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Forgive Me
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I woke up crying, a hoarse, pathetic and heartwrenching sob forcing itself out of my throath, sickening and faltering near the end. I gave no resistance, it was useless. I was useless. I waited for the sound to die away, leaving the blackness of the cold night to engulf me once again. The space next to me in the big, expensive bed was eerily empty.

Taking in a shaky and unstable breath of air, I frantically tried to banish the pictures from the nightmare I just had. The nightmare that still keeps me awake. It's the same every damn time. Images, sounds, lives so vivid and so painful that it fel like I relived it all every time I'd go to sleep. Night after night I'd wake up screaming, crying, until the tears had stopped and I'd slump back into the feverish darkness of my mind, my heart. For what? For the everlasting emptiness inside? For me to soothe the numb, senseless misery that was me? For me to somehow shoo away that feeling of loneliness? I knew I'd never feel like me again, but the pain showed me that I was still living though I felt like I was nothing. A shadow, a ghastly, pitiful impression of what once was me.

But that's how I felt. Like the world didn't matter anymore, just a place to wander around, horribly lonely, until my time was to end. I was alone, so alone. Nothing but my heart silently, weakly beating inside of me. Was it still beating, though? I couldn't really feel. I wouldn't even care if it didn't. Anything to end this pitiful, weak behaviour. This wicked, apathetic feeling. Nothing really mattered anymore. I had become an empty, dark, pain-filled shell.

I tried to close my eyes, but the horrific images were somehow burned on to my retina, refusing to leave me, filling my mind with the oh so disturbing pictures. I tore my eyelids apart again, hot moisture still running down my cheeks despite the fact that I barely felt it. The memories were still too painful, too alive for me to notice anything else. I was being weak again. I knew I was. But it just didn't hold me from regretting, missing a part of me.

Another cry wrenched itself free from my throath, and escaped past my lips. I found myself being horrified by the sound of it. Raw and painful, broken. I knew I was in a bad state, but it started to sound familiar. Too familiar. This feeling was starting to become me. Would I be stuck in this misery forever, the pain never ending? It had to stop somewhere, right?

But would I ever move on? Would this feeling, this shadow over me, ever leave me? I shuddered. Would I ever want to move on? Do I want that? To have all the bad nightmares and all the pain to go away, to be me again? But I'd forget all the memories if I would move on. I didn't want to forget just yet, and just to look back at a vague time of my life, barely remembering any of it. Though it would end all the hurt, I'd never want the happy times to fade away with it. Though it is awful, miserable and heartbreaking, though I feel like I'll never really live again and despite all the nightmares, numbness and emptiness... I don't want to forget. It's worth it, if only to remember the good memories.

Because through the nightmares, through the horrid feelings, I'd still have periods where I was fairly happy again, recalling the better times, so vivid as if they were still real.

No.

I'd never throw away the memories I had made with her. I'd never want to forget how she'd brighten up my days, how she made me smile, enjoy life, and how my first kiss had been with her. How her eyes used to sparkle in the sunlight, how honey-sweet her voice could sound, how her musical laughter always cheered me up. Those memories were too precious and so fragile, even barely existent in my head. The slightest change could make me forget them. And I didn't want to. They're all I have left.

My lips managed to form a weak, unstable smile, the tears streaming on, wetting a new part of my face due to the movement. Though I felt the corners tug down very soon again, the smile somehow lasted through the downward force. Oh, how I loved her. How I still do. We had so much yet to do. So much about her I had yet to discover, despite the fact that I'd known her since forever. Forever. It sounds so meaningless now, so empty. Who wants to live forever when you don't have anyone to spend it with? What's life when no one's there to guide you through it? She was everything to me, and without her the world is just a haze, a big, incomprehensable mess. And I'm lost in it, walking around deliriously, never finding my way back.

My lungs refused to work for a few seconds, stinging, burning. I though of the choas that lied ahead of me, causing my head to spin and jolts of exasperation and fear to burst free under my skin, spreading quickly. A shiver went down my spine as I tried to control the feeling, but it didn't waver. Biting my bottom lip hard, I tried not to let yet another sob escape my lips. She would've still been here. She would've still been here if I didn't told her to leave. It was all my fault. I should've never started that fight. I couldn't even recall what it was about very clearly, feeling so heavy with guilt that I could barely think about it.

It had been two months and four days, to be exact. Yes, I am that miserable. Two months and four days since I had watched her walk down the street, tears and anger blurring my vision so much to even distuingish her from the gray outside world. And then the car, a flash of silver, popping up out of nowhere. Tires screeching, iron wrecking, blood shedding, glass shattering, lives ending. Her painful, last scream. In just a mere second. It was over in the blink of an eye. The world had just collapsed, it being removed from under my feet, crumbling into little pieces, shattering my heart along with it. All feelings had seeped out of me, leaving with her. I wanted to scream, cry, fight, tear everything apart that was somehow still holding me together. But I couldn't. I could just stare, speechless. Just stare at her mutilated, dead body. I was done.

The worst part was that I yelled at her before she left. I yelled at her. I was mad. I told her to go away, to leave me for once, for me to have my peace. For her to never come back again. I knew I'd think otherwise afterwards, and still I acted like that. I was an idiot, I'd somehow lost my sense. God knows I can't live without her. And now she's really gone.

I never got to say sorry.
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A/n: omg, this is a pretty seious fic... I think I just needed to write something like this. I needed to have something to clear all the fluff inside my head so I can start over somehow. Okay so maybe it's a little bit too much. But I've never went through anything similar (thank goodness), so I tried my best to imagine how someone would feel if their lover passed away. So maybe I overdid it a bit. If so, you may say so, so I can change it. If not, please say so too, so I knew I did a good job.

It was actually very hard to write this. I can't normally do realy angsty stuff, but like I said, I felt the need to write this. Basicly, it's about Mio thinking about Ritsu's death, with all the side-effects (if you hadn't figured that out already). Tell me if there's anything I need to change: critism is very welcome indeed!

So yeah.. read&review please!

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Disclaimer: I do not own K-ON! It would be very awesome if I did, though.
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