Word Count: 504
Summary: All I can do is wait.
Disclaimer: I don't own Brooklyn Nine-Nine or the characters.
I remember the way everything seemed still. That cold November day, the drizzle that was falling. I could see my mom holding my dad's hand tight, my brother's with their eyes closed, and my husband with his face red from the tears that never seemed to stop.
I can see my squad too, all trying to hold themselves together. Some already gave up on doing that, others are still trying so hard and it's clear.
Their faces are pale, contrasting with their black clothes. I don't like any of this. The priest's quiet voice and the drizzle make me uncomfortable. The sniffles from those that are crying makes the atmosphere even worse. I wish this wasn't happening.
I know that my husband is still trying to recover from the accident. I know he feels like it's his fault. He's with that tuxedo of his, the one that he bought because I made him do it. He has one of his arm still on a sling, and his face is a bit like mine, except his face still moves, he is still alive. Unlike me.
I watched as the priest ended his last words with "may she rest in peace" before closing the Bible and stepping away from the side of my coffin. Some people went to say their goodbyes to me, some even put flowers next to my dead body. When he showed up, I could see the way he was still crying, the way that he was feeling my death.
He leaned in to the coffin, grabbed my cold hands. There was nothing else he could do to bring me back to life. His cries seemed louder, but maybe that's because he was now closer.
"I'm so sorry, babe. Please forgive me." He whispers, planting a small rose on top of my chest. "I love you so much."
I watch this and all I want to do more than give him a hug is to cry. This is too painful to watch, but I can't move. I'm trapped here forever.
This is an endless loop that I'm living in. Ever since the accident, that I can't leave this moment. It's always the same one, my funeral. I can always see the same people, and they always do the same thing, say the same thing.
If at least sometimes things changed. But they don't. I still feel like crying when I hear my husband's last words to me. I still want to run to him, hug him, and tell him it's all a lie. That I'm alive and well. But that's a lie.
Because I'm not alive.
Because I did left.
And I'm never coming back.
All because we left work a little later than usual. And it was raining, and we couldn't see the road. We crashed. Last thing I remember it's his voice calling my name as I closed my eyes for the last time.
I guess that now all I can do, is wait for him to come back to me.
The End