Chapter forty-nine – I Wish

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-December 7, 1987-

As I look out the living room window silently, I feel Michael adjusting my hair at the back; untucking it from my black dress. My eyes are fixed on the tree outside the house; its branches are bare now, and the leaves have fallen as a result of the cold winter weather. There's a certain chill within the room, despite there being heat radiated around the house.

"There you go," Michael speaks to me, his voice quiet. "Turn around for me."

My head turns at first, but before my eyes meet his, the rest of my body rotates to face his. "How do I look?"

A soft, mellow smile becomes evident on his lips, as he gently takes my hand and kisses my knuckles. "Like your father's little princess."

"That was my aim," I comment in response, returning a melancholy smile. For a moment, I scan my eyes up and down his body, taking in his attire; from his black slacks, to his polished loafers; from his neat-yet-casual light blue shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, to his ebony curls which are pulled back into a ponytail. "And you look lovely, too. You didn't need to make an effort."

"Of course I'm going to make an effort. This is the day you lay your father to rest." His fingers reach up, tilting my head upwards by my chin. "And today is all about you. Not me. You. So don't even mention me or my family. It's your day, today." He raises his brows, the serious expression not leaving his gorgeous features. "You got that?"

I'm in no mood to argue, so I nod as soon as he says it. "I got that." My eyes then avert downwards, as I reach into my over-the-shoulder purse, bringing out a neck chain holding a little capsule. "And I need to get a hold of some of dad's ashes for this necklace. I want to keep a part of him with me forever."

"It'll happen," Michael assures me. He then opens his hand up. "Pass me it. I'll put it on for you for safe keeping."

"Good idea." Once I've handed him the chain, I turn myself around and shift my hair to my front. He places it around my neck, doing it up before moving my hair back to its original spot. "Thank you," I mutter to show gratitude.

"It's fine. And just remember – we're all here for you today. All of us." He then pauses a moment, shaking his head. "I mean, not that there's many of us ... but you know what I mean."

"I know." To give him the benefit of the doubt, I give a small closed-mouth smile. Once I've said this, I move my attention to the clock on the wall. "It's getting close to 12:00pm, now. Perhaps we should start going to the cemetery."

"Alright," he answers, taking my hand in his. "Clover and Reiss will already be there by the time we arrive, I should think." Before he walks any further, he faces opposite me once more, and laces his fingers with mine. "Citria, never forget I love you. Okay? Because I really do, with all my heart."

"I know you do." Another smile appears on my face, as I nod my head to show him I'm aware. "And I love you, too."

"Buuut, you don't understand," he continues. "I really, really love you."

A tiny chuckle sounds from me. "And I really, really love you back," I say through my giggles.

He smirks faintly, which dissolves into a light grin as he purposely towers above me, pressing his body against mine. "Buuut, you don't understand," he repeats. "I really, absolutely, positively adore you with every fibre of my being."

"My God," I snicker. "And I absolutely, positively, whatever-else-you-said-ly adore you as well!" By now, I'm laughing uncontrollably at his cute – but otherwise cheesy – display of verbal affection.

"You have such a cute laugh," he comments. "But you don't understand," he repeats once more. His tone then relaxes, and he looks down on me with a loving, non-intimidating gaze. "I'm in love with you, Citria."

My laughter subsides, replaced with a small, loose grin. "Well, aren't you the cute one?" I question rhetorically. "I'm in love with you too, you silly little thing."

His smirk returns, as he tucks a lock of my hair back behind my ear. "I'm glad I made you smile today, Angel. I didn't want to see you sad all day." He then presses his lips to mine in a kiss, allowing his fingers to run through my hair, to soothe me. Upon pulling away, he checks his wristwatch. "But now, my love, we must be getting to the cemetery."

"Yes," I answer, following him out the house.

*  *  *

"Thank you for coming, you guys," I say gratefully to Clover and Reiss, bringing them both into a hug individually. "It really means a lot."

"Hey, don't mention it. After all, it's my uncle." Clover gives a sympathetic smile, rubbing my forearms with her hands comfortingly. "My uncle is very important to me."

"I know ... but I'm still grateful," I assure her.

She nods silently in response, her smile still going strong. She briefly converses with Michael, whilst I turn my attention to Reiss. He's neatly dressed in a black shirt which is tucked in, and which has the sleeves rolled up like Michael's; as well as black pants. Clover is wearing a knee-length black dress, like I am. It's so wonderful seeing that all four of us have made an effort to look nice for my father. It's the least he's owed for the love and support he's given me through his life.

