Alice reflecting over Errol's death.

I don't own anything you recognize.

Excuse any typos, it's three in the morning right now.

Grief.

That's the only thing she could barely feel.

Grief.

Nine months after his death, and the shock and nostalgia was still ringing around her. Even on that one Valentine's Day, when Tony kissed her, when Mrs. Bobot and the reverend got together, when they announced that they would be releasing Belinda Amorous's new book and her own and Errol's, she still felt sad. She felt happy, too. Of course she did. But beneath that, deep, aching pain screamed inside of her.

She missed him.

He was quiet. They never got to talk about themselves very often. Sure, she had told him how she had to struggle with the rent, the bills, life, and the impossible deadline. Sure, he was telling her a story of his historic and famous love with Psyche. But they never got to talk for real. She knew everything, but at the same time nothing about him.

But she recognized him. He gave off this soft, powerful, quiet vibe around him. His touch was comforting and strong when she needed him. The low, dangerous move of his walk. The cold and distant glare he gave. Anyone else would find him off-putting, but she had grown to become comfortable with him.

And she hated herself for it.

Alice Amorous was in depression. She could not find in the corners of her mind any motivation. She walked lightly through this life, something she did not want to do. She wanted to get up. She wanted to live. Instead, she was a hollowed out shell of her former self. Whatever distant persona she was known as Alice Amorous as was completely blown away at Errol's death.

Yes, she felt in love. She loved Tony in an easy way. In her honest parts of her soul, she couldn't actually imaginer her and Tony getting far. A fling. A heavy fling is all they were, with adoring gifts and sugar-coated fake phrases. But it felt so bland, so empty, nothing when she held his hand, when she looked into his eyes, when they kissed. Nothing.

She missed Errol.

Life seemed to fall into a dull, gray pattern. Things were happening. Book were being released. Anniversaries were being celebrated. Friends were reconnecting slowly. But at the same time, Alice's close world remained slow, murky, like warm water in a bathtub slowly sinking down the drain. Her body went into auto-pilot mode during the day, working with the files and meetings that were required with releasing her and Errol's book, acting like a loving girlfriend to Tony.

It wasn't until at night she really broke down.

He understood her. Somehow, as little time they had to get to know each other, he still understood her. The way they talked, were there for each other when the other fell apart. He was there when she faced the truth about her seeing of auras. She was there when he grieved over Psyche. Strangers being placed together in such intimate situations. They had to spark.

It didn't matter though. So what if she didn't know his middle name, or what his favorite color was? So what if he didn't know what kind of clothes she liked to wear or what her favorite drink was? They knew each other on a deeper level, on that hit Alice hard between the eyes. And when he suddenly died, suddenly ripped out from her warm grasp of friendship, it was impossible to repair the gaping, wispy hole he left behind.

His scar on her.

She's had time to think about him. Replay their conversations in her head and memorize her mental images that she unconsciously took screenshots of with her mind. She's memorized his white hair, his dark eyes which were not quite dark brown but not quite dark blue either. Yet they weren't fully black either. His body build, which was lean and once athletic, but worn down due to cancer. A powerful, ancient being, captured and killed by the modern sickness of the world.

The missing though. The longing. It crushed down on her every morning, like it was brand-new, although the beginning pain never uplifted. More and more just fell on her, breaking against her bones, damaging her in the mix. Everyday, more and more grief washed upon her as she bent over the frustration, screaming silently at how unfair it was.

They should've had more time. He should've had more time.

But alas, he did not. They did not. He's passed, onto a new life. An afterlife? With Psyche? To nothing and oblivion and ceasing to exist? Where did Errol go? She did not know, nor did she want to. She felt secure with her imagination, praying and believing he was in his own world of his own, missing her too and possibly being reunited with Psyche.

Reunited with Psyche. The thought brought relief for her friend and made jealousy tighten in her own chest.

The thought that could explain these feelings… She didn't dare to think about it. The truth seemed unacceptable, unbelievable. She did not want to delve into it. She overthought many things, and this would be the worst thing to do so. Did she dare to maybe, possibly admit that she might've…

…had feelings for Errol?

It seemed like an idea that could get her murdered. Or at least screw her life up very much. There were so many reasons why Alice could not like Errol because, the most main one of all, ta-da, was hello? He's dead. He's a cancer-infested teenager with white hair and invisible arrows, buried six feet underground, the air compacted from dirt. No longer would she be able to love him anyway, at least not physically.

There were so many things wrong with the idea of Alice in love with Errol. Psyche. His sworn wife. Tony, her boyfriend of months. His cancer, how he was a god. His death. But the moments when he envisioned her as Psyche, as his wife… It made her feel sorry for him, he was in so much grief, but also partially offended. Was Errol in such pain that he had mistaken her for Psyche?

This, and the daily reminder that he had slipped away from life, crashed down on her everyday. Smiles and conversations were cheap gift-bag favors, given away freely, made of plastic. Everyday was just another challenge to plow through, to swallow everything on her plate to only have an insane amount dumped back on.

How does one handle it?

She missed him so much. Her heart throbbed at the very thought of him. She missed his quiet demeanor, how he would pop some humorous jokes at the most surprising moments before going serious again. She felt like nobody could understand her missing Errol, except… well, Errol. But he was the one dead. Mrs. Bobot, Realm, Tony, Archibald… None of them seemed sufficient.

She visited his grave every weekend. She stared up at the long, tall statue they had shipped from Italy to implant here. The statue didn't resemble the actual Errol too much, or at least from what she had from memory, but it still marked his existence here. She would leave a bundle of roses, red roses, everytime she visited. She would sometimes even talk to the air, as if he was actually there.

