The Beta's Unwanted Mate | ✔️ Complete

78 | epilogue

"The song is ended,
But the melody lives on..."

-The Song is Ended, Irving Berlin.

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78 | epilogue

-Olivia Hart-

(A/N- there's a small time jump of a few days here, so don't get confused ❤️)

I stood in front of the mirror, running my fingers over the black dress I wore. I tried not to let my fingers shake as I did so and clasped the tiny piece of paper tightly in my hand.

I slipped in black bellies to match the dress and sat on my bed afterwards, just staring at space.

I needed a moment to collect myself.

It took me all of my courage to not run back to my washroom and curl up like a ball and cry. It felt like I was lifting heavy stones up as I moved my legs to walk out of my room.

I closed the door behind me and quietly walked downstairs, clutching the railing tightly because otherwise I would have fallen due to my shaky legs.

"My poor baby," my mother cooed, her eyes filled with remorse and tears and she rushed to hug me.

My father stood behind her with a sad smile on his face, silently offering his comfort.

They were too clad in all black, ready for the tough day.

"Come on," my mother said, sniffing as she grabbed my hand and walked with me towards the exit. "We'll be late."

I walked lifelessly behind her, not saying a word as my father followed shortly behind.

We sat in the car as the graveyard was quite far from here, with me occupying the back seat.

I sank back into my seat, absorbing these last moments of nothingness before I would be finally able to meet my friend.

But for the last time now.

I drew in a sharp breathe, clasping the paper harder.

The knuckles of my fist turned white and my heart started beating faster.

I've always hated funerals. They come with such a harsh sense of finality. You have to see your loved one getting buried in the earth, and you know that you'll never be able to see them again, hear their voice, watch them smile, laugh with them.

It is like you are forced to come out of denial and face the reality. It is like everyone is forcing you to move on when you are just not ready to.

It is when you know that the person is never coming back no matter what.

And that really hurts.

I quickly wipe the tear that had fallen from the corner of my eye away, as I pretend to stare out of the window. If I don't about it, it won't hurt.

Hopefully.

In front of me, my parents talked on and on about the pack they had worked in. Mom told me so many stories about what happened there and about her patients, while dad was slightly silent, yet attentive- just like he always is.