I hear the knocking on the door. It is incessant, a constant nagging. I’ve heard it several times every day over the past week. I ignore it every time.
The time for niceties is over. At Stella’s memorial, I put on a smile, hugging and comforting every freaking person who wanted to tell me how much they loved Stella, how sorry they were, how they would be here for me if I needed anything.
You know what? They can all go f**k themselves. Every last f*****g one of them.
Screw them all.
I’m not hugging another person. I don’t care about their loss. I don’t care how much they loved Stella. Who didn’t love her? Do they think they’re f*****g special? Because they’re not. If there were someone out there who had met Stella and didn’t love her, if someone were happy she was gone…that person woul
