 1 - XVI

12th September

On the morning of the funeral, I woke up, feeling violently sick, and desperately not wanting to wake up Jameson as the throwing up rigorously rattled me as I hung my head over the toilet seat.

But of course, life is mean, cruel and unfair to all who abide by the rules of it.

So I was screwed in the game of life, because I soon felt someone running their hands up and down my back in comfort as I continued to be violently sick.

Soon enough, the heaving turned dry and my throat burned like a thousand mini fires had been lit all at once, while my mouth tasted like everything in a kitchen had gone off and I had eaten it all, then thrown it back up, along with yesterday's food.

It's safe to say I felt like a piece of shit.

"You okay?" I heard Jameson ask from behind me where he was stroking my back.

"Nope," I say as I turn to face him, still feeling a bit green.

We wait a bit, in the awkward silence, before starting up a conversation.

"You know your Dad's funeral is today, right?" He asks me as I stay slightly hunched over in between the toilet and the wall.

"Yeah. I know," I mumble out as I think over what I have to do today.

I thought about maybe getting someone like my Mum to do the speeches or someone like that for today if I felt like this, but I knew it had to be me.

It had to be, because even when I hated him for the decisions, my Father. My Dad. He was someone who looked out for me, and cared for me and was someone that would do anything because he loved his daughters so much.

And soon I would have a child, that I would care for and love unconditionally, even in the toughest of times.

Because that was what I was taught to do.

It had to be me because I was the last to see him before he was pronounced dead, and that is something I'll never forget.

So I may need him, but my Father helped make me the person I am and since I am next in line, was the last to see him, and am bearing child, it had to be me.

So, slowly, and with Jameson's help, I got off the bathroom floor, and back to my bed to where I could start to get ready.

{----------}

09:04

Just under two hours till the funeral.

And I still felt sick.

"I've never been to a proper royal funeral before, so, what's the dress code here?" Jameson asks me as I sit in front of my vanity mirror, contemplating what was the worst that could happen today as I responded.

"Okay, so first, do you have a plain black suit to hand, because I know half your clothes and things are here, other half are at your house," I ask as I begin to get out the simple makeup I needed today.

"Yeah, Xander's supposed to be dropping it off anytime now," He says and then plonks himself down on the bed and stares at me.

"You know it's rude to stare," I say as I look over at Jameson.

"Yeah, but what I want to know is what you're supposed to be wearing," Jameson says, a slightly stern look on his face.

"Fine," I say, giving up on trying to divert the conversation "I'm supposed to wear at least a knee length dress that doesn't touch the floor and is too over the top. It also, of course, has to be black. I on the other hand, spoke to my Mum yesterday about wearing a jumpsuit, and she said yes as long as it ticked the boxes for if I was wearing a dress," I say as I then stand up, walk over the my wardrobe and get out a plain black, off the shoulder jumpsuit along with a black trenchcoat.