Hey, Mister In Denial (BxB)

Chapter 24: Grief

Chapter 24
Grief

When I reach house, the feeling I have in me becomes heavier. There's something about my house that seems off to me. The nearer I get to the house, the heavier I feel. I put a palm on my chest, where my heart lies, pumping with ache. The rejection mixes with what I feel as I walk toward the direction of my house. I have been walking and walking until I reach the block where my house is.

The more I look at my house, the more my head thinks that there's something wrong. The aura of the house is different, and not the good kind. I put on a face, the fake one, just because I don't want my parents to see how broken I am. They are going to be worried about it if they ever see me through my façade; they would see how broken I am. I don't want my parents getting worried at me. Just because I have a painful breakup, it doesn't mean that they should interfere. I can handle it. At least for right now.

The house is eerily quiet when I enter; the only sound that can be heard, though it's just faint, coming off in what seems to be my parents' bedroom, is my mother's cry. My heart drops immediately. That's what the children don't want to see most in their life – to see their parents, mother or father, crying and it's not because of happiness. I know my mother when she cries in happiness, or sadness, but her cry right now is a combination of something deep and sad.

Without further ado, I throw my backpack somewhere over the living room and run upstairs, up to my parents' bedroom, not deciding to knock. I open the door, which reveals my father kneeling in front of my mother, cupping my mother's full of tears cheeks. They both look at me, shocked, and my mother stands up and walks toward me, wrapping her arms around me; her hug is still the same – warm, soft and comfy. This is what I need. But it seems to be that my mother needs me more.

"What happened?" I'm worried. Of course I'm worried because it's not every day that you see your mother cry, so something bad must have happened. She unwraps her arms around me, but the tears never stop running across her cheeks. Her eyes are red and puffy. "Mom."

My father stands up, walks toward me and puts a hand on my shoulder. "Your Mémère has died of heart attack last night." I open my mouth, but no words escape my lips, so I shut it close. Mémère was my second mother. She's my grandmother, and lived in Paris. My father squeezes my shoulder once again. I wrap my arms around my mother, and she hugs me back. She continues to cry. I can't cry. Perhaps it's because I've already cried much, but that doesn't mean I don't feel pain. My Mémère was great and awesome. "We have already booked a flight. We're going to Paris the day after tomorrow. I'll take care of Sky International School. I'm gonna talk to them first before we fly to Paris." I nod at my father.

By the age of 89, my Mémère had already passed away. I used to think that she was stronger, that she could live a hundred of age, but she was taken away from us immediately. I never get to say good-bye. The last time we've talked is probably months ago, before things got messed. Before Dale knew that he liked me, or wanted me. Our topic was that Toffee, my cousin living in Paris as well, taught her how to use smartphones. We talked over the phone for hours until my mother had taken over.

She just looked like my mother, and she was so bright and beautiful, only the older version of my mother and my mother is the younger version of her. I used to think before, when I was a child, that they were just sisters – and I believed that until I turned 9 years of age. Mémère told me, insisted, that my mother's her daughter. My mother used to call Mémère 'sister', so that was the reason why I got that impression. When I asked my mother about that, she told me that the reason why she kept calling Mémère her sister was because Mémère felt old. Mémère liked to have her hair dyed blonde, didn't like to have a trace of greying hair and all, that's why she did it.