Subject Me To Love [Book Two]

Chapter Forty-Nine

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Short and sweet this one :)

Chapter 49– It's catastrophic:

I don't attend the funeral. I can't. It's not my place. It's for his friends and his family, the people that know— knew— him; that cared for him.

I don't attend because I already had my chance to say goodbye. These people didn't. So I let them have their moment without me there. I'm sure I wouldn't be appreciated, anyway. It's not like we were real friends.

Therefore, instead of tainting the ceremony with my hate, my anger, my bitterness, I wait outside, leaning against the walls of the church, listening in silence to the cries that come from inside the old building with a heavy weight on my chest. My eyes close as I hear people begin to speak about Zeke; the person he was and the life he lived. The memories they shared and all the stories he was apart of.

There's a word for it. Bittersweet. I never really understood it before now, I thought it was a strange word that didn't have a real meaning; didn't fit a real situation. But I guess that's another thing I've been wrong about.

"Kody!"

"What do you want, you insufferable human."

"We won!"

"Good for you, I don't care."

"Why didn't you come? Where are you?"

"I told you, I didn't want to come."

"Oh... well maybe the next one, yeah?"

"Whatever. Don't call again, okay?"

"Goodbye, Kody."

The air is icy, I can feel it on my face. It whistles as it soars through the tree branches around the graveyard. I fold my arms as I cross my chest, my head spinning, my heart racing.

"You have a beautiful smile."

"You're a terrible liar."

"I'm not. Lying, I mean. You really do have a pretty smile."

"You have a pretty smile, too."

The rain comes suddenly. It's soft at first, but it gets heavier and heavier as the seconds pass. It hits the ground with a harsh slap and wets everything it touches.

I can feel the cold, but I don't feel cold.

"If you could be anything in the world, what would it be?"

"Away from you."

"Well, Kody, that's not very nice."

"Well, Zeke, I'm not very nice."

I don't hear the words they speak about him, but I know whatever they say will be good. Not just because that's the unspoken rule of funerals— only speak kindly of the dead— but because there isn't anything bad you could say about Zeke.

But I doubt they know who he really was.

Nobody ever noticed Zeke the way he should've been noticed. Nobody cared as much as they should have cared. Nobody appreciated him they way he should've been appreciated. Until it was too late.