Thirty Eight - Killian

Later that day, sadness and anger washed away from me and was promptly replaced with a type of numbness I could only associate with the death of my mother. Now I associated it with the death of my father as well.

I took a shower and got dressed and slowly brushed my hair, watching the ends curl up again after each stroke through the thick black colored strands.

Eric made me coffee and I drank it slowly, staring at the trees outside the window. The coffee was too hot and I burned my tongue. It began to rain outside again and then stopped twenty minutes later, as if the sky had decided against it.

At one thirty Eric softly suggested I go home.

"The police are going to be there," I said. "I don't want to go and face all of this."

"I know," he said quietly. "But you have to."

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