Cassidy I'm not sure why I'm acting so ungrateful when all I want to do is walk around London, see every sight it has to offer and revel in being somewhere other than my flat or work. I've lived in the UK all my life, but we have never travelled to the capital. I was born and raised on a farm, covered in shit, mucking out the animals. I lived and breathed manure, livestock, and kill pens. It wasn't until Derek's death that I decided to leave Yorkshire and my parents. I always dreamed big and wanted out of the life I was born into, yet I never dared to chase my dreams. I still lack the courage; the only reason I find myself here is the need to run when I was drowning in uncertainty. I started a new life only because I couldn't face those that I left behind. And I haven't looked back once and haven't been home since. Not even around the holidays. Sebastian walks beside me as we walk through the streets of London from the hotel. It doesn't take long to find the notorious streets
"For your daughter?" She asks, pointing her pen between us. I expect Sebastian to decline such a thing, but he nods silently. "I hope your daughter enjoys the doll," she bids us farewell. "Thank you," he nods to her, guiding us out of her small shop. "You hungry?" He asks, looking around the small road. I study him, his Adam Apple bobbing as he swallows. His cheeks are a little flushed... His eyes on me, watching me watch him. My gaze drops to his lips, curled up in a smile as he beams back at me. "A little," I admit. "Let's go in there. If I remember correctly, the croissants are to die for and the coffee just as much." "Okay," I nod. "Always so amenable," he remarks, the word his father described me with on more than one occasion. Taking us across the road after a cyclist goes past. "Would you like me to refuse?" "No, no, I wouldn't, Cassidy." "Cassy," I correct him, hating to hear my full name when I've never been known as that. "Have I redeemed myself enough to give
Sebastian** You never know the value of a moment**There's something about dressing in a tux.The soft material clings in all the right places because it was made solely for you to move in.The charcoal grey suits me, or so Bethany once said. Memories flood, depicting a life entirely of me adorning such a suit at every avenue I stepped into. My first tux was prom, year eleven. Ten whole years ago, when I was merely a sixteen-year-old boy that goofed around doing kid shit whilst hoping for the best with my grades. I had no plan, no desires, living each day as if it were my last. My mates and I were already half wasted; we'd been drinking before our Hummer limo pick-up, of which we would accompany each other to collect the girls of our friend group in high school.Back then, things were all fun and games.The second time I wore a tux was my very first meeting with the big boys.Luckily for me, I fell out of college into work as I started working for my father's company, and things
SebastianI stand mortified as the funeral director and his assistant place us where they need us whilst their staff bring the casket up and onto our shoulders.I'm right at the front with Geoff, leading the others as we take Bethany up the slope that leads through the church doors.The funeral march has begun, and I can't help but feel that strange and peculiar lump sitting right at the base of my throat that feels almost as if my oesophagus has soda bubbling up from my insides.It's the need to cry, I presume, and it is thick, yet I push it aside, begging myself not to allow the emotion to take hold of me.One foot in front of the other, Seb. Walk your wife down the aisle once more, just as she wished. You can do this...Positive self-talk, isn't that what Bethany called such musings to one's self?The church is full of people, our people.Friends, family, and even colleagues.At the very back, acquaintances that we've met over the years that have chosen to attend Bethany's farewe
Sebastian"My love," Beth's voice brazenly makes me question my sanity as I wash my hands in the basin in our private en-suite.My eyes implore me to gaze up, but I wish I hadn't followed the silent command as my eyes meet hers over my shoulder in the mirror."What the fuck?" I question myself with dismay. My voice is distraught with forbidden emotion and panic. "You've done so well today," she tells me, her eyes shrouded in unhappiness as she steps closer behind me. A strange heat coursed through me as if she were truly my beacon of light and heat once more.I close my eyes, imploring my mind to stop with this charade, but she's still there when my eyes open.She's right beside me now, her beautiful hair flowing as usual, her features as breathtaking as the day my eyes first landed on her."What's happening?" I ask with disbelief, my tone evidently confused and upset. "Unfinished business, I presume," she shrugs, reaching for the mirror before us, her hand print making itself known
SebastianThe days after the funeral are a blur of heavy drinking whilst succumbing to the emotions I had bottled up until that very moment I watched the dirt cover Bethany's casket.I'm sure those images are burned to my retinas just as much as her final night... our last night. "Seb," she had hushed to me as I succumbed to the sleep that begged me to fall under its spell. The days were long and the nights even harder. She was in so much pain that I swore her moaning was a regular part of life by then."Yes, darling. Do you need painkillers or water?" I had asked, sobered that she was cold to the touch, her fingers a pale hue compared to usual pink. Perhaps it should have been then that I picked up that things were deteriorating before my very eyes, but I had been blind to the very things in front of me. "Make love to me?" She asked, her fingers running through my hair as her hand shook with the effort. "You're in too much pain," I had brushed her request off, but she pushed just
Sebastian I wake sometime late into the afternoon, inebriated with the world's worst headache spreading like piss across the marble floor. Christ, why did I drink so much? It's not like I drink that often, but my emotions are thick and constant, and I guess that perhaps I needed an outlet. I'm lost, not that that is any excuse to stoop so low, leaving Melody to her grandparents because I'm far too gone to string a sentence together. Whilst I'm blind like that, I can pretend she isn't gone; I can glaze over the last three weeks of horror... yes, that's why I drank. To block everything out, if only temporarily. If only to be given a reprieve from my new reality. It's time to get up, Seb. Time to be the man you promised her you would be!That's easier said than done, though. I start with a shower, sobering myself below the stream of water that does nothing for me. Probably only rinsing the stench of alcohol from my skin as the toothpaste does my breath. And as I shut off the water
'Grief never ends, but it changes. It's a passage, not a place to stay. Grief is not a sign of weakness, nor a lack of faith. It is the price of love.'Sebastian Tears stain my eyes at Melody's letter, yet I cannot help but turn my attention to the one addressed to myself like an eager Beaver in the moving lake. Yet I know I need to sit down now, moving through to the bedroom to sit on the bed as I rip open my letter eagerly with shaken hands. Dearest Husband,Sebastian.Seb...I'm writing this whilst you sleep with Melody tucked against your chest. The pair of you both open-mouthed and snoring softly.Our daughter takes after you, through and through. She truly is a daddy's little girl. I cannot fathom that once I never dreamed of this life you have given me, that I detested the thought of birthing Melody. You gave my life a sense of hope, a sense of adventure and a sense of need. I don't doubt you will remember the day and the events leading up to the day that changed your l