second goodbyes solo

December 21st, 2020
Late Afternoon
Cloudy, Chilly

It's been a year. One year since Marla watched her brother die in front of her eyes. They were never close. In fact, they hated each other for their entire childhood. Why did he jump in front of her that day? He'd always been a prick. Of course, he'd leave her grieving for him. What would've happened if she never went downstairs that night? If she never went to her grandparents' house at all? It was driving her mad. She could have made the smallest decision that night, and maybe she wouldn't be freezing her ass off and getting her favorite trousers doused in mud in front of her brother's grave right now.

She took a shaky breath, carefully putting down the flowers she'd gotten him, acting as if the gravestone would crumble at the slightest touch. Tracing her finger along the carving of his name, all she could muster in her head was that he looked pathetic like this. Or, how she assumed he looked like. It's been a long time, he was most likely plant fertilizer by now. He always had this cocky grin on this face she wanted to slap off of him so desperately, and now she'd do anything to see it one last time. Glancing down on the ground, as, after all this time, it was too painful to see him like this, she took one more breath in before speaking.

"I never liked you growing up, you know." She mumbled, crossing her legs. The mud squished beneath her feet, making her squirm. "I don't hate you for being a twat to me all those years. They pitted us against each other. You just bullied me so they wouldn't do the same to you. I understand that." Biting her lip to suppress its quivering, she continued. "I know deep down it wasn't my fault but– but it's really hard to convince myself that, and– and they never really loved us, you know. Well, me, definitely. But you, too. They can't love. They can't. They were just better at hiding it with you." Voice faltering, she gave up holding back the tears that she'd been harboring for weeks.

"You're such a jerk! I was the one that they were gunning for, why did you have to play the hero this time?! I thought you hated me, and now I'm so fucking confused and I can't even talk to you because you're fucking rotting right below me?!" She kicked the ground, digging her feet into the wet grass, pulling out mounds of it with the tip of her shoe, gripping glades with her pale knuckles. Wiping at her face, she began sobbing quietly. "I miss your stupid face, asshole. I miss when I set fire to your robes in my first year," She chuckled to herself at how ridiculous she sounded, "I miss us shooting insults to each other at dinner. And everything else in between."

It was a mystery to her why she was forgiving him when she'd first gotten there. However, Marla knew that for herself, she needed to do this. For the first time in a long time, she'd gotten her emotions out with words. No breaking things, no getting physical or getting revenge. Just talking. If screaming at a gravestone counted as talking. Nevertheless, this was for her. She had to forgive him. To forgive herself. This wasn't her fault. Her grandfather cast the spell. Not her. Lachlan chose himself to sacrifice himself, and as much as she wanted to convince herself otherwise– Marla was grateful.

She laid her palm in the middle of the grave, her sobs slowly subsiding as she released everything she'd been bottling up inside, a wave of relief taking over her. She still felt like absolute shit, but the pain never goes away, and it never will. It'll just get smaller. But for now, that's okay. With a sniffle and a small laugh, she finally looked at the grave.

IN LOVING MEMORY OF
LACHLAN SCRIVENER ROWLE
2002-2019
OLDEST SON OF JUDE AND AURELIA ROWLE
SADLY MISSED


"Merry Christmas, Lachlan."