I closed my eyes.
Like a stubborn child I wanted to embrace the darkness that it offered; a brief respite from the terrible reality around me – engulfing me.
I didn’t want to see the hearse ahead, the words spelt out in flowers, the wooden box cradled between polished silver clamps. If I couldn’t see it, perhaps it wasn’t happening – I could hope for a moment that this was a nightmare. A terrible dream.
My mother sat stiffly opposite me, her broken arm in a black sling, her pity, and guilt, filling the car, until I couldn’t breathe.
I felt the gentle bump of the limousine; the warmth of John’s hand on mine. I ignored him when he squeezed my fingers – I couldn’t look at him. His broken heart mirrored mine and seeing it in his eyes and pale, drawn face, amplified the hurt and the pain.
The car slowed and turned. The sound of the indicator filled my head whilst the sharp shards of my heart ached. I shook – holding back a scream.
John squeezed my hand again, but his touch no longer felt warm.
The car stopped. He placed a cold arm around my shoulder. With his mouth close to my neck, his words ran a chill down my spine. “We’re here.”
I shivered and opened my eyes to the empty seats around me.