A/N: Written by listening to Styrofoam Plates by Death Cab for Cutie. Angsty. Good Riddance
His hands gripped the rail of the bridge so tightly that his palms were stinging.
"He doesn't deserve this." I heard Clark mutter beside me, his arms crossed over his chest. I swallow hardly, finally relinquishing the pressure on my hands. The urn was sitting my feet and as much as my entire body wanted to kick it as hard and as far as I could, I refrained.
I felt anger well up in my chest as I picked it up.
"We're here today to honor the life of Mitchell Truman."
The sky was overcast and the river below was clear and blue. I exhaled. Clark scoffed beside me, looking away, but I felt a reassuring hand on my back.
"A beloved father, husband, son, and friend."
"He was never a father." I muttered more to myself than to her, but she was listening anyway. "He was never a husband." My eyes were stinging.
"He was an alcoholic bastard and the most selfish man I've ever met." Clark interjected, his eyes betraying the anger and pain he still felt.
I pulled off the lid and shuddered. Corinne's hands squeezed my side reassuringly I took another step to the edge.
"I still have scars from him." I whisper, looking inside the urn. I was more nauseous from the memories than I was from the fact that I was holding a dead body. I looked up at her, brown eyes meeting mine. "He never said sorry." Clark uncrossed his arms and came to stand beside me. I turned back to the water, staring down at its churning depths.
"Mitch will be missed by his loved ones, the memories he left behind cherished and a reminder of his love for his family and friends."
"I never loved him Lucas." Clark stared at the urn in disgust. "Maybe…when I was younger, I did, but after - "He didn't need to finish, I knew just what he was talking about. The first time. The first time he flew into a drunken rage and we all realized what kind of a person he was.
"I tried not to." I replied, tilting the urn over the edge and his ashes sprinkling down, away from me.
"Every word at that funeral was a lie." Clark hissed, his eyes narrowing and fury radiating off of him so completely that even Corinne looked up. "Just cause he dies that means we have to pretend he was a good person?! Well, I'm glad he's dead! I'm glad that I never have to see his face again." I silently agreed.
The ashes tumbled into the water faster now, my hands eager to rid myself of him once and for all.
While some might say goodbye, I say good riddance.
"We're better off without you." I muttered as the last little bit falls out. And as I place the lid back on I feel a weight lift off my shoulders.
He's gone. He's gone and I'll never have to worry about him again. Clark walked ahead of us briskly, but I lingered for a moment and stared at the ashes that the wind blew back towards us.
"You'll never be like him." Corinne reassured me. I slid my arm around her shoulders, my lips pressing against her cool cheek.
"I know." I hope not. God, I hope not. Just when we reached the car, Corinne's cell phone rang. I hopped in the driver's seat, and glanced over my shoulder to check on Clark. I was surprised to see that he was crying. I turned around and caught his gaze. His eyes were red and big and sorrowful.
"Clark…" I whispered, but he stopped me, with an adamant shake of his head.
"He was a pig, Luke. A fucking pig and I still wanted him to treat me like a son." He let his head sag into his palms and my hand snaked out to stroke his hair. "It's not supposed to hurt this much." His voice was muffled and reeked of anguish. I felt my head collide with the headrest. Corinne got in, but we didn't move. The clouds thickened and rain started to fall, the sound of it muffling my 16-year-old brother sobbing in the backseat.
And right then I realized we'd never be rid of him. There'd always be that empty hole in our chests, that voice of disapproval telling us that we weren't good enough, the scars that he'd left on the inside and out that would never heal.