Consider yourself warned. Ooh Jumping Timelines again!
You can feel the faint heat from the sun on your arms, and you're standing there, as if someone drained all the blood and life from your body - your slumped shoulders and tired, your eyes too weary to even look up. It's a gorgeous day, with the faint sunshine and a mild breeze in the air, a day you know for sure she would have enjoyed. A day you would have enjoyed with her - with pointless activities planned out. The sound of her laughter is still ringing in your ears, and if you close your eyes, you can feel her breath on your skin, her lips on yours, and as if by magic - she's back in your arms again. It's a cruel trick - and you don't know what to do. Should you give in and live forever desperately holding on to a dream - or never dare to sleep again - for the feeling of the dream shattering to reality is too bitter a picture for you to bear. But it's a glorious day, one she would have loved. Loved to share with you, loved to spend with you - laying her eyes on you, dragging you outdoors by bribing you - getting you to do things you in your sane mind would have never dreamt of, but you would have done all along - just because it always gave her this joy - her lopsided smile stuck on her face all day, and you would have done any lame deed in the world, just to see her smile.
You truly can't gather enough strength to even raise your gaze, you've lost. You have finally given in, the weight of finality finally weighing on your shoulders, something you believe you would never shake off. Your hands are stuck in your pockets, and you're tugging at the material lining the pockets, you're digging into them hard enough, you can feel the material give way as you're tugging harder and harder. You want to run away - far away from this reminder, this marker of all that you've lost, yet you're rooted to the spot - your eyes never leaving the words inscribed on the marker, and reading them over and over and over, each time you do - the feeling sinks in deeper, and you feel smaller, more insignificant than you did, and even more miserable. The only thing that's running through head is three simple words, and no matter what you do - the words echo in your mind, growing louder each time, each time haunting you worse than it did before.
Come back, Hol.
As you reach the hospital, you don't remember the car ride much, but it doesn't matter. You're in denial. The news you got? That wasn't true? How could it be true? She was just there - she was right there when you woke up, and all of a sudden you're here in the hospital - people giving you sad looks of sympathy, and your brain hasn't really grasped anything at all. That car ride did nothing to make your stupid brain accept it. And before you realize it - people are flocking to you - strangers, friends, the rookies, everyone - they're all swarming around you to comfort you, and your brain feels short circuited. You know what happened, you were promptly informed of that - but you don't know. It's all too surreal, too fast - it all feels like an extremely realistic nightmare. You don't understand how you're functioning even - but you know as much that you are functioning. You suddenly feel breathless, everyone's smothering you too much, and you know why - but you're brain isn't able to process that. It feels like a weight pressing on your chest, something gripping you by the neck and wringing the breath out of you, and that's enough to send your brain to over drive.
You want her by your side, she would make it all better, she would swoop right in from absolutely nowhere, and explain all the neurochemical processes in your brain - in the hope that understanding what was going on your brain would calm you down. It wasn't so much as the elaborate explanations, as much as her little mannerisms, the way she would gush and get so excited about random facts, the way she would explain it - expecting you to meet her halfway - except it all normally would go right over your head, this twinkle she got in her eye whenever she went into nervously passionate teacher mode. That was what always calmed you down, not the reasoning behind mundane chemical reactions.
So, you're still dumbstruck, waiting for her to come along and explain to you what just happened. And the next logical thought that pops into your brain is that - she can't. She can't.
This is heaven. You - wrapped up in your sheets, it's warm outside, but still, the plushy material on your skin, the mattress almost hugging you, it's too comfy to move an inch. You're asleep, sound asleep - after a late shift, you've got the day off, and you were planning on spending it with her. This was supposed to be a lazy day in bed, watching reruns of totally inaccurate television shows and sinful tucking in to the unhealthiest take-out. It's probably half past two in the afternoon, you don't care, it's your day off. And after a tiring shift like that - you don't feel any guilt about sleeping off half the day, in fact it still doesn't feel enough. You can hear the soft buzzing of your phone from somewhere, you really should have turned it off before going to bed. It's too comfy too move, it's too comfy for anyone to spoil your sleep. You're awake now, yet you have no wish to open your eyes and get out of bed. This would have been perfect if only she were here. You're immediately dreaming of your girl - who was always a sweetheart, quite possibly too much of a sweetheart. The ever-endearing nerd, who would never slack off - not even if you're here in her bed all day.
