I stand in front of the closed, dark violet casket as the faded voices of family, friends, and relatives drone on in the background. It is impossible to absorb anything being said as my heart and mind alike refuse to accept what lays silently amongst unneeded cushions behind the hard wooden shell of the casket.

A week and a half ago, the sunshine of my life and older sister—Vanessa—had been found dead, her skull bashed to pieces and scattered over the concrete of the alleyway they'd found her in. The death blow was so bad the mortuary couldn't even repair it enough to have an open casket viewing for her funeral. Which also meant that I wouldn't get to see her once more before her body was lowered into the ground, food for maggots and worms.

I sniff, the tears preparing themselves to follow.

The man who had committed the murder was found kneeling next to her, covered in her blood. Despite swearing up and down that he did not commit the crime, the evidence said otherwise, and he now sits in prison for what would probably be his entire life. But, that matters little to me. Him being behind bars didn't bring her back. At the end of the day, I would return home, long after her casket was lowered, knowing I'd never see my big sister again.

“...lo....Shilo!”

I look up to the sound of my name. My eyes are blurry from the tears threatening to fall, and I have a hard time figuring out who's talking to me.

“Drew,” I murmur, my voice croaking. “You made it.” That, in and of itself, brings a slight smile to my lips.

His deep, brown eyes soften as he embraces me in a hug. “Of course I did,” he speaks softly, his dirty blonde hair forcing my eyes shut. An earthy scent comforts me as I sink into his hug.

“I don't get it,” I say, my voice breaking. “She was so...kind. She didn't deserve to go out that way. She didn't deserve to die at all.”

My sobs are muffled by a thick navy jacket as he holds me close to his chest, his heart thrumming against my tear-soaked cheeks.

“I know, I know. Shhh....” Drew ran his hand through my hair and down my neck in an attempt to comfort me.

“What about you?” I asked, words still muffled by his jacket.

“I'm...hanging in there,” he replied with a strangled voice. After a moment's pause, he spoke up again. “I was going to propose to her, you know.”

The sudden revelation makes me jerk my head up to look at him. It isn't necessarily unexpected, considering I had caught Ness looking at wedding dresses and planning ideas on Pinterest multiple times, but it did make her death that much more unbearable. The tears finally cascaded down my face as I cried. Hideous, with snot mingling with the running streams of salted water and mucus caught in my throat making it hard to breathe. I’m sure I was the ugliest thing in the funeral home, really. But Drew holds me close to him, anyway. His warmth seeped into my skin, and he attempted to chase the demons. It didn’t work, but…it was a valid effort.

We had been close friends since I was five. He and Ness were two years my seniors, but they always played with me and helped me find my way in life. Whether that was schoolwork or being there when I finally came out of the closet, bullies or deciding my future, hard breakups, or a nasty hangover. Always, they had been there for me. But Ness would never see me become the linguist I was studying to be. She'd never meet my future husband, nor would she be an aunty to any of my adopted children. She would remain beneath the soil, rotting until there was nothing left of her but bones.

Gently, Drew directed me to one of the pews, helping me take a seat as the crowd began to dissipate. After being sure to thank everyone who took the time to attend Vanessa's funeral, my father joined us, setting a comforting hand on my knee.

He was another obstacle Ness had helped me overcome. The foundations of our Catholic household had been shaken when I first came out to my parents. Where once my father couldn't even look at me, now he comforts me with the same love my mother had always given. And that was all because of Ness.

Looking at him now, I feel like he's thinking the same thing as his face struggles to remain composed. His reddish-brown brows are furrowed as he fights against another onslaught of tears. I lean against him in an attempt to comfort him, and I feel him rest his chin on my head.

“Your mother was looking for you,” he says with a weak smile and a scratchy voice. “You should go be with her. She needs her baby boy.”

I hate that term. But I don't have the strength to muster a snarky reply. Instead, I nod and wave goodbye to Drew as he stays behind to talk with my father.

After walking down a nearly empty corridor, I find my mother shakily getting herself a cup of tap water from the sink in the kitchen before me. Fresh tears run over dried ones as I watch her breaking over the still-running faucet.

“I would offer my help, but I'm no better,” I said through muffled sobs.

“Shilo,” she murmured quietly, her dark brown brows falling as she wept.

I quickly strode over to her, embracing her small frame just in time for her to fall to the ground. I hold my mother close to me, cushioning the fall.

“I'm here, ma. I'm still here,” I say, trying desperately not to shake as much as she is.

I feel her grip my shirt tighter, her neatly manicured nails digging into my back despite the many layers I have on. I remember that she had gotten them done with Ness the day she died. Spending the day at the spa had been the last memory my mother would ever make with her daughter. A good one, yes. But the last all the same.

My own last memory felt like a glass shard wedged into the back of my skull. It was date night for her, but this one was special. She had been sure Drew was going to propose so she wore her favorite blue dress. She'd asked me how she looked, if the fake turquoise nail went well with what she wore. My response had been a simple, “Yeah, you look fine.”

I should have said so much more. I should have said how beautiful the dress went with her tanned complexion, how it made her hazel-green eyes stand out in the most gorgeous way possible. I should have complimented her auburn hair tied back in a complex array of braids before being pinned into a bun. I should have said something that a brother should say when another man tries to sweep her off her feet. But I didn't.

She'd pouted about my response before grabbing her keys. I'd given an offhanded, “Have fun,” before returning to whatever was on the television. And that...that was the last memory I had of my sister.