Chapter 135 Chapter 135 Funeral
Silence falls as I enter the church.
A sea of black stretches out in front of me.
The weight of it presses in, suffocating, heavy with grief that hasn’t settled yet—grief that probably never will.
A hand lands gently on my shoulder, stopping me mid-step.
I turn my head.
Ivan.
He doesn’t say anything. He just pulls a handkerchief from his suit pocket and holds it out to me.
I take it.
Our fingers don’t touch.
I turn back toward the aisle and move forward while he hangs back, leaning against the wall near the door, keeping his distance like he always does now.
I walk slowly, carefully, like I might fall apart if I move too fast.
I feel the stares.
Of course I do.
This fucking dress.
He asked me to wear it, so I am.
Black silk, wrapped tight around my body. The loose ruffles at the edges shift with every step. The neckline dips low enough to make a statement—my chest on display in a way that feels wrong for a funeral, but right for him.
Because it’s what he wanted.
Black spiked heels click softly against the floor. Oversized sunglasses shield my eyes. My hair falls down my back, smooth, glossy—like I haven’t spent the last two weeks in bed, crying, barely eating, barely functioning.
Like I’m not breaking apart inside.
His parents see me.
Their eyes are red, swollen, hollowed out by loss—but they still manage soft smiles.
I don’t know how.
I move to my seat and sit beside Tish. She reaches for my hand immediately, squeezing it tight like she’s trying to hold me together.
I let her. All our friends in the first three rows. His coworkers, more family, classmates. Everyone he has ever touched, even his ex Kate. The one that left him, when he got sick.
A few moments pass before the priest steps forward, beginning the prayer. His voice echoes through the space, steady, practiced.
I don’t hear a word of it.
My eyes stay locked on the casket at the altar.
Black.
Covered in white roses.
Nick hated roses.
Hated them.
Of course they chose roses.
Then—
A shift.
The priest announces that Nick will be delivering his own eulogy.
A video.
A quiet murmur ripples through the room as a screen lowers from above. The projector hums to life.
And then—
There he is.
Alive.
Smiling.
Like nothing ever touched him.
The breath leaves my body.
Nick sits on the screen, relaxed, comfortable, like he’s just talking to us from his room. He goes through a list—names, faces, stories. He talks about everyone. Shares memories. Laughs at things only he would find funny.
Gives advice.
Too much wisdom for someone his age.
The room reacts—soft laughter, quiet crying.
Then the screen cuts to black.
My stomach drops.
He forgot me?
The screen flickers back on.
“Mi amor,” he says, smiling. “Did you think I forgot you?”
A soft laugh escapes him.
“Thank you for keeping me alive these last months.” His hand presses against his chest.
I know exactly what he means.
I remember this.
His room.
The camera shifts slightly as there’s a knock on the door. He turns.
It’s me.
Wearing this damn dress.
“Food is ready. You need to eat. Your mother said—” I start, but he cuts me off.
“You sound like my mother. Stop!” he laughs.
God, I miss that laugh.
Then, just like that, he changes the subject.
“What are you wearing?” he asks, not really asking. His hands gesture in front of his chest, exaggerated, and the room starts laughing.
“Your tits look great,” he adds, leaning back so I’m fully in frame. “Wear that to my funeral.”
“Nick.”
“Don’t ‘Nick’ me. You are perfect. Those should be on display at all times.” he adjust himself.
No, not on camera. Our friends all laugh. Vince grabs my shoulder from behind me.
“They look so much better out of the dress,” I say, starting to untie it.
My face burns as I sit there now, reliving it in front of everyone.
He turns toward the camera, smiling, his hand moving to cover most of the lens. I’m pulled into his arms, settling between his legs.
“What are you recording?” I ask.
“Nothing,” he says.
His hand drops, and I’m visible again, still mostly covered. I quickly adjust my dress and lean toward the camera.
“To be continued,” I say.
The video cuts.
The room erupts—laughter tangled with tears, people wiping their faces, shaking their heads.
Nick comes back on screen, apologizing to his mom in Spanish. Then he sighs, shaking his head.
“You look so good, baby,” he says softly, his hand over his heart.
My chest tightens.
“I’ll be seeing you all soon,” he adds with a wink.
The screen goes dark—
Then flickers back again.
His laughter fills the room.
“One more!”
Nick leans in closer this time.
Colder.
Serious.
“You asshole,” he says. “Yeah, you. The back of the room, leaning on the wall.”
A pause.
Some people turn to look.
I don’t.
I already know.
Ivan.
“If you hurt her again,” Nick continues, his voice sharp now, “I will fucking haunt you.”
Then—
That grin.
That same stupid, perfect grin.
“Go put me in the ground. I’m getting cold.”
The screen goes black.
And it’s over.
In true Nick fashion, just like he always did—he made everyone laugh, even now.
Even here.
The room feels lighter.
Not by much.
But enough.
I glance over at his parents.
They’re smiling through their tears.
One by one, we file out of the church.
The sun hits harder outside, too bright, too real. We move together toward a shaded area beneath a large oak tree. It’s quiet again, heavy in a different way.
This is where his family is buried.
This is where he’ll rest.
Near his uncle.
His coffin is lowered carefully into the ground.
The finality of it settles in deep.
A headstone already stands, clean and new, waiting.
People step forward, one by one, tossing handfuls of dirt into the grave.
A soft, hollow sound with each drop.
Then they start to leave.
Slowly.
Quietly.
Until it’s just me.
I stand there, looking down.
At the space where he is.
Gone.
“Take me with you,” I whisper.
My voice barely exists.
“See you soon.”