Hi there!

I know I said this was a one shot, but I couldn't resist. I think I'm going to continue as long as I know how I want the characters to react. Once this particular point of view is finished, I may flip it and start again.

Thank you for your reviews, and please let me know what you think, and if you have any one shot ideas you would like to see written.

Enjoy!

She's feeling brave today. Braver than she has in a long time. She doesn't know if it's time taking it's toll, forcing her to move on against her will. Or if it's just her, becoming more insanely lonely, longing for anything that brings him close to her, reminds her he was once with her, that she could touch him and he wouldn't disappear. She shrugs her thoughts off, rolling her shoulders.

It's late in the afternoon, work long since ending, and the street lights are buzzing. She made it back to her apartment, the key in the lock, the walk to her bedroom. She sat on the floor, she closed her eyes, she breathed. It was then that she realized it was one of those nights. It had only happened twice before; once during the days following the funeral, and another about three months ago when she thought she was strong enough, thinking she was fine. She had become cocky, letting arrogance cloud her senses, thinking she had power over her emotions. Both had had terrible endings, the worst nights she'd had. Those nights were filled with the the worst nightmares she could have imagined. They suffocated her, made her head pound, nearly exploding. The screams and grinding of metal, the pools of blood. She never saw his body, never knew if she was actually dreaming of him. But something in the back of her mind told her it was him, and it was truly terrifying. She had woken up screaming bloody murder, her throat raw. The sobs that followed were so intense she had dry heaved and vomited. Besides that very first night following the accident, they were the worst nights of her entire life.

The first night, she had hailed a cab, too drunk to drive, and stumbled to her destination. It wasn't until she placed her hand on the stone that she realized what she had done. She had jolted backwards, falling to the ground, not breaking eye contact with the granite piece of living hell that now controlled her life. And so she retreated back to her apartment, uneasy and scared, drinking more, fuzzying the memory, but never removing it completely. She drifted off soon after on the couch where she had the nightmare for the first time.

The first step was acceptance. She didn't want to accept it. It was selfish of her to think this way. But why should she have to accept something so life altering, so devastating? It wasn't like there was a rule book pertaining to loss, to pain, to heartache. She couldn't flip through pages upon pages, know what to do next, and do it. It wasn't that easy. She had tried for so long to find some sort if logical reasoning, something that was follow the rules easy, the way she liked it. But no matter how hard she tried, it only made things harder, more difficult to understand.

And that's when she had this feeling for the second time. It was mid day, in the middle of her shift, when she came to the realization that she couldn't do this one by the book. She had to face this head on and try to be strong. She drove herself this time, in her squad car. She was alone, no one in the passenger seat, no one having sat there in three months. When she finally arrived, confident and determined, she walked straight to it, read it, walked around it. She thought she was doing okay, until a car honked somewhere beyond her sight, and it's tires squealed. Then, she had gone into full panic mode, nothing of her previous demeanor remaining. She stepped backwards, turned, and ran for her car. She didn't return to work, instead, she drove straight home, and crumbled onto her bed, grabbing one of his shirts. She had cried herself to sleep and woke up in the middle of the night, the images once again filling the far reaches of her mind.

But she knew she had to follow her gut. This feeling inside of her pushing her to go, drawing her to that place. If she didn't, she would regret it, and the guilt would eat away at her until it sent her to places she hoped she had long since drug herself out of. She was lying to herself, though, as much as she denied it, hoping she was getting better. She was stuck in this place, and the only thing that could bring her out was him, and he was gone. But if she didn't go through with this, she would only fall deeper.

So she settled it with herself. She had to make the move before she talked herself out if it, before logical thinking could tell her this was not a good idea. If previous experience was any indication, she would think twice, but she was heart broken, and logical thinking is strangled by spontaneous gestures. She picked up the keys and left the safety of her apartment, her walls, to visit him.

She drove the fifteen minutes to the cemetery, the light in the sky growing dimmer. She drove in a daze, her awareness lowered, and her senses dulled. She couldn't believe she was doing this; but three times a charm, and maybe her emotions could finally stay in tact, maybe she could control herself, maybe she could begin to heal.

She parks a long way away, needing time to mentally prepare herself. It's been three months since she's done this. Six long, agonizing months since she's last seen him, heard his voice, touched his face. The path is long, his plot on a small hill, just high enough that you can see parts of the city below, if it weren't such a horrid, haunting place and circumstance, it would have been picture perfect. She walks thirty paces and stops. She breathes in and let's it out slowly. She still has 15 more paces. It takes everything in her not to turn and run. Run from this stupid idea, run from the pain, run from him.

She realizes that she can't do that anymore. She's avoiding him, he would be so hurt, crushed to know that the women that he loves, loved, so much, had never come.

But she had tried, and it hurt her so bad, bad enough that she was shaken to her very core, the core that she had hardened and reinforced and sturdied. So she reasoned with herself that he would have understood; because that's the kind of man he was, understanding.

So she took the remaining 15 paces, until she was face to face with that infamous granite stone from living hell. She stood in silence for a long time, the only sound were the crickets, the city just far enough away that it was quiet. She read and reread the stone.

"Richard Edgar Alexander Rodgers Castle
1969-2015
Loved, Always"

The words etched into her brain, she moved closer. She breathed in again before sitting down. She crossed her legs, and bit the inside of her lip, trying not to cry. Instead, she looked up to the sky, darkness starting to descend. "I miss you so much. I never expected it to be so hard." She stopped. The tears spilling out. She gathered her hair in her hands and rested her elbows on her knees. "I just want to be okay again. But I'm never going to be okay. Not without you." Her eyes moved to the stone now. "Why did you have to get in that damn car? Why couldn't you have stayed at home? I would still have you here. I'm so sorry I didn't stop you. Why didn't I stop you? You hadn't had a second cup of coffee that day. I hadn't kissed you a second time like normal. I hadn't been able to say goodbye. I'm so sorry. I lay in bed every night thinking of what I could have done to stop you. God I could have done something, but I didn't. I didn't, and now you're gone. And I'm so afraid that one day I'm going to wake up and I'm not going to remember you, your smell, your voice, your laugh. It kills me. Oh my God it hurts so bad, Rick. I miss you more than you will ever know. I love you so much." She let it all spill out, for the first time, letting it all tumble out into the open, where the only things around her were stones and air.

She wiped her eyes, making room for the fresh round of tears that poured out. She reached out and placed her finger tips on his stone. It was freezing cold, life less, revolting. She drew back, and stood up, looking at it from a different angle. It was beautiful. She hated herself for even thinking it. There was nothing beautiful about death, nothing that could even begin to justify what it did to people, how it completely destroyed them. But his stone had been designed to embody him. It was large and elaborate, of course, the writing scroll like, the corners sharp and neat, much like a book. At the bottom was a portrait of him, the one on the back of all his book jackets. The grin on his face had always made her smile. She bent down, kissed the top, and turned. She walked away and didn't look back.

She returned to her apartment, her appetite having long been gone. Her only priority was getting into bed, and wrapping herself in his T-shirt. She couldn't bring herself to open the drawer, so she made do with the one she already had. She curled herself into a ball, pulling the covers around her ears, leaving her nose stick out. She shut her eyes tight, and tried breathing normally, but nothing could stop the tears.

She let them fall silently, too tired to scream. Sleep in her near future, there was nothing she could do. She waited for the nightmare to engulf her for the third time.

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xoxo