"So ... how are you feeling, Reiss?" I ask quietly, as Clover and Michael talk separately.

He shrugs a little, seemingly casual. "I don't know. I guess I'm feeling ... okay. But it's an emotional day, so I doubt it'll last."

"That's ... that's true," I agree, before moving my head closer to his face, to examine his cheek. "That cut is still there. It looks super serious."

"Like I said, I got it from falling over on my way home from the grocery store," he answers adamantly. "I'm just waiting for it to heal over so that everyone quits complaining about it, you know?"

"We're just worried, that's all," I tell him. "It's not to annoy you."

He nods, giving the impression he understands. "Yeah ... I know. But you have to realise, there are much bigger things in life to worry about than the little cut on my face. Honestly." He flashes a reassuring smile, which also works to brush the subject off. "More importantly ... how are you?"

A small sigh comes from myself. "Well ... I'm doing okay, I guess. I mean, it's the second time going through this, just this year. Mom's death was probably the opening act to 1987, and dad's was the grande finale."

"I know, kid ... I know. This year hasn't really been great for any of us, has it?" Reiss questions rhetorically. "Everybody lost someone they love."

"They sure did ... " A small chuckle passes my lips, to try and make light of the situation. In reality, though, I'm fighting back tears. "But, you know, it's probably to test us ... "

"They tested us enough already," he states, almost sounding angry at this notion. "Everything will be better once 1988 comes, I hope."

"Yeah; I hope so too." Michael obviously overhears our conversation, and pitches in. "But before the new year, we have Christmas. I want to celebrate it in honour of everyone who can't. For 'absent' friends and family."

"Me too," Clover adds. "I think it'll be a nice way to end the year."

"Yeah," Reiss smiles.

"We could all come to my place," I conclude, nodding in agreement with everyone else. "So, Christmas at mine this year?"

Reiss and Clover nod in approval, whilst Michael answers with a little, "Yeah". I think it'll be nice to celebrate Christmas; the four of us. After all, it's supposed to be one of the most magical days of the year, and celebrating on our own would be kind of pointless.

Having decided, we stand and wait for the priest, who arrives around ten minutes later.

"Hello, Miss Espinosa," she greets sweetly, turning her head to see Michael. "Mr Jackson. I'm really sorry to be seeing you both again, after only a couple of months."

"It's not your fault," I answer, forcing a smile. "Last time was for Michael. This time it's for myself."

"I see. I'm very sorry for your loss," she apologises sincerely, placing a hand on her chest. "My condolences."

"It's okay," I respond. "But, um ... I have one little request. Uh, would it be possible to have a small amount of the ashes for my necklace?" My hand reaches inside the bust of my dress, and I pull out the little pendant which holds the capsule. "I-I'd like a little part of my dad with me forever, if it's not too much trouble."

The priest shakes her head firmly. "Of course it's not too much trouble. We can get that done for you right now, if you'd like."

"Please." She walks off to the building close by, so I follow after her.

* * *

My fingers wrap around the capsule, which now contains some of father's ashes. Now it's been done, I feel a sense of completeness. It sounds strange, but I feel a little less alone than I did before; because I know that as long as I'm wearing the necklace, I'll always have my father with me, in a sense.

"Citria, would you like to say a few words?" the priest offers quietly, setting the little pot of ashes beside the plot it's set to be put in.

"I'll say a few now," I tell her. "But I'd like to speak after he's been buried. You know ... alone."

"Not a problem." She stands up from her kneeling position on the ground, and clasps her hands together in front of her stomach.

"Okay." Before I say another word, my eyes scan my surroundings, at all the sympathetic faces which gaze back at me. Michael was right – today is all about me and my feelings. But now I see everyone watching me, I realise that they're feeling the loss, too. The expressions say it all. My head turns back around, and my eyes avert downwards to the pot of ashes. "I hope you're doing okay in Heaven, dad. I miss you, and I love you. This isn't goodbye. It'll never be goodbye. It's simply "I'll see you later"."

"Lovely words," the priest says, giving me a closed-mouth smile. She then bends down, and lifts the pot gently into her hand. She crosses herself, before placing it carefully into the plot, and covering it with a large stone tile. My heart becomes a little heavier when I see this, and tears fill my eyes.

In the cold winter breeze, I feel Michael's warmth around me. He approaches me from behind, resting his arms against mine, and his large hands against my wrists. He rubs gently, to comfort me. As I rotate to look at him, I see his curls flying freely on the air; his baby strands fall messily over his face as a result of it.

"We can give you some time alone, if you like," he mutters to me, his face next to mine. He then presses his lips to my temple, kissing softly to show support. He then moves away, and I hear him talk to Clover and Reiss. "Come on; let's go to everyone else's special area."