It was like breathing through paint. Walking through and under and on gray, stormy clouds with no destination in mind or sight. Faking happiness when the sun broke through the clouds, only to go back into an ordinary pattern when the clouds shifted and came together. Her steps were numb from nothing. Her heart was bleeding with longing.

It still came as a fresh shock to her whenever she thought about it. He's dead. It's so hard for her to believe that, for some reason. He's dead. No longer living, no longer walking along the streets of Seattle. No longer will she be able to feel his touch as he hugs hers when she's crying.

If only they had more time.

Salvaging for time like a hungry, homeless person. Now, she had all the time in the world. Time to write more books. Time to be with Tony. Time to plan writing outlooks with Realm. Time, time, time. She had so much time it made her sick. Why do we have everything when we don't need it?

He was gone. His last words ringed through her mind, replaying forever with every step she took. "Thank you, Alice. Thank you for writing my story." Published under their names. Alice Amorous and Errol. People would ask, "Who is Errol?"

"A friend, suffered from a disease fairly common in the 21st century, known as cancer. He's had it forever, but it wasn't until he tried saving himself that he died."

She felt nothing. Her hollow chest was only cleaned out more everytime Tony asked, "What's wrong, Ally?" My name is Alice, not Ally. Everytime Mrs. Bobot said, "Let's go to the lake for some sunshine!" Everytime Realm said, "Want to help me make some writing plots? I have a few ideas."

And everytime she heard them, she just thought back at rapid-fire speed. There is nothing wrong, Errol would understand. Not the lake Errol went to, please. No, it would remind me too much of my writing time with Errol.

Errol, Errol, Errol. His name also repeated in her head. Like a march. A chant. The only reason she is hanging on, although she doesn't know what makes him a reason. Or how is she hanging on? Hanging on to what? The sad life she had? Honestly, her life was more interesting before her mother returned home. At least then Alice could feel. She could feel lonely. She could feel bitterness. Now, she just felt nothing. The only thing she barely could muster was grief, still fretting and anguishing in loneliness over his death. His passing.

She was going insane without him. Time. If only they had more time to talk. To get to know each other. If only they had the time so he could read their story, tell her how proud he is of her for making it such a beautiful piece. So much emotion.

Too much. It was too much. Alice couldn't live like this. Her life was in shambles, hanging wood that has turned gray over the dull months, almost an entire year. Without him. Cupid had invaded her life, and she couldn't stand his absence.

A petal ripped from the base of the flower as she dropped the bundle at his grave.

"I miss you," she blurted out into the crisp spring air. It's been almost a year since she's known Errol. Wow. That passed fast. So many weeks of treading alone without him, barely keeping her eyes awake.

"I miss you and I hate this life," she continued. "I hate how I'm lonely. I hate how I can't feel. I hate how I can't control that I can't feel or change it. I've heard of depressed kids who cut. I don't know why they cut. Different reasons, I guess. I would do it just to feel something. Even if it's pain. Psychical pain."

She spoke blankly, like talking to someone who was mentally challenged with English. She spoke loudly to make sure he heard her. She didn't mind if others thought she was crazy. Maybe she was. The doctor may have said it was hard to inherit her mother's bipolar disease, but who knows? Alice had the luck of getting the small chances.

"Are you happy with Psyche? It makes me sad that you're happy with Psyche because I want you to be happy with me. But it's alright. If you're happy with Psyche, then I won't mind. As long as she loves you right. You said she took other lovers while you were together. I'm not taking lovers and we're not even together." She was babbling now. If the doctor saw her, he'd surely decide she had inherited her mother's disease.

"Together seems like the wrong term to use. Just because you are together doesn't make you romantically bonded. Me and Realm are together as writing buddies. Maybe I shouldn't say together with you and Psyche because I need to be more specific."

The wind rustled the trees, and she had a vague feeling he was listening. Or at least someone, dead or alive, was listening. She just hoped it was Errol.

"I miss you a lot," Alice continued on. "It's unfair how we never had enough time. I would've liked to know you better. We were good friends. You would've opened up to me. Maybe not Velvet or her friends, but you would've with me."

A petal rolled off from the bundle of roses. It seemed like a sign as if Errol was saying yes I would've told YOU, just not any other. Alice smiled.

"I don't like Tony. I do not think it will last. I'd like to see you. Not that I think we should get together. You're dead and with Psyche. But just pointing out that I don't like Tony and I would like to see you." And she was being perfectly honest then. She did not like Tony, but she wasn't throwing their relationship away because she thought she could have some weird undead relationship with Errol. She just didn't like Tony that serious anymore, and she did miss Errol.

She didn't mind if Errol did see Psyche in the afterlife if there was one. He was happy, so she was. He finally was at peace, no longer suffering from cancer. She was okay with that.

"I love you," Alice finally sighed. "You are dead and with Psyche and I am growing old and I love you. Do you love me back? I think you do. Just not in a way where we'd ever become in a romantic or passionate relationship. I don't think I want that anyway. I think I'll just waste away as I pitter-patter through this life."

She paused, sticking her hands loosely in her jeans pockets. She gazed at the roses in front of her, their scent slowly wafting into the air.

"And to be honest, I'm okay with that too."

I know this may seem confusing, but I meant everything I said.

To those of you who are going through some shit like that, depression or loss, I hope you can feel something familiar in this and connect, goddammit.

Thanks for reading.

~Cynthia