When I Was Theirs

32. Jared

32

Jared

E milia Marsters and I stand opposite each other on a gray, cloudy morning. The overcast sky threatens rain, but the ground stays dry as we listen to the celebrant speak, each of us avoiding looking at the other. We sat on opposite sides of the empty church, too.

Everything is gray. Everything, except for the space between us.

The flowers spread out, covering Ben’s coffin and the ground around it. A carpet of fresh blooms, artfully woven together in every possible color. Red, white, orange, yellow, blue, purple, pink. There must be hundreds of colored daisies here. Roses are mixed in with them, along with a few others that I don’t recognise.

It’s beautiful.

I can admit that much.

Across from me, Emilia stares down, silent and pale.

I haven’t seen her since the night of Ben’s death. When she packed up her things and walked out. I half-thought that I might not see her again, but she’s here, with the flowers she promised.

She looks ill . Her black dress hangs off her frame, eyes red and swollen with deep blue circles beneath. Her hair is scraped back, highlighting the scar that covers most of the left side of her face.

She’s a priority for me.

I’m staring at her, and she looks up. But her eyes skate past me, barely focusing before she looks back down.

She looks as if she hasn’t slept, hasn’t eaten in the nine days since Ben died.

You need to take care of her, Jar.

My fist curls.

How the hell am I supposed to do that?

I can’t take care of her.

I can’t even take care of myself.

She’ll have friends to lean on. Family.

Unlike you. You have nobody left who gives a fuck if you’re still breathing.

The bottle of whisky burns a hole in the pocket of my black suit. It’s already half empty.

When this is over, I’m going back to the apartment. To sit on the balcony, and drink, and wonder how long it will be before I get to go too, because fuck knows that life isn’t giving me any reason to stick around.

My eyes flick to her again as the celebrant finishes speaking. She stays where she is, her hands dangling at her sides. One grips a closed umbrella as he walks over to shake my hand. The celebrant glances at her, his expression pitying, but he leaves us both to it.

Neither of us move as the pallbearers move in. Strangers, to carry my brother on his final journey. Five of them, moving the flowers out of the way to reveal the dark wood of the coffin that I don’t even remember choosing.

And me.

My head feels fuzzy as I step forward. I can still taste whisky on my tongue as they hand me a rope, murmuring instructions that I nod my head at, even though I’m still looking at her.

She doesn’t walk away. She doesn’t move.

She stays for all of it.

Someone speaks as we lower him into the ground. The words wash over me, blurred and mumbling, mixing with memories until I can barely think straight.

Tell me a story, Jar.

Pwease.

I back away as soon as the rope is free of my hands. Away from Ben.

He’s not there.

I hope he’s not there.

And away from her.

From Emilia, with her empty, sad eyes.

I can’t do it.

I can’t.

But… I can’t leave, either.

Instead, I stay back. I watch from a distance as my brother is buried in the dark. When they’re done, Emilia steps forward.

She kneels in the dirt, picking up the flowers and placing them carefully over the mound. Covering him in bright, vivid color.

When my legs refuse to hold me up any longer, I sit. I dig the whisky from my pocket, swigging from it.

But I don’t leave.

I’m not sure she even knows I’m still here, as the day moves on around us. When she’s finished, she sits back on her heels, her hands covered in mud.

And we wait.

Hours pass, and Emilia doesn’t move. She sits beside my brother, her lips occasionally moving, as the bottle in my hand slowly empties and the world becomes fuzzier.

Easier to bear.

It’s dark when she looks up.

It’s not raining.

I lean forward as she reaches for the umbrella next to her. When she opens it, it illuminates with dozens of small lights woven around the metal shaft and ribs beneath the clear canopy.

She says something else, and I watch as she pushes the open umbrella into the top of Ben’s grave until it stands up by itself, illuminating the closest flowers in soft golden light.

And then she turns, walking away.

In the dark. A soft light illuminates the space in front of her as she uses her phone torch to pick her way through the cemetery.

I get to my feet, unsteadily weaving my way toward Ben and stopping at the edge of the flowers.

“What do I do?” I ask. “What the hell am I supposed to do now?”

I don’t know who I’m asking. Ben’s not fucking here anymore.

The phone light gets further away.

I nearly stumble over my own feet as I follow her from a distance.

Just in case.

I almost call out to her. To wait.

To talk.

But the words gather unsaid on my tongue as Emilia walks home, and I follow. She lives in a crappy apartment building, and I frown as she pushes the security door open without a code.

That’s not fucking safe.

But she’s not my business. She’s home safe.

There’s no reason for us to ever meet again.