I don’t blame those who’ve taken their own lives.
I can see why they did it. The only thing that’s held me back for so long was leaving behind my parents, who would have been hurt. Even though my mother may not really be hurt, it was more my father I was concerned about.
But now I know the truth.
It’s no longer an issue.
I looked right into his eyes and asked him why the kids were talking about me not being his. And he lied. He hid the truth from me and now that it’s finally free, I want to be as well.
There’s nothing left for me in this house, and in this life. Nobody loves me enough to give me a straight answer. They’re not keeping me safe; they’re only breaking me further. The people who are meant to love me, have lied to me. And I can’t take it anymore.
It’s time.
I flick the bottle cap and empty the contents into my hand.
With tears streaming down my cheeks, I swallow them one by one.
1
FINN
Present Day – Two Years Later
The sky has turned to darkness. I find it fitting actually. As we head closer to Halloween, I know the gala will soon be upon us, planning has already started. Each year, it becomes more elaborate, but this year, my father has something up his sleeve. And that’s why we’re here, standing beside a six-foot deep grave.
The earth smells of rain. The grass is soft underfoot, and the trees are losing their leaves as they flutter to the ground. Heaviness is rank in the air around us, but it’s not because of the weather.
I think back to my childhood, as I get lost in the words of the priest as he speaks. Death comes to us all, some run from it, some seek it. Others wait patiently, and when it arrives, they smile, knowing they’ve fulfilled their lifelong dreams. They’ve ticked off everything on their bucket list. There’s nothing left to do but close their eyes and sleep soundly.
But nobody knows where we go after this. There are religions who tell us about heaven and hell, each recollection slightly different from the other. But the common thread amongst them is that hell is the bad place. And heaven, that’s where you want to end up. It’s bright and sunny; it’s filled with gentle music and angels.
Most people I know won’t end up there though. They have their names already carved in hell’s door, where Cerberus and Hades await them. Their souls forever damned. My mind flicks to my mother, and I wonder if her soul is at rest.
“Our Father,” the deep gravely tone of the pastor interrupts my thoughts, and I finally flick my gaze up. The man is dressed in deep red and crisp white, with his hand hovering in the air, as if he’s trying to bless the coffin as he says the Lord’s prayer.
The corpse doesn’t know what’s going on. Funerals aren’t for the dead; they’re for the living. It’s meant to ensure you’ve said your goodbyes, and then, once you’re done, you lower the casket into the ground and walk away.
Some people may visit, bring flowers, but others, they’ll forget about the rotting dead, the gravestone that may tell the story of who is buried here. But it would be lies. We can’t be sure that those engravings are true. The man may have had an affair, but that won’t be written on the stone forevermore. It will be hidden in the closet like every other family secret.
I take in the procession that slowly starts moving. Men holding onto the shovels, awaiting the order from the priest. People surround the gaping hole all dressed in black. There are tears, sniffles, and the crisp white button-up shirts against the black suits are a stark contrast.
When I’ve taken in each of the mourners, I look up to the charcoal gray skies threaten, rainclouds hang heavily above us.
Pain.
Heartbreak.
Masks.
All these bastards here have masks on, hiding how they truly feel—frustrated, annoyed, perhaps even bored. They show their sadness, but most of them probably didn’t even know the man who we’re here paying our respects to. It’s all for show. The enormous cathedral that looms over us reminds me of a king, overlooking his lands.
The gothic scene makes my chest light, carefree.
Usually, I’m the joker of the three Thorne sons, but my brothers don’t know who I really am. Not through any fault of theirs. I’ve kept to myself, hidden my secrets deep inside. I’m more like my brother Cassian than he likes to believe, or perhaps to admit to himself.
I’m the youngest.
The most immature.
But at twenty-seven, I feel as if I’m all grown up now and I have to be responsible. I’m the same age as Damien—my eldest brother—was when he met Nesrin. It’s been three years since he announced his love for the exotic beauty. They’re happy and far away from the shitshow the next month is about to bring about.