#ciarzel

Ciaran stared at his phone before throwing it against the wall with enough force to shatter the glass screen. No, not again. Not her. He leaned with his back against the wall and stared at the shattered phone. 

He let a few tears fall before storming out of the apartment. This had to be some cruel joke, but when he reached the hospital, getting strange looks as he rushed through the lobby from the guards and some girl with dark hair a sketchbook, he saw her mother trying to make calls while in tears. 

You set yourself up for this you idiot. You knew she wasn't healthy, that she could die at any minute. Ciaran backed away. He couldn't deal with this. There'd been too much death in his life. First his parents, then grandfather, a year later his grandmother and Wilde. Now her. The beautiful girl, wise for her age and brilliant, with eyes as old as his.

Ciaran hated London, always had. He went to the nearest payphone and called the brat he was supposed to be looking after. Told him to stay out of trouble for a few hours, then he stole a car, hesitating before he left the parking lot, and drove to the nearest Catholic church. It took him three hours to get there and when he did he went ignored the priest's sermon and went straight to the candles.