Paralyzed.
Everything inside of her has seized, curled into itself. Her limbs are numb; the only part of her alive is her fingers, clenched and unyielding around the fabric of his pillow, frozen and sharp with his absence.
She presses her face firmly into the center, where her lips brushed against his so many times. Her senses are suffocating, lost in sensory overload. She breathes deeply, almost gasping, her vision black and fuzzy under the pressure. She welcomes the sensation, desperate to erase the haunting images that flood her thoughts, shroud her memories in a cloak of darkness.
Her legs quake as she climbs the sheets in desperation, grasping at phantoms, his comforter twisted around her ankles, yanking her back. The crack of a rifle rings loud and clear through her ears, snapping through her eardrums, unrelenting. She whimpers and grips more firmly, her knuckles white with exertion.
Castle. Her voice is raspy and dark with lack of use; her throat burns red-hot from her days-old screams.
I love you. Three syllables caught in her chest for months, spilling from her lips only after he'd fallen to the ground, eyes wide, trapped in a silent scream. His blood poured under her heavy hands, permeating the lines of her skin. She kissed his tears with trembling lips, one last effort to breathe life into him again.
Kate, I love you. I love you, Kate.