The rain, ever symbolic, beat down upon the earth and stone below. It'd almost be picturesque, Kate mused, were it not for the lack of monochrome umbrellas. The forecast had lied to today's funeral attendees, and so hastily gathered hooded sweatshirts or the spare neon umbrella from one's car simply had to do. Kate didn't even bother- her short hair soaked thoroughly from the downpour. It felt appropriate.

A man who'd never met Sara preached on about her holiness, or faith, or goodwill. Anything to make her dad's side of the family happy, Kate supposed. Eventually, the man in black wound down his recycled speech and the empty wooden box was put in the ground. Kate almost wanted to roll her eyes. Sara'd said that she wanted her organs donated and what was left cremated, but her dad was insistent on a burial. They just put the ashes in the full coffin and called it a day. Most of them, anyway. Kate's fingers curled a little tighter around the vial in her right pants pocket.

The house sat quiet with what must have been the funeral equivalent of the afterparty. People Kate barely knew walked softly and spoke even softer, as though raising their voices would in turn raise the dead. Kate sat silently in the corner, almost invisible to the home's inhabitants, or so she thought. A shrill voice ripped her from that notion.

Number one. That one was a bust. She should've known Caroline would approach first. She'd set her hopes too high. Number two. She didn't think she could break that one if she tried. Too much happening. Number three. She couldn't. She knew she couldn't, not now, but the allure was nearly magnetic. It was as though her fingers were lined with metal, the phone pulling them along the buttons, navigating to messages. It took everything not to fling the tiny flip-phone into the street, seemingly the only way not to read.

It was time for a compromise, Kate reasoned with herself. She could read the texts again so long as she refused to cry. One out of three wasn't too bad.

Kate paused for just a moment to take a ragged, deep breath. She'd been depriving her lungs. Sighing, she grabbed the plastic bottle lodged in her messenger bag and took a swig of old water mixed with a few drops of vodka.

Her hair was nearly dripping again, the winds pulling the droplets right against her for a little too long. She barely noticed.

The front door opened. Its creak tore Kate back to the present, a canary's song announcing the arrival of Mr. Raphael Miller himself. Kate merely nodded in acknowledgement. Raphael simply grunted and pulled out a cigarette.

If there was one thing Kate could respect about Sara's father, it was his disposition towards silence. Between them there was only the smell of tobacco and mildew.

Kate glanced back at her phone for just a moment, before returning it to her pocket. With a hefty sigh, she pulled herself from the rail and walked down the creaky steps towards the street.

She took one last look at the Miller place before getting in the car and driving home in silence.

The roads are empty for a Sunday evening. Kate considers her options.

A drawbridge raises itself, one last barrier to rest back at home.

It lowers, and Kate drives home. It was never all that far.

Were it a normal day, Kate would linger in the driveway, texting or listening to music. Today, she doesn't hesitate before pulling the keys from the ignition and heading up the flights of stairs.

Kate fumbles with the keys for just a moment before heading inside.

She kicks off her shoes and leaves her coat on the carpet.

She falls onto her bed.

She knocks the half-full pill bottle onto the floor with a stray arm, along with the remaining contents of her nightstand.

Kate falls asleep with the knowledge that she'll have to wake up the next morning, and many mornings after.

She's never felt more despised.

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