Ghost Town.

It's the perfect day for a funeral.

Dark grey clouds looming menacingly; trees devoid of leaves, their limbs twisted and mangled into grotesque and horrifying shapes; a biting chill in the air, cutting through all those standing there; a light rain falling from the sky.

Oh yes, it's the perfect day for a funeral.

Just not for the person whose funeral happened to be on this specific day. That may sound cruel of me, but it is what I believe in. And everyone is entitled to their own opinion.

Jessica doesn't deserve weather like this for the day she was being buried. Nor does she deserve the tears that is falling from my little brother's eyes.

Just like she doesn't deserve to be buried next to Rose.

My gaze moves to the small white headstone in the next plot and I feel my jaw clench as sorrow rises in my chest, but not for Jessica. Never for Jessica.

Davey's hand tightens around my own. I look away from the headstone and squeeze his hand gently. I have to be strong, if only for them.
My mother should be doing this, comforting her youngest child, but she is slouched on a chair, staring off into space with all too familiar glazed eyes.

She can't even be sober for her own daughter's fucking funeral.

I turn away from her, not able to look at the woman who gave me life.

My little brother is stiff next to me, staring at the pile of dirt that will soon cover Jessica's coffin and listening to Father Pete. He's not comfortable here, with all the people staring at us.
I let go of his hand and pull him close, kissing his crown as his hands reach up to clutch my coat.

"It'll be over soon," I tell him softly. Davey just nods sombrely, relaxing slightly against me.

Oliver and Jacob stand behind us like silent protectors. Ollie's arm is wrapped around my shoulders, holding me close and Jacob's hand is warm against against my back, tracing circles in an attempt to calm me.

Father Pete's words are muffled to me, the few bits I can make out are something along the lines of how tragic it was that an innocent life was taken so young.

I could feel my jaw clench and the anger brewing in my stomach.
I want to scream at the top of my lungs; scream about how she wasn't innocent, about how much of a fuck-up she was, about what Jessica did and how she destroyed us.
It's Oliver's arm wrapped around my shoulders and Jacob's hand on my waist that stop me; Davey's small, warm form that calms me.

No, I don't feel sadness that my sister is being buried.
Instead all I feel is relief.

Sweet wonderful relief.