He set the pen and paper on the bed next to him, dropping his head into his hands and sighing. The last two days had been a living hell; he hadn't slept since the call almost exactly 48 hours before. Everything he saw, everything he did, just reminded him of her. Walking into the kitchen reminded him of waking up every morning and seeing her making coffee. The couch reminded him of all the nights spent together in front of the fire, the couple wrapped in a blanket while he held her. The entire apartment reminded him of her smile, her laugh, her touch, but most of all her eyes, those large, beautiful, piercing gray eyes. He didn't try to hold back the tears, it was pointless now. There was nobody there to see them, and he didn't care anymore. Nothing mattered anymore, not without her. He sighed again as he rose to his feet, limping heavily to the kitchen. He winced as he trudged to the dining table, his heart breaking again as images of her face, her beautiful, caring, never judgmental face, flashed through his head. He set the piece of paper gently on the wooden surface, crumpled as it was from the unconscious clenching of his fist. He stood in the darkness for a moment, asking himself one final time if he was sure about this. His mind again conjured images of her, of how adorable, how peaceful she looked when she slept, of their first "date" if it could even be called that, of the faint smile she always wore when she heard him play the piano, of how every little thing she did made him love her even more. His decision made, he slowly limped to the couch and sat heavily, his fingers tracing the cold, emotionless metal of the dark mass lying on the table. As he raised the gun to his head, he closed his eyes, seeing her face in his mind one last time. One final tear fell down his cheek as he whispered softly into the darkness, "I'm sorry." And pulled the trigger.
The police officer sighed heavily as he walked into the apartment, having been called to a report of a single gunshot. He had known the man who lived, had lived, there. He had known what he would find even before he had opened the door a few seconds before, but the image of the dead body on the couch still hit him hard. He walked towards the bedroom, looking for a suicide note, when he noticed a crumpled piece of paper on the table. He trudged over, smoothing it out as he read the carefully scrawled handwriting, a tear forming in his eye as he scanned the page. He sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose as he forced himself to suppress the emotions threatening to bubble over. He gathered his thoughts for another moment before he turned and made his way to the front door, pausing a moment to turn back and say quietly, sadly, into the darkness, "Goodbye House."
Remy -
I don't know if this is hello or goodbye. Life means nothing anymore. When I got the call that you had been in an accident, that there was nothing they could do, that you were gone, my life ended. You are, were, the only good thing in my life. I hope I was wrong, that there is something after this, that I'll be able to hear your voice one more time, give you one last kiss, hold you one last time. I hope I was wrong. I guess I'll find out soon enough. See you on the other side. I love you.