He grazed my cheek with his hand, slowly, and sweetly. I smiles at him, and he smiles back. I was in love with him. And he was in love with me. There was no doubt that we were in love. Everyone knew it. I leaned up on my tiptoes and kissed him lightly.
"I love you," he told me.
"I love you too."
"I'll pick you up tomorrow morning for breakfast at 8, and then we can get back here and help you move. Is that okay?" he asked me.
"That's perfect," I replied, a smiley planted on my face. He kissed me one last time, and I opened my front door and walked into my house. I watched as Nick walked into his car and drive away.
I wake up, in my own bed, in my own house, where I was that night. I remember how the next morning I waited hours and hours on end for Nick to show up, he never did. I called him, but he didn't pick up. I went to his house, which was supposed to be soon to be ours. I began to grow worried. Well, I was worried the second he didn't come. Then, that night, Joe called me.
"Joe! Have you heard from Nick? I've been trying to reach him all day!" I said frantically.
"Miley, Nick was in an accident while he was on his way to pick you up. He probably won't make it through the night, so I suggest you come to the hospital now," he explained to me. My knees buckled from under me, and I fell to the ground. Tears emerging from eyes and spilling out like a waterfall, cascading to the ocean below, which, for me, was my wet hands.
I forced myself to stop crying, and get myself up to go the hospital. I met Joe at the main entrance, and he led me to what was supposed to be Nick's room. But the person that I saw in the bed wasn't Nick. It was a limp body, attached to tubes and wires, of the male gender that looked like Nick.
Now, here I am, almost a year later, and still waiting to wake up from this nightmare. I'm still in bed, starring at the ceiling. Remembering all the times Nick and I laid here, together. We practically lived together, but never made it completely official. A large portion of my clothes was always at his house, and a large portion of his clothes here at my house, which is here. I still have everything here, where he left it. Except a sweatshirt that I wear all the time. It's my little piece of Nick to take with me. My scent has over taken it, and Nick's is no longer existent in the threads, but I still wear it. It still makes me feel like he is with me when I wear it out, and if I wear it to sleep, I swear sometimes it feels like his arms are wrapped around me. I don't know why, but it does. Tomorrow is the one-year anniversary of his death. Can I handle it? I'm not sure. But why can't I let go of him? I know why. It's because Nick was the love of my life, and I wasn't supposed to lose him. He was supposed to be with me forever. Then again, he wasn't. He was just taken from me, right before my eyes. There wasn't anything I could do about it. I prayed for him back, but it never happened. As much as I wanted it to, it wasn't going to happen.
It's now one year ago that I lost him. I didn't want to. I lay in bed, thinking about the past I had with Nick. It's 9 o'clock at night, and I'm in my bed, in Nick's old sweatshirt. Tonight especially, I can feel him with his arms around me. I turn over. I'm still not used to turning over and not seeing Nick there. I knew that he wouldn't be there, but he was. He was there. He was in front of me. I could be dreaming, I mean, it is late, and I could've fallen asleep, easily.
"Nick?" I whisper, shaking, and in shock, tears breaking from my eyes.
"I'm here," he whispers back.