Their speech becomes quieter as they walk away from me, until it's dead silent. The priest has gone, too. It's just me ... and dad. To create more of a connection between me and him, I kneel down before the plot he's been buried in, and I just stare at it, unsure on how to feel.

"Why did you leave me?" I ask to him, knowing he'll never be able to answer me. "Why did you go?" The pain in my heart increases as I carry on. "I wish I was there to save you from Marco. It's something I'll regret ... for the rest of my life. I wish I got there in time, and ... I wish I'd managed to get all the drugs from your system before it was too late." Tears cluster together in my eyes, blurring my vision, and my voice breaks a little. "I wish—" My voice gives out completely from the grief, and tears run down my face quickly. My face contorts in emotional agony, and I feel my lips tremble uncontrollably. "—I wish you were still here with me!"

My body bends over; my hands hit the ground so I'm on all-fours. My right hand balls up into a fist, and I hit it harshly against the stone tile which covers my father. "Mother Nature, I hate you! You hear me? I hate you!" I force myself up, sitting cross-legged in front of the tile once again. My head buries itself into my hands, and my fingers violently run through my hair in frustration.

I have no idea what I did to deserve this. I have no idea what any of us did to deserve any of this. I just don't understand why life feels the need to be so cruel to us. The best people are hurt, whilst the worst are allowed to walk around freely and happily, with not a care in the world. It makes me sick.

* * *

I'm not sure how long it's been since my emotional outburst, but I'm calmer now. It feels as if I've been sat here forever, but I don't want to leave. Not yet, at least. My heart just can't seem to let go of him, even if I know I can come see him any time I choose. It's beginning to get a little darker, so I must have been here at least three hours; being winter, it tends to get darker in the afternoon, rather than the evening.

It's entirely silent, though. The only sounds audible are the tweeting of the birds in the trees, the rustling of the leaves as the breeze hits them, and my breathing. It's getting colder, too. A lot colder than it was this morning.

"Angel?"

My head turns, and I look over my shoulder to find Michael stood over me. He takes a spot next to me, sitting cross-legged like I'm doing. He removes his jacket, spreading it across me – leaving him exposed to the cold air.

"I don't want to leave, Michael," I admit to him sadly, already feeling tears in my eyes from the thought of actually going.

"I know." He says nothing else, and simply coils his arms around me.

"Where are Clover and Reiss?" Briefly, my eyes search the cemetery for them – but to no avail.

"They went home. We went to visit my family's graves, and then they told me they were leaving. I've been sat over there on the bench for the past couple hours," he explains. "I kept an eye on you, to make sure you were okay. I wanted to give you some time to yourself; I thought coming over would make you feel a little ... suffocated with attention, you know?"

"Thank you," I reply hoarsely, no emphasis whatsoever in either word.

"Don't thank me." He pauses a moment, only embracing me. He leans his head against mine. "Sweetheart, you're shivering."

"It's kind of how I'm feeling in my heart, too." A weak smile at my own analogy forms on my face.

"We need to get you home," he decides, standing himself up from his spot. "Come on, Citria. I don't want you to get too cold."

Realising he's right, I heave a sigh of extreme grief, standing myself up, too. I take one final glance at the stone tile, blowing a kiss to it, before taking Michael's hand. As we leave the cemetery, I feel something cold touch upon the skin of my hands and face. Michael and I both look up at the same time, to find an infinite number of white flakes pattering down to the ground.

"Michael, it's snowing," I gasp, feeling that it's a sign from dad that he's doing okay.

"So it is," he replies, chuckling softly. Once we're out of the cemetery grounds, Michael stops me once again. "You know it's him, telling you he's here ... right?"

"You mean, my dad?" I question in a murmur.

He nods a little, momentarily caressing my cheek. "Of course. The snow is his way of showing you he's here with you. It's letting you know he got his angel wings." By now, the snow has settled gracefully on his soft curls, shoulders and shoes, as well as being dotted here and there on his clothing.

A closed-mouth smile touches upon my lips, as I look up at him. "You're the sweetest," I comment, entering his embrace. "I love you, Michael. Thank you for always having the right thing to say."

He rests his hands against my back, squeezing me tightly. "Don't thank me. And don't forget, I love you too."

He pulls away from me, before pressing his lips against mine lovingly.

And as our surroundings are frosted with gorgeous, sparkling white flakes, he kisses me.

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Spontaneous update yay!
Fun fact: it took me about ten minutes just to figure out how to word the last line. xD
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! :)