You jerk awake hearing someone banging hard on the door and almost assaulting the doorbell. Your girlfriend didn't usually forget the keys to her own house, so you assume it's some nosy neighbors, who have lame bone to pick. You really hate getting up off the bed, but the noise seems more unbearable than anything, and soon you're out of bed, cursing whoever could it be at three in the afternoon.
You truly hadn't expected Steve and his pale face with pain etched all over it.
It's evening, and finally all the people who had crowded around you had left, after all your misery was but a tiny part of their day. It's been fifteen minutes since someone came and told you how sorry they were for your loss, and with the silence in your head, it slowly begins to seep in. The news that had jolted you awake in the afternoon - slowly but surely makes its way through your mind, and your thoughts are barely clearing up.
She's gone. She's isn't gonna come home anymore. She isn't going to kiss you good morning again, she isn't going to wrap her arms tight around you again, you aren't going to see her eyes again, you aren't going to feel her lightly pull you towards her, she isn't going to run her fingers through your hair again, she isn't going to softly whisper sweet nothings in your ear.
It's these rush of thoughts that feel like someone's plunging a dull knife right through your chest, not nearly killing you - but painful enough to make you grasp the sides of the chair you were sitting on and scream.
'No!' you try and yell, except for the first time you realize you had been crying for so long, that your voice is hoarse, you're sniffing badly, and quite breathless. That's why those people were consoling me.
Your scream sounds nothing like a shout of pain, and more like a hoarse whisper in agony. It's Traci who's next to you, and she doesn't say a word and tries to calm you down by placing a calming hand on your shoulder. For some reason, it angers you, and you jerk away from her, you don't want anyone to touch you, if it wasn't Holly.
'Gail.' Traci says, softly, hoping to calm you down.
'I shouldn't have let her go out this morning.' you blurt out, not even realizing that those thoughts were running through your head somewhere.
'It's not you fau-'
'I shouldn't have let her go out, I should have kept her in bed till 12:49 and none of this would have happened.' you breathlessly blurt out, it feels easier and more difficult at the same time, placing some off the blame on yourself. You idiot.
'Gail, it's not your fault.' Traci emphasizes, as calmly as she could but in vain. You're shaking your head, and slam your palms into your face, hoping something would revert the last few hours.
I shouldn't have let her go.
It's half past seven in the morning, and you already know something's off. You can't feel her next to you, you could always tell when she woke up before you. The other side of the bed would be still warm, but you wouldn't be able to feel her, hear the soft comforting rhythm of her breathing, and you already jump to the conclusion that she's woken up before you. But you're still tired, you want to sleep longer, and you don't want to stir and inch, but at the same time, you want her to know you're utterly annoyed that she isn't next to you. You can hear her, walking up and about the room, hear the faint sound of her pulling her clothes on, setting her hair straight. You assume that she's been called in a bit early today, probably a gruesome murder, which could easily wait. But the last time you tried explaining to her that dead people would still be dead even if she were late by 15 minutes ended up with you getting a crash course on differential time analysis and forensic ethics. So, to show your annoyance with her, you curl up into a ball at the corner of the bed. Sure enough, you feel her climb on the bed and whisper that she'd be back as soon as she was done with the case. You're still annoyed with her,so you don't open your eyes or say a word, and you can picture her pouting at your stubbornness. You hear her sigh and before you know it, she's pressing a soft kiss to your left cheek and scrawling out of the bed.
You're immediately annoyed at your own stubbornness, and you want her back in bed now, but you're too lazy to climb out of bed and drag her back.
'Come back, Hol!' you yell, hoping she hears you and comes back. Except you hear her snicker before the front door slams shut.
You groan and fall back into the pillows, deciding to fall asleep till she comes back.
