Little things, little things, they always hang around.
The funeral the next day was awash with tears. And not just from willow. And even though it was clichÃ© she knew Beth wouldn't have wanted all this fuss. But it was hard. Her one and only friend who knew everything. Absolutely everything there was to know about Willow was dead. As she headed back to the hotel, she wouldn't have been surprised if the all the tears had left grooves.
Frank hesitated on the pavement looking up at the building before hurrying up the steps and through the door, closing it behind him
Mikey shivered in the cold night air, his breath visible. He jammed his hands into pockets and sighed. He had to talk to her sometime tonight. He briefly closed his eyes and walked towards the building. He let himself in.
Gerard's face was pale, paler than normal as he paced the corridor. He suddenly made up his mind and walked through the door.
She jumped as he entered the room, her eyes widening in surprise. The man closed the door behind him. "What is it with you and Jen?" he asked Willow bluntly, "You always do stuff for her, not for yourself. Like coming to our gig. If she asked you to jump off a cliff you'd go careering over."
Her mouth went dry, and her heart started pounding. "We're...just close," she told him, surreptitiously wiping her hands on her jeans.
"Bullshit," he shot back, "There's a fifteen year difference between you and her. If anything you'd be at each other's throats."
She licked her lips nervously. "How do you know that?" she asked quietly.
"Doesn't matter," he said brusquely, "The point is, is that you're hiding something."
Willow swallowed, pushing back memories. "Ask me anything but this. Please," she almost begged. He folded his arms and his gaze was flinty. There was no friendship or even respect in his eyes. Just hate. "What are you hiding?"
She blinked rapidly, trying unsuccessfully to hold back tears. "I told you my name was Willow Harriet Matthews and I was 26. I said I'd lived in England all my life and that my parents were Kerry and John Matthews. I said Jenny Matthews was my sister. I said a lot of things. You have to forget all of that if you want to know me."
He nodded, not unmoved by her display of tears but refusing to act on his feelings. She swallowed once more before looking him in the eyes and saying, "My name is Willow Marie Smith and I'm 31 years old. And Jenny's not my sister. She's my daughter."
An: Dun dun derrrr. Dedicated to everyone who's ever been called a freak, to every kid who got picked last in gym class (This is for you) For anyone who never hasd no date to no- Oops. That's Good Charlotte. Point still stands.