Memories of a Bad Boy

Fourth Memory

Amelia's POV

I groaned as the alarms pieced bleeping disturbed my peaceful sleep.

I rolled over and turned off the alarm which read the stinging time of 6:30. Way too early to be getting up on a Sunday. But today was an important day, just not for any good reason.

Whilst turning onto my back I heard Ash grumbled softly beside me.

"Do you want me to come with you Angel?" he asked quietly.

"It's okay, you sleep" I whispered back and he gripped my hand in his loosely before turning over and going back to sleep.

I lay there for a couple of minutes before I got out of bed. It was difficult to get up. Usually, the way I got myself up at early times was by thinking about all the things I could look forward to in the day.

Today was a sad day, the day we were supposed to say goodbye.

I got out of bed and walked quietly through to the bathroom. There were dark circles that stood out under my tired eyes and my hair sat on my shoulders limp and dull.

I threw on a little bit of make-up to cover-up the sleepless nights I'd been having and tied up my hair in a ponytail.

That was the easier part, choosing what to wear. That was going to be a bit more difficult.

....F.L.A.S.H..B.A.C.K.....

"So after a short ceremony of remembrance for Peter on Sunday morning there will be a short walk to the cemetery where his coffin will be lowered into the ground and if you would like I can say a few words."

My mother smiled weakly and nodded as she took Father Thomas by his weedy, pale hands.

"Yes, I think that would be perfect."

"No it wouldn't" Clayton grumbled under his breath so only I could hear.

"Shhh, Clay" I whispered so they would hear me, "you'll upset mother."

"I'll just take you over here now to see the flowers," said father Thomas directing my mother over to the other corner of the church. Clayton and I didn't follow and continued our conversation in private.

"It's not her funeral, it doesn't matter what she wants. We need to think about what Peter would want" he said.

"Clay, what do you think Peter would have wanted more than anything?"

I looked at my mother who was pulling at her usually tidy blond hair, it was now lying limp on her shoulders like dull straw.

Her lips that usually had a bold shade of pink or red on them were thin, cracked and had no color to them.

She was not her usual self, which was understandable. Her son had just died, it just that my mother was a doctor. She was used to death, a little too used to it actually and it made me a little uncomfortable that she was struggling in this way.

She was breaking down and I didn't know how to help her. I hated feeling helpless, especially when it involved those I loved most of all.

"She's preoccupied, I'm slightly scared if she doesn't stay preoccupied she might go mad," I said and Clayton nodded.

"As usual you're annoyingly right, he would have wanted to keep her happy more than anything." He looked out of the window with sad and tired eyes that had been through too many sleepless nights this week.

I had heard him tossing and turning in the next room, even shouting sometimes. He was imagining him, Peter. I couldn't deny it I was doing the exact same thing and far too often.

It felt as though he was hiding in the shadows of my dreams, just out of reach. Dreams, in Clayton's case they sounded more like nightmares.

But mine had just been dreams. Memories mostly, of the happiest times we had spent together and also the worst of the time we had spent together. It was just good to think about a time when there was a mother, a father, and four happy children. Our family hadn't been that way in a long time.

And now it would never be like that ever again.

I felt terrible as I had selfishly taken use of Clayton's nightmares, it had given me an excuse to sleep in the other spare room with Bella. I couldn't stand being around Ash at the moment. He was being too nice, he didn't understand that I was okay.

I was actually coping just fine. Much better than the rest of my family.

"Amelia, Clayton" I turned around awakening from the depths of my thoughts as I heard my mothers soft call.

We walked over to where she was stood with Father Thomas.

"Right so everything is ready then for four days time," said Father Thomas with a small smile.

"Yes and I'll send out the invites to close family with timings and dress code, etc etc," my mother said.

"Wait, what do you mean dress code?" I said.

"People have been asked to wear black to your brother's funeral Amelia," Father Thomas said to me in a patronizing voice as though I was barely five years old.

"Black?" I said abruptly looking around with raised eyebrows

"Yes, that's what people normally wear to a funeral Amelia" sniffed my mother.

"Yes but black?" I repeated again.

"Oh Amelia, please don't start now," my mother said by Clayton cut her off.

"She's right mother, no dress code of black. I respect the fact that you are choosing the stupid flowers and the silly chair decorations, I mean we're even letting you have the funeral in a church when Peter didn't even believe in God. But still, Peter would have wanted to make you happy more than anything." Clayton said.

My mother's lip began to tremble but she nodded her head.

"I put my foot down on black, there has to be a colorful dress code. As colorful as possible. Because that's what" his voice shook and he clears his throat "colorful is exactly what Peter was."

...E.N.D...O.F....F.L.A.S.H....B.A.C.K....

"Ah Amelia, nice of you to join us," said Father Thomas.

"No problem" I spat out sarcastically, I was a little taken aback by my outburst and so was my mother as she gave me a warning look that clearly said 'be on your best behavior'-A look most mothers have perfected.

"So the guests should be arriving in about two hours, oh I forgot. There are three children, where is the third Lucy?" Asked Father Thomas.

Clayton let out a coarse laugh. And I gripped his forearm and shook my head.

