Page 8 of Uprising

Much, much worse.

We reach the chapel and it feels like some sick reversal of when Paris died and we held his funeral. It’s hard to believe that was almost six months ago. It’s hard to believe that at the time I thought that was my absolution. My chance of escape.

The car comes to a stop.

Someone opens the door and Darius gets out before walking around, and ever the gentleman in public, he holds his hand for me to take.

I’m quick to do it, quick to get out, and the cameras are even quicker to snap a photo of the new golden couple.

I’m wearing a birdcage veil. I had to wear something. I had to conceal my face in case my grief broke through because how could I justify why a Capulet was crying over the death of a Montague?

Darius leads me inside. My heels click on the stone floor as we walk past all the onlookers and down the aisle, right to the front, to where seats are reserved for him as the Governor.

I sit down beside him. The only reason I’m here is because I’m his fiancée. Mercifully, my parents are a no show and that at least is something because I think if I saw them, if I saw their fake faces, and their pretending to care I’d lose my shit and scream from the pulpit about what’s really going on.

A murmur goes through the crowd.

I look and my heart sinks. Sofia is walking, with Otto holding her arm. I can see she’s trembling but I can see the gaunt look on her face too.

No doubt everyone thinks it’s from grief but I know it’s got nothing to do with the loss of her brother and it’s all about the monster twice her age that even now is sucking the very life out of her.

She’s wearing a long sleeved dress, it hugs her body, showing how much weight she’s lost in the last two months. But it tells me something else too; that he’s still hurting her, that under that fine fabric she’s covered in bruises, covered in marks from that bastard of a husband.

I drop my eyes. I can’t look at her right now because I think it might send me over the edge.

I feel like I failed her too.

I should have found some way to protect her, to save her for Roman’s sake.

Darius squeezes my hand as if he can sense where my head’s at and I heed the warning of that action.

The service goes by in a blur. I don’t pay attention, I just zone out, trying to focus on my breathing but it’s so hard when the eulogies start and people who barely even interacted with him stand and talk about what a good person he was, like they knew him, like they understood him.

The official story is Roman’s car was crushed by a falling tree killing both him and his friend Benvolio. By all accounts it was a complete accident. Something no one could be blamed for unless you wanted to take it up with god that is.

I’ll admit, if I believed in god, then I would be taking a lot more than just this travesty up with him. I’d want to know how it is that such a man as Darius, such a man as my father is not only clearly pardoned for their sins, but rewarded for them too.

Darius gets up. I watch as he makes his way to stand in front of everyone and as he begins talking my stomach turns.

“Roman Montague.” He begins. “He was the ultimate prodigal son, a man redeemed and returned to us…”

I clench my fists, I do everything I can to maintain my composure.

“…For so many of us we saw the light in him, the good.”

He glances at me and I swear he’s smiling. I swear he’s laughing inside at this moment. Mocking me, mocking all of us.

“…He will forever be remembered as a loving son, a devoted brother, and beacon to those who fall from the path, who lose their way but want to come home.”

My eyes dart to Sofia’s, she’s sobbing so hard it looks like everyone around her doesn’t know how to react. Otto is gripping her hand, acting like he cares, but under the guise I can see that glint that tells me he’s finding this as hysterical as Darius is.

“…He had so much hope, so much potential, he wanted to change the world, to redeem himself and yet his life was cut so tragically short before any of those dreams could come to fruition.”

I wince. I drop my head but then force myself to look at him. I want him to feel it, I want him to realise that this moment here, this is just another piece I will have vengeance for.

I meet his gaze and I’m certain he feels every moment of that glare I give him. I’m certain he feels the full force.

And before I can stop myself my tears are falling. Not just one, not just a few, but my cheeks are wet and it’s all I can do not to sob. I drop my face, stare at my feet hoping nobody sees but most all praying that he doesn’t.

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