Paper Bride ✔️ (Book 4 - DP Series - COMPLETE)

32. You Guys Are Dumb

I'm laying on the guest bed, shifting between bafflement and agony as my mind repeats the day. I can't stop remembering the phone call. As much as it hurts to recall it, I can't stop. The strangest part about it was the fact that my world didn't slow. Movies make it seem like this muted, slow-motion moment, but it's not. The camera of my life didn't zoom in on my face to capture that very instant when I cracked. Things just happened, but somehow I was so much more aware of my surroundings.

I remember feeling every smack of my heart beneath my breast. I remember that sickening sense of doom when my father's voice had resounded on the other end of the line. That moment when I knew instantly that something was very very wrong. It wasn't in slow motion; it was just more pronounced. It's a moment that I'm sure will never leave my memory. It's like my mind has been branded with the horrors I experienced. Time might lessen the severity that the memory has on my current state, but it will never be erased.

I want to think that that's a bad thing, but I don't. Instead, I feel panicked that I'll one day forget what it feels like in that instant of devastation. I don't want to forget the pain that I felt, because as long as I feel that pain then I know I'm hurting. And without my mom in this world, I never want to stop hurting. I never want to get used to the world without her. I never want to think of her death without having a twisting slice of pain in my heart. Because the moment I get used to the idea that she's gone, then I'll feel like I'm letting her go.

I'm not ready to let her go.

My stomach clenches again, and I roll my legs up to my chest as fresh tears spill onto the pillow beneath my head. I never realized that tragedy could cause physical illness, but it does. My body doesn't want to feel sad, so it's doing the only thing it knows how in order to get rid of that sensation. I haven't actually vomited again, but the nausea refuses to leave me alone.

A knock on my door has me sitting up. I rub my eyes as I holler for whoever's out there to come in. The door opens tentatively and I see a blonde head peer around the side. The moment I lock eyes with my baby sister, everything comes roaring to life.

Without a second of hesitation, she barges through the door. I stand just as her arms come around me, and we hold each other tight. All those same emotions spring up and I wonder how it's possible that I could have this much liquid inside of me. We hold each other for a long time, sniffling and sobbing as if we've just heard the news for the first time.

Finally gaining control, Hope steps back and rubs her eyes. I just stand watching her. Her purse is still slung over her shoulder and I can see the weariness in her posture that comes from traveling.

"This doesn't feel real," she says softly, pulling a Kleenex package from her purse. She offers me one, and we both take a moment to wipe away the evidence of our tears.

"I know," I mutter, my eyes staring at my hands where I'm fixated on watching myself fold and unfold the small tissue in my grasp. "Did dad tell you what happened?"

She nods.

"It's not fair," she says after a moment, her words quiet. "Out of everyone in the world? Why her? She happened to be one of the only people in this whole world who actually enjoyed her life. Why couldn't God have picked someone who actually hated their life?"

"Hope," I say with a gentle hint of admonishment in my tone. "You can't blame God for the stupidity of humanity."

"I know," she says with a nod, but then almost instantly stiffens up, her voice hardening. "But I have no problem blaming that butthole who did this to her—to us."

"I know," I tell her. "I mean, I know it was just a mistake on his part, but that doesn't change the fact that he will forever reside on my 'hate' list."