Both Clayton and I knew exactly where James was, mother didn't luckily, but Clayton was in a terrible mood and would be pretty sure to tell her if I didn't intervene.

"He's just running a bit late. We'll go get him" I said.

"But," said Clayton.

"We'll go get him," I said more forcefully this time.

I knew Clayton's bad attitude would pass and it did pretty quickly, as we were driving away from that wretched church he apologized to me and I nodded. I knew if I opened my mouth it would only cause another argument.

"He'll be drowning his sorrows at the local?" Clayton asked.

I shook my head, "Pubs don't open till later, he'll be out with a bottle somewhere. We just need to try and find him before he himself or worse somebody else."

All three of my brothers were complete nightmares when it came to alcohol. If I could find the person who invented the vile substance and murder him I would because the amount of misery it had caused our family and several different times was extraordinary.

Clayton used to be a party animal. I remember those nights when I was just fifteen and he would come home completely wasted in the early hours of the morning. I would hold a cold rag to his head and clean up the vomit. Leave him a couple of Advil beside his bed for the morning.

At first, I didn't mind, but then it became part of my routine and I never should have let it get that bad. Luckily Clayton cleaned up his act by himself, that wasn't the same for Peter.

In Peter's first years of high school he began to drink, but not like Clayton. Peter was an alcoholic, he would drink by himself and he would drink all the time.

Clayton, James and I all knew why it was. Peter was lying to himself, about his sexuality, about who and what he wanted to be. Mother and father, of course, were oblivious.

I helped, I regret it now as maybe if I had just told someone earlier things might be a bit different, but I suppose there is just no point in wondering about how things might have turned out. I hid his bottles, but eventually, it all became too much and he had a breakdown.

Peter began going to a counseling group that helped him to stop drinking, introduced him to the idea of joining up, but I know that every now and again he just couldn't help but pick up a bottle when things all got too much.

But James, he was always so good with alcohol. He barely ever drank as a teenager and now he had a son.

But the grief of losing Peter had just consumed him and for the past week, James had been stumbling in at past three every morning. Cassie hadn't let him come near Kai, she understood he was hurting but she didn't want Kai to see his father like that.

"We have to make him stop drinking" I turned to Clayton.

"Yeah, it would suck if he was drunk at the funeral. He'd probably start singing tainted love during mother's stupid hymns."

"No Clay" I cut him off, "I mean for good, all of us. And tainted love, really?"

"Hey, it's the best soft cell song" he got defensive.

"I think James would disagree. Definitely say hello, wave goodbye would be the one."

"Speak of the devil" Clayton pointed at a silhouette that was stood up on the side of a bridge that looked down on a disused railway track.

"Oh for pete sake" I said stopping the car and getting out slamming the door behind me.

"WHAT THE HELL JAMES?" I shouted as I ran over to him.

He swayed precariously making me clench my fists in fear as he turned around to face me.

"Oh hey Amelaya" he slurred.

"Yah, he's drunk," said Clayton as he joined me.

"You are literally Sherlock Holmes. Do you want a gold star?" I said sarcastically and Clayton gave me a stupid look.

"James you are such an i***t," said Clayton.

"Shhutup" moaned James swinging his arm up to take a long swig of whatever was in his flask.

"Let me handle this moron" I hissed at Clayton as I punched him in the side. It hurt me more than it hurt him. I turned back to James and took a deep breath.

"James" I said slowly, "are you going to get down and come with us?" I asked.

He laughed, "Nope, I ain't going to no stupid funeral."

"So much for I'll handle it," Clayton said to me and I put my hands over my face.

"James stop acting like a five-year-old, get down from the f*cking bridge and get in the f*cking car. For all of us. For me, Amelia and Peter. Especially for Peter."

James looked down at us and I couldn't see my brother as I looked up at him. I could see a shadow of a person that I use to be able to lean on whenever things went wrong. Now if I leaned upon him we both would fall down the deepest of holes.

He got down slowly, really slowly. Eventually, he stood beside us. The smell of drink was evident in his heavy breath and dirty clothes.

"I need him," he said as he collapsed into my arms. My eyes watered as I helped him, the stench of alcohol was so strong. James began to cry into my shoulder.

"I know" I whispered into his ear, it almost broke me to hear him cry. "I really wish I could somehow bring him back and I trade myself for him in any way. But James you've got to stop drinking, you know what he would say if he was here don't you"

James nodded. "Kai, my son. He would punch me for being a sorry excuse for a father. For acting like our own father- running away."

"Exactly" Clayton nodded.

He then held out his hand for the flask and James hesitated. He looked at the flask, studied the metal pattern and looked at the initials that had been marked into the top left corner all those years ago. He passed his thumb over them softly a small half-smile played on his thin lips as he traced the three small letters that had been scratched untidily into the cold metal surface.

P.T.M

He passed it to Clayton, "no more" he shook his head.

"No more" I agreed replacing his now empty hand with my own, I gave it a squeeze.

...........................................................................................................................................

Thank you for reading this chapter! I hope you enjoyed! I appreciate every single read more than anything!

Question for this chapter: What would you do if you found out your brother or sister passed away?

(please feel free to start a discussion with your fellow readers! I love to hear your thoughts)

Please remember to star and comment, I will always reply!

Lots of love,