You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it.
― J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix
Spencer couldn't comprehend why he had the balloon tied to his bed post. He knew that there was a reason, an important reason, but it was as if his mind was blocking it out. As if the memory had been suddenly erased. It didn't matter, Spencer hadn't felt anything sense he got home from the funeral. It felt nice not to feel, to not have to deal with the pain he knew he should feel.
Spencer woke up, three days sense the funeral, the green balloon still tied to the bedpost. It was bobbing a bit lower than it had been in when he went to sleep. He turned over, he knew if he looked at it for to long the numbness that was protecting him would dissipate. Once he turned over Spencer was greeted with another bitter sight. The other side of the bed was empty. He sat up; wearing some mismatched pajamas, and ran his fingers over the pillow. He stretched his legs through so they where in the cold blanket. The blanket that should have been warmed by a body.
Spencer snapped his eyes shut, there was a dull pain in his chest, the armor of numbness was being cracked and he couldn't stand it. He wanted more than anything to be numb again but no matter how hard he tried the tears still fell.
Suddenly he was bawling. His entire body was wracked with louds sobs. Derek wasn't in bed; the bed was cold because Derek's body was rotting in the ground some 30 miles away. The bed would never be warm again. It would never again see the skin of Derek Morgan. It would never again smell of some strong expensive cologne. It would never again see the act of love by two people who were meant for each other.
The fact that the bed would never again support two bodies broke Spencer. He pulled Derek's pillow to his chest and cried into it, he curled into a ball holding onto the pillow for dear life. He couldn't breathe. He could feel his heart breaking in his chest. He sobbed for hours, and finally his body gave out. The physical act of crying wore him down and he slipped into sleep. His tear stained cheeks red with angst, his long limbs all clutching to a lifeless pillow.
And Spencer slept for hours, and he dreamt of a beautiful wedding, and a big house. He dreamt of a baby girl and pets. He dreamt of grandchildren and growing old. He dreamt of past memories. The smile on his face didn't match the air left in the room. But sleep is the glorious escape. Spencer knew deep down it was all a dream, but that didn't stop him from enjoying it; maybe if he tried really hard he could go on like this forever. He could dream and never have to hurt.
But the world isn't that nice and eventually he woke to a dark, cold room and an empty bed. He was still latched onto a useless pillow. He was still hurt and broken. Derek Morgan was still dead, and the dreams he spent hours constructing couldn't happen.
He would never have the happiness he once knew. He would grow old alone. He would sleep alone. He would breath, eat, and live alone. And there was a lump in his throat as he stood to shower.
Spencer turned the water on and let it wash over his aching back. It was cold and uninviting but he didn't have the willpower to change it, even if he did he wouldn't have been able to feel it. As of late everything was cold. The hottest coffee, the warmest blanket, all of it mirrored the side of the bed he woke up to every morning.
As he leaned against the wall in the shower and cried, he knew he was crying. He could taste the bitterness of tears in his mouth. He should be out of tears by now, but he kept thinking of the smallest things that he would never have again, he lost part of himself, how could he continue living? Was it possible to go on without this sadness?
Spencer dressed and walked into his living room, it was like suddenly everything lost its color. The world was a black, dull place. Everything was cold and dark.
He walked to the large window that lined the wall of living room, he looked out. Everyone was going on with their lives. They walked their dogs and drove their cars. He wondered if any of them could even imagine the emptiness they couldn't see. When you're happy you don't see this emptiness, but when your better half is ripped away and buried in the ground never to be seen again, you see this emptiness.
The whole world was different, the air seemed thinner, and the sky was grey-er, the people moved slower. And that thought brought him to tears again. Tears that needed to fall; tears that he hoped desperately would cleanse him. But as he dropped to his knees clutching his chest in true pain, in pain that he could actually feel, he knew that he would never be cleansed. The pain lodged in his heart would never go away.
He cried himself to sleep right there on the floor. He knew that he should get up and go to bed, the couch at least. But his lanky form curled in a ball trying to keep itself together, and he stayed on the hard ground, attempting not to lose anymore of himself than he already had.