Chapter Three-1

With the setting sun caressing my face and the smell of sunflowers wafting up my nose, I continued my way up the steep path and momentarily bitched at my Dad for being situated so far up the hill. "I bet you're loving this, old man," I quietly mused, breathless by all accounts. Note to self; visit the gym. I proceeded to round the corner and upon finally coming in to view of Dad's grave, stopped dead in my tracks. Slumped pathetically against the headstone was none other than Will O'Connor, guitar in hand, humming along to an unrecognisable tune. Majority of his face was covered by a baseball cap and although a clear attempt at a disguise, his efforts were fruitless. That distinguishable body of his was a huge giveaway and don't even get me started on his rubbish stab at subtlety. He was a rock star trying to hide, for goodness sake. You'd think he'd leave the guitar at home. "I don't know if anyone's ever told you but a baseball cap actually draws more attention to the owner," I stated, casually floating towards Dad. The brooding rock star obviously hadn't been expecting me and his sudden need to stand just about confirmed it. He nervously glanced at me, to the headstone, then back to me; all within a two second timeframe. His shaking hands hinted towards his inner turmoil and honestly, I'd never seen a person freak out so much. "I sh-should leave you to it. S-sorry." "Don't leave on my account," I replied, removing the cellophane from Dad's flowers. "I'm just passing through." He looked at me as though I'd grown two heads and truthfully speaking, I wasn't at all surprised. "Okay, that was a lie. I purposely made the trip but seriously, sit down before you fall down," I encouraged, not liking his sudden sway. My reference to him fainting must've knocked some sense into him, for next to happen was his bottom hitting the ground so hard, I almost said ouch myself. He stared at me through uncertain eyes; each once framed with long, dark lashes and casting a light shadow across his cheeks. His hair fell longer than usual and although dark, the nearing sun lit up his natural highlights, proudly so. His pearly white teeth worried that bottom lip out of habit again and if he didn't ease up on it soon, I suspected he'd draw actual blood. "This is my first time coming. I figured I'd go unseen this time of night," he suddenly declared, breaking through the awkward silence. His voice was gruff and took on a rather strained element; something I couldn't imagine being good for his singing career. "Might wanna ditch the guitar. It's kind of a big give away," I replied, offering some sound advice. I took my own seated position at the opposite side of the grave, though made sure to open myself up as far as conversation went. For some reason, I wanted him to think I was approachable. "Good shout," he smiled, caressing his beloved instrument. "How you doing? You okay?" he then asked, genuinely concerned. I busied myself with the flowers. "Fine." Lie. "Could you pass me that, please?" I questioned, gesturing towards the plant holder. "Sure." He obliged, no questions asked. "How about you? You okay?" I continued, returning the polite gesture out of obligation. He stared at me a moment, chewing that bottom lip again. "Are you seriously asking me if I'm okay?" he dumbfounded. "Shouldn't you be hitting me with the plant pot, rather than accepting it from me?" he chuckled, though did so rather weakly. He was nervous. "Maybe I should," I countered, taking a water bottle from my backpack. I emptied its contents into the pot and neatly placed the bright flowers inside. I then set about positioning them in the centre of the headstone and gave my handy work a satisfied nod. "I wouldn't stop you," he offered, rather taking to the idea. An awkward silence settled between us and although desperate to fill it, I resisted temptation. I wasn't sure how I should feel about having Will here but found I wasn't completely opposed to the idea. It was nice knowing someone other than myself, Ben and Zoe visited Dad. "I don't really know what to say to you," he admitted. "I used to fantasise about meeting up with you one day and had this entire speech planned out. I'd tell you how sorry I was and that I'd never forgive myself for what I did. Yet, here you are and I've drawn a complete blank," he explained, throwing some intense eye contact my way. His gaze alone could slice straight through you. "There's no need to apologise. I already know you're sorry," I responded, cowering away from his captivating eyes. I couldn't bear to see the pain present in them. "Still, you must hate me." "I don't even know you," I replied, speaking my mind. Possibly for the first time ever. "But you know what I did," he protested, obviously looking for an excuse as to why I should dislike him. "I hate what you did. There's a difference," I corrected, tweaking a limp flower. Its wilted form came to life as soon as I lifted its neck and once again, I found myself smiling at my work. Too bad I couldn't do the same for Dad. What I would give to see that smiling face once again. "I hate me," he informed, adopting bitterness. "I'm not looking for sympathy, Rosie. I just think you ought to know that," he stated, looking out into the distance. From a mile away, the church bells chimed, signalling seven O'clock's prompt arrival. It was a nice interruption but unfortunately, the distraction didn't last forever. "It doesn't help me," I stated, once all noise had diminished. "Knowing that you hate yourself doesn't bring me my Dad back. It doesn't make getting over him any easier and it certainly doesn't make me feel better," I specified, hoping to get my point across. Housing what looked to be shock, Will succumbed to my explanation, no doubt trying to process my every thought. His forehead creased and with a deep scowl that could only be described as painful, I'd say he was having a hard time wrapping his head around things.