The rain came down like a relentless curtain, drenching the expansive school grounds. Inside the halls, everything felt heavier. The air carried a suffocating silence, broken only by the faint whispers of students standing shoulder to shoulder. Their faces were grim, eyes downcast like they couldn't bear to look at the truth unfolding before them.
In the middle of it all was Justin Black. His tall frame, broad shoulders, and perfectly disheveled black hair might've made him the center of attention on any other day.
But today and now? None of that mattered. His face, streaked with tears, was a portrait of raw pain.
His lips quivered as if he wanted to scream but couldn't find the strength. The shiny name tag on his pristine uniform gleamed under the flickering hallway lights, reading "Justin Black," as if mocking the weight of his grief.
Every so often, a classmate would tap his shoulder, muttering weak words of comfort—"You're not alone," "Stay strong, dude,"—but it all felt hollow. A part of him appreciated their attempts, but a bigger part just wanted to collapse, to sink into the floor and let the earth swallow him whole.
He couldn't stay there. The walls were closing in, suffocating him. Without thinking, his legs moved, and suddenly he was running.
His feet pounded against the polished floors, each step echoing louder than the last. Gasps followed him as he shoved past students, his tears blurring their faces into unrecognizable shapes.
The double doors slammed open, and the rain greeted him like a cold slap. He didn't care.
His legs burned, his lungs screamed for air, but he kept going. The city blurred past, a chaotic blend of neon lights, honking cars, and wet pavement. He ran faster, ignoring the sting of raindrops hitting his face like tiny shards of ice. His mind screamed a single word: Home.
******
The mansion finally loomed ahead, a picture of understated elegance.
The gates were simple, black iron bars entwined with ivy that glistened under the rain. Behind them stood the house, a sprawling estate with large windows and intricate stonework. It was beautiful, sure, but Justin didn't give a damn about that. He had seen it every day of his life. It was just a house.
He pushed through the gates, the iron creaking under his weight, and stumbled into the courtyard.
His shoes splashed through puddles, and he barely registered the marble fountain in the center, water cascading in harmony with the rain. He was soaked to the bone by the time he reached the stairs. His chest heaved as he climbed them, the world spinning slightly.
The front door was open.
Inside, the quiet was deafening. Every detail hit him at once: the rich mahogany floors, the golden chandeliers, and the people dressed in black. So many people. He recognized their faces—family friends, business partners, distant relatives—but he couldn't process any of them. His eyes locked on the two coffins in the center of the room.
His legs gave out.
Justin fell to his knees, the soaked fabric of his uniform sticking to his skin. Tears poured freely now, mixing with the rain on his face. His whole body shook, wracked with sobs he couldn't control.
"Justin."
A gentle voice broke through the haze. A woman in black approached him, her long designer hat shielding her from the rain. She crouched down, her hands soft but firm as she helped him to his feet. Her face was kind, but her eyes were as broken as his.
"It's okay," she whispered, though they both knew it wasn't.
Everyone in the room watched. Some wiped their own tears; others just stood there, their faces heavy with sorrow.
Justin didn't remember how, but he was led inside. His steps were mechanical, his body moving on autopilot. He stopped when he reached the first coffin. His breath hitched. His father. The strong, intimidating man who had always seemed larger than life now lay so still.
And then the second coffin. His mother.
A choked sound escaped his throat as he fell forward, his hands clutching the edge of the polished wood. The grief hit him like a tidal wave, pulling him under.
*****
Minutes, hours—hell, maybe even days later he didn't know, didn't care—he found himself in his room. The same woman had brought him upstairs. She closed the door softly behind her, leaving him alone with his thoughts.
She lean on the door waiting.
Justin stripped off his wet clothes and stepped into the shower. The hot water stung at first but eventually eased some of the tension in his muscles. He stared at the tiled wall, letting the water cascade over him as if it could wash away the pain.
Only that it couldn't.
After what felt like forever, he stepped out, dried himself off, and changed into a black suit. Every corner of the room reminded him of them—his dad sitting in the armchair by the window, his mom fussing over his messy desk. He swallowed hard and forced himself to leave.
Back downstairs, the rain had finally stopped. The air smelled fresh, but the heaviness in his chest hadn't lifted.
It was time for the burial.