I searched for the answers I knew all along
I felt dark lashes brimmed heavy with tears; hands clenched into shaking fists, in a desperate battle against the grief.
A lone tear traced down my cheek, and just like that, the floodgates opened.
I wept, tears streaming from my deep green eyes, loud, heaving sobs tearing from my throat.
I would've given anything to not remember this —to not remember how much he loved me, how lost I was without him.
"I'm so sorry," I whispered, gripping the glass of bourbon in hand.
No amount of alcohol could drown out the amount of pain I felt in my chest.
I pulled out a picture from my back pocket and stared intensely at it. I would always never look at this photograph, always afraid that it would become worn, sun bleached or damaged. I had been mistaken. This picture is just conduits to my very best memories, the only fantastic ones enough to leave a permanent mark on their own.
Glass in hand, I mindlessly twirled my wedding ring around her pinkie finger. I had twisted it so much on every finger that it left a raw, pink mark on every single one of my fingers.
It has been ten years and it's still permanently glued to me. I didn't have the heart to tuck it away somewhere.
It takes me back to when he first proposed to me. I felt the tears gather in my eyes as I let myself—just once more— fall back into that memory.
We were sitting out on the porch on day. The sun was extremely hot and I was dripping in sweat. We had just finished up on the last of training and needed a minute before we went back into our room for a cold shower and some alone time.
"It's beautiful out here," I heard him say quietly, kissing the length of my neck, capturing the beads of sweat on his lips.
"You're beautiful." He says it softly, so naturally.
"I'm so sweaty and I smell like an actual crazy person," I retorted, raising an eyebrow at him.
He just chuckled softly, interlaced our fingers and littered the back of my hand with soft kisses —the kind of kisses that made want to rip his clothes off right where he stood.
"I love you," I said quietly, leaning my head into the crook of his neck.
He smirked at me; that devilish smirk and I mentally prepared myself for whatever nonsense he was about to say. "Ditto."
"God, you're such an idiot," I groaned, punching him in the arm with my other hand.
"Marry me," he blurted out. I would've laughed if it weren't for that solemn expression.
"What?" I asked, searching his eyes for any indication that the words he just uttered might have been a joke. I didn't find any.
"You're serious?" I asked in disbelief.
There's nothing left to lose.
I gripped the bottle in my hands, my eyes swiveling towards the back of my head in a distressed sense of a headache. I tilted my head towards the edge of the couch as I took a long swig of the dark substance that affected me. I sigh as the walls become part of a fun house, changing figure in a blink of an eye. My breath was the underlying cause of the smell of alcohol that entered my nostrils, and my mouth was sore from the amount of alcohol that I poured down my throat. I clear my throat as I stand up, just to fall back down on the couch in an unbalanced attempt to walk to the dark bedroom where I could feel the comfort of the bed to overtake the state of drunkenness. I stand again and stagger towards the bedroom, gripping on bookcases and tables to the room.
I remember it as if it was just yesterday; the memory so fresh that I felt myself choking on thoughts of what could've been —what we could've been.
His tongue was the sweetest; every word uttered by him would always leave me weakened and more deeper in love than before. These were the memories I cherished most.
There were times when I would look into his bright eyes, down with blue wondering if he meant it when he said "I love you". I continued to tell myself that I fell in love too easily so it's only a matter of time before he'd leave me for someone else to say — he's tired of my love.
He did.
Now are the times I'm living with regrets; now are the times I am gloomy, yet somehow there is hope within me that he'll come back.
Ten years later and this pain still abuses me.
My Kurt. My husband.
Every day seems a bit harder than the last. I see him in my dreams, feel him on my skin—inside me, around me.
It feels like emptiness in my heart, a shear of nothingness that somehow takes over, holds my soul and threatens to kill me entirely. It gives this heavy feeling that's like the weight of the world is resting on my shoulders and there is nothing I can do to get out from under it. Its like this hole in my heart that is the shape of the one I lost and that makes me feel the need to wipe away any non existent tears that I want to form but can't.
One day I will properly grieve for him, but first I would have to accept he is really gone —and though I dug his grave myself there's part of me that holds the memory back. There's part of me that will never believe he won't come bouncing around some corner to laugh at me for falling for this elaborate joke.
"You took my heart with you, Kurt," my voice was barely above a whisper and heart thumped wildly in my chest.
