Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
___________________________________
10 days after the funeral:
Y/n's POV:
Anger: A strong feeling of annoyance, displeasure, or hostility.
Seeing Brandon's casket be lowered into the ground and covered up with dirt was probably the worst thing I've ever seen. I was still convinced he was not dead, no matter the words his parents or sister filled my head with.
My best friend is not dead and I'll be damned if they think they can keep lying to me about it.
My room was clean, an hour ago, but now everything was thrown everywhere. Broken picture frames of B and I scattered across my carpet. My eyes were red with tears, puffy and swollen as I threw my fist into my mirror, shattering the glass underneath the skin.
Small particles of the glass stuck to my skin, finding their way into it as I bled from my knuckles, I screamed out, sobbing with rage as I threw my other fist into the only good part of the mirror.
My dad came running into my room, watching me with sad eyes as I dropped to my knees, screaming cries flaring out of my mouth as my knuckles bled into the carpet.
He walked over to me, kneeling down beside me to pull my shaking body into a hug.
"Baby you need to calm down. Hurting yourself isn't something Brandon would want." My dad held my head into his chest as I screamed into him, muffled by his shirt.
"Dad, can you please take me to see him?"
"Of course sweetheart but we need to take care of those hands first, okay?"
I nodded, letting him pull me to my feet and sit me on my bed as he grabbed the first aid kit.
He used the tweezers to remove the pieces of glass then some peroxide to clean the wounds before he lathered them with antibiotic cream, and lastly, wrapped both of my hands.
"Thank you," I mumbled, he stood, kissed my head, and handed me my coat.
"I'll be waiting downstairs, come down when you're ready." He smiled and walked off.
I nodded once again before sliding my Nike's and jacket on, leaving my room a mess behind me when I walked downstairs. My dad was by the door, keys in hand, and jacket on as well.
"You ready kiddo?"
"Yeah."
___________________________________
We pulled up to the cemetery, the rain that had started on the way here, pouring down and soaking the ground. My dad said he would let me go by myself so I unbuckled and walked my way to Brandon's grave, seeing his headstone.
In Loving Memory Brandon Michael Lee Arreaga Dec. 14, 1999-Sep. 5, 2020 A loving son, friend, and brother
I read over the headstone a million times before sitting down on my knees, placing a hand over his name. I had no control over my emotions and tears flooded my eyes.
My blood had seeped through my bandages, dyeing the fabric red.
"B, I am so sorry. If I would've known, why didn't you tell me sooner? I would have paid for your treatments. You're still supposed to be here bubba." I used my hand to wipe away my consistent tears.
It's my fault he's gone, if I would have known, I could've saved him. I hugged his headstone, letting my eyes get welled up with water once again. My sobs grew louder and more panicked.
I could hear my dad rushing over to me and scoop me up into his arms as he carried me back to the car, laying me down in the backseat.
"I killed my best friend dad. I killed Brandon." My dad moved me over to sit down, hugging me close.
"No baby you didn't, Brandon was sick honey." He kissed the top of my head, running his hand through my hair.
"I could've saved him."
"Sweetheart there was nothing you could've done. I'm gonna drive us home now, you take a nap, okay?"
I nodded, laying down and dozing off as he drove off and away from the cemetery. I ignored the guilty, stinging pain beating up my stomach from the inside out and closed my eyes, the soft rocking of the car lulling me to sleep.
