The drive to the funeral service felt endless. The car was dead silent except for the faint hum of the engine and the soft tapping of rain against the windows. Justin sat in the backseat, staring out at nothing. His thoughts were loud, crashing over each other like waves in a storm.
Why did this happen?
What the fuck am I supposed to do now?
They're gone. Both of them. Gone.
He tightened his jaw, his fists clenched on his thighs. He didn't trust himself to speak, not that he had anyone to talk to. The woman beside him—the same one who had helped him earlier—kept glancing his way, her lips twitching like she was about to say something.
But she didn't. She just placed a hand on his back and started tapping, a slow, steady rhythm. It wasn't much, but it grounded him, reminded him he wasn't entirely alone in this hell.
The hearse in front of them carried his parents. That thought alone nearly broke him. "Mom and Dad… they're in there. In those boxes." His chest tightened, and for a second, he thought he might lose it.
But nothing came. No tears. No screams. Just that crushing, hollow emptiness.
They reached the church—massive, a towering monument to faith and hope. Funny how none of that mattered now. Justin followed the procession inside, his legs feeling like lead. The stained glass windows painted the walls in soft, warm colors, but the beauty felt misplaced—almost cruel.
He sat in the front row, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. People got up to speak, their voices cracking with emotion as they shared stories about his parents.
Words like selfless, brilliant, and loving floated through the air, but Justin barely heard them. His mind wandered, memories flashing like scenes from an old movie.
His dad laughing over some dumb joke he'd told at dinner.
His mom nagging him about keeping his room clean.
Both of them sitting on the couch, looking so alive, so real.
And now? Gone. Just like that.
He stared at the floor, wishing he could turn back time, wishing he could've done something—anything—to stop this from happening.
His throat tightened, but he swallowed hard, refusing to cry. Not here. Not anymore!
The burial grounds they proceeded to after the church, were quiet except for the soft squelch of wet grass underfoot. Justin stood stiffly as the coffins were lowered into the ground. The sight of them disappearing beneath the earth hit him like a punch to the gut.
He wanted to look away, but he couldn't.
Guests came forward one by one, their faces painted with the same cocktail of pity and discomfort.
Some held out hands, others leaned in for awkward pats on Justin's shoulder. He didn't move, didn't flinch. His eyes stayed fixed on the graves as if breaking his focus would somehow make this all more real.
The first to approach was an older man, his white hair slicked back and his suit immaculate. He extended a hand that Justin didn't notice. "Justin, your parents were… remarkable people. Truly remarkable. Your father always spoke so highly of you. He—he was proud of you, son."
The woman beside Justin stepped in smoothly, her tone calm and measured. "Thank you, Mr. Clarkson. That means a lot. Justin appreciates your words."
Next came a woman clutching a tissue, her makeup running in streaks down her face. She didn't hesitate to wrap Justin in a tight, slightly suffocating hug. "Oh, sweetheart," she whispered, her voice cracking. "You're so strong. So strong. If you ever need anything—anything—you just call me, okay?"
Justin remained stiff as a statue, his arms hanging limp at his sides. The woman untangled herself and turned her pleading eyes to his silent companion.
"Thank you, Mrs. Simmons," she replied gently, her hand resting on Justin's arm. "We'll keep that in mind."
A couple approached next, their somber expressions not quite masking their discomfort.
The man cleared his throat awkwardly. "Justin, your parents were the kindest people we've ever known. They helped us through so much. If there's anything we can do—well, we're here for you."
"Yes, anything," his wife chimed in, her hands twisting nervously. "They'd want you to know you're not alone."
"Thank you," the woman said for him again, offering a polite nod. "It's good to know he has so much support during this time."
And so it went. Words of comfort, offers of help, and empty reassurances—each one more well-meaning but hollow than the last.
Through it all, Justin remained silent, his face blank and his posture rigid.
No one seemed to mind his lack of response. If anything, it made their pity deepen, their voices soften as they spoke around him, to him, but never with him.
By the time the last guest stepped away, Justin hadn't said a single word.
Then the rain came back.
It started slow, then poured with a vengeance, soaking everyone within seconds. Most of the guests scattered, running to their cars or grabbing umbrellas. But Justin didn't move. He stayed rooted to the spot, his eyes fixed on the freshly turned earth where his parents now rested.
The rain chilled him to the bone, but he didn't care.
The woman hesitated, looking torn. She darted away briefly, but when she returned, she was holding an umbrella. She opened it and stood beside him, her clothes dripping as she shielded them both.
Justin let out a frustrated sigh, yanking at his tie as if it were strangling him. The stupid piece of fabric felt like a noose, and the moment it came loose, he stuffed it into his pocket with a sharp, jerky motion.
He shoved his hands into his pockets, shoulders hunched, his gaze never leaving the graves.
An hour passed. The rain eased into a soft drizzle, as if it had finally grown tired of tormenting him. It fell lighter and lighter until it seemed to hesitate altogether, almost as if pitying the boy who refused to move.
Then, it stopped entirely, leaving the air cool and fresh, but heavy with silence.
Justin blinked, the fog in his mind lifting just enough for reality to creep back in. The absence of the rain felt strange, like the world had paused just for him—offering a moment of quiet that he didn't ask for and wasn't sure he wanted.
"Justin," the woman said gently, her voice breaking through his thoughts. "We should head back. Everyone's waiting, and… the will is next."
He didn't respond right away, his eyes lingering on the graves for a moment longer. Finally, he nodded, his movements slow and heavy.
"Yeah," he muttered. His voice sounded foreign, like it belonged to someone else.
As they walked back to the car, Justin felt the weight of everything pressing down on him again. The graves were behind him now, but they were still there, etched into his mind like scars that would never fade.