With Kurt's death anniversary just two days away KJ was staying at Sarah's for the weekend. She offered me that sad, dull look that reminded me that while I lost my husband she lost her brother.
I wrote him letters everyday that he'd never see.
I wrote about KJ —Kurt Jonathan —our son.
He looks so much like his father it was almost as if Kurt was reborn just for me. In some ways, I guess he was. KJ is my light in this darkness; he kept me afloat —he has kept me alive.
God, I wish he could see our baby boy —our creation.
He is courageous, astute and willing to think before he acts. He has balance, perseverance and intelligence. Some may think me bias, that he can't possibly be all those things, yet he is because he's our son. He's Kurt's son.
A nudge to my ribs makes me jerk awake to see Roman's smiling face.
I had kept in contact with him. Of course I did. He was my brother. We were a team.
He was my biggest support. When I was hurting so badly that I couldn't even leave my bed he'd take KJ for a few hours while I got myself together. I tried to be a good mother for my boy but I knew I wasn't. I tried to spend as much time as I could with him and not drown myself in work so much that he forgot he even had a mother.
How long was I out?
"What are you doing in my house?"
My house? Since when?
Since when was anything just mine?
It's weird how death takes away everything from you. For a moment he was sitting beside me — yelling, shouting at me to slow down the car, to pull over. Then all was left the next moment was a pale body covered with blood. His eyes wide open with fear.
All I could think of in that moment was how I killed my husband.
Roman shook his head sadly at me as he took in my appearance —messy hair, bourbon stained T-shirt, flushed cheeks and wild eyes.
"What's wrong now?" He questions softly, taking a seat next to me.
What isn't wrong ? Everything's wrong.
I scooted over to give him more room and turned on my side to find his worried expression.
I fought the urge to roll my eyes and gritted out, "I'm fine, Roman."
I understood his concern. I really did but sometimes, I just needed to not be treated as if I would break if enough pressure was applied, even though that's how I felt every single day.
The look on his face said he wasn't convinced but he didn't push. Thankfully.
He just sat there in awkward silence until I shifted uncomfortably under the covers.
"Thirteen years," I whispered, propping myself on my elbows to get closer to him.
I felt as if my lungs were slowly filling with water, as if there was just less space in them for the air. Inflating them felt like pushing up a lead weight on my chest.
"Thirteen years," I repeated when it was well enough to breathe properly.
"Our first meeting almost resulted in his death. He should've known better than to —"
I sucked in a deep breath and rapidly blinked back the tears threatening to fall. Again
Pain is a dream..
"He should've known better than to engage with a tattooed woman with no recollection of who she was," I tried again, silently praising myself for successfully forcing that sentence out.
Some days I feel everything at once, others I feel nothing at all. It was one of those days where I felt everything at once. Every memory we ever made, every promise, every declaration of love it was all swimming around in my head, beneath my skin. I couldn't get rid of it and part of me didn't want to. It was all I had to hold onto to.
"Tomorrow would've been fourteen years with him. Long time right?" I asked, titling my head back just a little to look him square in the face. His face was scrunched up with something I didn't recognize.
"He's dead...because of me."
"You loved him. He loved you. What happened to Kurt wasn't your fault and you know he wouldn't want you to blame yourself— torture yourself like this. You have to think about KJ. He needs you. You need each other."
I didn't trust my voice to use so I just nodded as a few more tears slipped down my cheek.
Roman wore a deadpan look. His eyes looking at everything but searching for nothing in particular.
He spared me one more pitying look before raising himself from the bed.
I knew it killed him to see me like this —so fragile, so hurt and it hurt me to know that my brother blamed himself everytime I wasn't feeling 100%. He had done everything he could possibly do for me. He had put his honeymoon on hold when he heard of Kurt's demise just so he could be there for me. Him and Tasha moved in with me to assist me with the pregnancy and they even stuck around for a few months after KJ was born.
They took KJ on the weekends sometimes to basketball games when his mother couldn't. I was so incredibly grateful that they found each other. They both deserved the world handed to them on a gold platter for all they did for myself and my son.
He placed his warm hands over mine and squeezed gently.
"Whenever you're ready," He glanced down at his watch and peered down at me with sad eyes. I gave a small smile and a quick nod of my head.
"Alice should be out of school in a few minutes. You know how the little lady gets when daddy's late."
A/N: This was another sad one. I'm sorry?
Please let me know what you all think about this. Your reviews are always appreciated xx