Page 12 of Save Me

Alayna

My eyes feel crusted shut the next morning, the tears having dried in my eyelashes as I fell asleep. Rubbing my hands down my face, I groan at the incessant headache I can feel settled just behind my eyes. It’s going to be a long ass day.

My dreams last night were filled with different versions of Declan’s funeral. It was a compilation of a million different ones, each one more disturbing than the last. The one that freaked me out the most was me walking into his funeral to find it completely empty. When I walked down the aisle between the pews, there was that photo of Dec again right at the end. I slipped past it, my heart pounding as I stepped up to the casket only to find my own face staring back at me. I spun around, trying to figure out what was going on, but I was no longer at the funeral, I was being buried in a deep hole.

Dreams are insights into our minds, but there is no fucking way I’m picking apart what that dream means right now. Glancing at my phone, I release a groan when I see it’s six o’clock in the morning. My alarm isn’t set to go off for another three hours, but I already feel alert which means attempting to fall back asleep is a waste of time.

Swinging my legs out of bed, the scratchy, cold carpet beneath my feet makes me grunt like the sophisticated woman I am. There’s no reason for the weird brown carpet to be this damn cold though. It’s summer for fuck’s sake, that means warmth and sun not cold ass floors. Plus, isn’t it known that carpet is supposed to make things warmer, not colder?

My combat boots sit not far from the bed, so I slip them on and rush to the bathroom to relieve my screaming bladder. The mirror in the bathroom extends so you can conveniently watch yourself as you do your business on the porcelain throne, what a wonderful design.Not.

My eyes are red and puffy from my crying fest last night and my face looks pale despite my olive toned complexion. There’s black smudges around my eyes as well as on the side of my nose from my makeup that I never took off.Waterproof, my ass.

After washing my hands, I scrub my face with water and a washcloth to make myself look less like an extra fromMad Maxand more like me. My hair also happens to look like a bird took up residence in my bun, the tossing and turning from my dreams really did a number on it. Staring at my reflection, I sigh in defeat at the sight I see. I just look like the lost, broken girl I’ve fought so hard to move away from.

Dropping my head into my hands, I search for that inner strength that Melinda always said I have. It’s nowhere I can see, just like it always has been. I’ve been faking the badass, take-no-shit woman for so long, but that’s all it’s ever been, a ruse. Fake it until you make it and all that shit. The problem is, I don’t know that I’ll ever not be this broken person. My body is a wasteland of pain, self-loathing, and bitterness. Strength is just the thing I make everyone else think I have.

Walking away from the person in the mirror, I head back to the bed to check my phone again. The paper with Rhys’ phone number on it falls out of the case on my phone when I unplug it from the charger. The stupid thing is so destroyed, I really should be getting a new one.

The number lays on the ground in front of me, it’s presence seems to scream at me. My hands shake as I pick it up and examine the choppy handwriting from Rhys. Unlocking my phone, I add him to my contacts quickly and type out a message before I chicken out. Part of me wants to run away from his offer to go through Dec’s stuff because I know it’s going to bring me pain. However, a bigger part of me, the logical part, knows that I need this in order to get closure.

Me: Hey, Rhys. It’s Alayna.

Short and sweet, that’s what I’m going for. I really don’t want to come off too needy or demanding with Dec’s friends since they hold what I need. The problem with that though, is I just sent a text at quarter after six in the fucking morning. Reminder to self, remember the damn time when you want to send a text that doesn’t come off badly. This looks like I’m just waiting around waiting for them to let me into his stuff. Not to mention he’s most definitely still sleeping since he has the funeral to attend today.

The funeral. The one thing I wanted to avoid today, except for a little voice in my head telling me I will regret it. Those dreams of his funeral were from that voice, the incessant one that’s growing louder by the second. I said goodbye yesterday, but it still doesn’t feel like I’ve properly said it. With the blunt force of the news yesterday, I don’t feel like I’ve had time to let it settle in to say a true goodbye.

Round and round and round go my thoughts.My mind is a jumble of should I or shouldn’t I’s, the anxiety playing devil’s advocate for both sides. A frustrated screech leaves my lips as I get more and more confused and frustrated.WHAT THE FUCK DO I DO?

Rhys: Hey, Alayna. You’re up early. Did you change your mind about the funeral? You could always come with us if you need to.

Did I change my mind? Fuck if I know.My fingers drum on the sides of my phone as I figure out what the hell I’m going to say. I type and retype an answer fifteen times before I finally make a decision.

Me: Umm, yeah. I think I should go. It’s at 11:00 a.m. right?

Rhys: It is. Same place as the wake. Did you want to come with the three of us?

Me: That’s okay, I’ll meet you there again. But… could I come back to the house with you after? I’d really like to go through Dec’s stuff as soon as possible.

Rhys: Sure thing, Alayna. See you at 11.

Releasing the breath that I was holding through that conversation, I set my phone beside me and stare at the peeling, green wallpaper in front of me. My heart is pounding frantically as it sinks in that I’ve decided to go. I better figure how to get the cleaning stuff back to Juliette and get ready.

Please, let this day give me some closure.

Pulling into the parking lot for the second day in a row, I realize how much I already hate this place. I hate what it represents, I hate the reason I’m here, and I hate the awful smell it has. The decor looks like it hasn’t changed since the 1950’s, all deep mahogany and blood reds. Who thought a colour that reminds people of blood would be a good fucking idea for a funeral home?

Walking through the doors into the heavily air conditioned chapel part of the home, I shiver with a mix of cold chills and dread. The deep brownish red pews line a large aisle with Dec’s face front and center at the end, up on the dais. His casket sits beside it, the same one I cried over yesterday with what I thought was my final goodbye.

Riggs is standing beside it, looking like a lost dog who doesn’t know what to do. He’s a huge dog, like a bull mastiff or something. The guy has to be at least six foot five with the kind of bulk muscle that makes you question whether he’s shredded or might have a slight dad bod. Either way, you can tell he’s built for strength. His blonde hair is styled back and his dark blue eyes look red and puffy.

Considering he’s the only person in here, and one of the only ones I’ll know here, I walk towards him. My heels are muffled by the carpet beneath my feet, but Riggs looks over at me anyway. A small smile graces his face, making him look a little less intimidating than usual. It doesn’t help that even though he’s wearing a full black suit, you can tell he’s covered in tattoos. A beautiful black and grey piece covers his throat, peeking out from beneath his collar.

“You came,” he gruffly whispers as I reach him. “I didn’t think you would.”

“I figured I might as well get as much closure as I can before I head home,” I whisper back, tipping my head back to look at him.

“That’s a good idea.” He nods as he speaks softly, the black plugs in his ears swaying back and forth, catching my eyes.

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