A few weeks ago:
Today's weather perfectly suited the occasion with its dark grey clouds and strong winds. The sea of people wearing black and giving their condolences to John, their step-father, was almost all Francis could see.
She didn't like their fake words of condolence.
She didn't like them.
She didn't like this situation.
She didn't like John.
So the late teen did all she could do. The girl tuned out her surroundings and focused on her sister. Samantha had taken after their father. Straight, long brown hair framed her dark brown eyes in the form of a up-braided fishtail braid. Sam's small arms held her waist in a death-like grip, like if she were to let go her older sister would dissappear. Her silent tears wet her own uncomfortable dress.
The soft cloth of Sam's dress slightly tickled her arms, matching black shoes almost rubbing her own as her sister's legs visibly started getting tired.
She needed her and Francis would do anything to be there for her. The taste that came with the realization that she wouldn't be able to do just that tasted bitter. So, so bitter.
John was sending her away to finish her finals for her last year of high school. He had something to do with it. Her mother's death.
Everything in her gut was telling her to take Sam and run.
To not trust him.
And Francis O'Neal trusted her gut.
The cop that had come to inform them of her passing said that she'd died in a house fire. That her mother had accidently left the stove on and the curtains must've caught fire.
That it was an accident.
It made no sense.
The night before her mother had called them while Francis drove to a sleepover where she would be supervising Sam to tell them that she had just gotten home and let them know she had bought take outs.
They had even teased her about her terrible cooking.
So why would a woman who just came home from work with take outs decide to make food and then never even start making it?
Where was that logic?
Sam would now be living with a man she believes murdered her mother and she could do nothing about it. He was now their legal guardian.
She would never forgive herself if anything happened to her little sister.
Both the burial and the goodbyes had gone faster than she had expected. "Don't leave me! Please!" Sam had been begging with the same four words repeatedly.
Fran's stomach churned at the look on Sam's distraught and teary face.
She had wanted to do just that.
Scoop her up, take her into the unfamiliar house and start making dinner as her little sister told her about whatever she had wanted to.
But she could only bite back tears with a shaky smile and promise she would regularly try to visit and that she wasn't leaving for good.
The older teenager sneaked a glance at the lanky older man. His bushy brows and tilted lips with his glary blue eyes had formed a frowning, impatient facial expression.
Oily blonde hair occasionally blowing into his eyes like theirs had because of the wind. "Enough!"
She bit her lip to stop from biting his head off.
Now was not the time.
Francis let go reluctantly, and hurried to her car. Because she knew that if she stayed even a second longer, she would do something more regretful than letting go.