I place the make-up brush on my dresser, making sure my make-up is on perfectly. I can finally stand on my own, since my physical therapist helped me on it. However, he did tell me that there would be a slight soreness in my legs that might never go away-and I won't have the same stamina to keep on standing.
Even now, I can feel the muscles in my legs tiring, and I grip my dresser with clenched fists.
Two hours ago, it was my family's wake.
In twenty minutes, it's going to be the funeral.
The limo picks me up about ten minutes later. As I slide in through the back, I grip my clutch. I'm wearing a long black dress with short sleeves, and flats.
Breathe, I chant, breathe.
As we near the cemetery gates, I watch as many photographers show up, their cameras flashing. I glare in their direction; just because my father created a successful record company, and had many important clients, that did not give the paparazzi the right to barge in and ruin everything.
I open my door once the limo stops, and I look for the nearest security guard. I motion for him to come near me, and he does. "Make sure none of the photographers come in, and take their cameras away."
"Yes ma'm." and with that, he leaves.
The sun is shining brightly, the wind gentle and fresh. I close my eyes, and whisper words, not words to mean anything, but just words to control my emotions.
The caskets are all different sizes, and colors. Dad's a long deep red brown color, with white roses, while Mom's is a medium light blue, with red roses. Hadley's is a creamy lavender with yellow daisies. Those were her favorite.
The caskets are being lowered into the holes, and I dirty my hands throwing dirt on them. My mother and father's friends all do the same, crying and throwing dirt in them.
All the while, I feel as though that I'm watching this from afar.
Everyone has left. I'm still standing in front of the freshly dug dirt. The three spots all still, yet I'm waiting for something. I don't know what.
The limo driver is still here though, and I briefly glance at my watch; 7:22. The funeral was at seven.
I'm about to collapse on my knees, and pound the ground, something that I wanted to do since this happened. A hand on my shoulder stops me, and I turn towards the person.
He's wearing sunglasses and a beanie that covers his hair. A red bow tie, and a black button up, with black pants is what he wears, and I notice that he's not wearing his usual high tops, instead black loafers.
"What do you want, Niall?" I ask.
"We just wanted to see if...how you were holding up." he replies, his accent calming to my ears.
He nods, and points at the front of the gates. The other four boy members are coming out of another limo, this one white, and heading towards us.
"Why are you guys here?" I ask.
As they all approach, Niall shifts from foot to foot, looking everywhere but at the three spots.
"Well, we just had an idea, and we did work with your father for a couple of years-"
"If you're looking for money Harry, the answer is no."
He looks baffled, and Zayn barks out a laugh.
"He was trying to ask you if you wanted to come live with us since you don't really have anyone else to be with." Zayn finished.
My lips are dry, and all I can do is stare at them.