A/N: Alright, we understand you're…unhappy with us. But please, no flaming.
And we're sorry it's been forever since we've updated.
This chapter is short, but we thought where we ended was a good place to end. Not the whole story, just, you know, this chapter.
And the part in italics is Paul. Just in case you didn't know.
Chapter 5
I stared blankly at the shiny mahogany box in front of me. Flowers adorned the top; the sun glinted off of it. I looked down at the toe of my shoe.
The grass was wet.
My shoe was wet.
That's how I'd been thinking since…The Accident. They day my life started to majorly suck. The day God decided that I wasn't good enough to deserve him. The day that I lost all feeling in my body. I had cried so hard for so long that it was impossible to continue.
Wouldn't he come back?
Wouldn't he?
Or was I doomed forever in this state that was more death than life?
I didn't know.
I didn't care.
All I could ever think about was him. His smile. His laugh. His eyes. His kisses…
And then to know that I'd never feel them again.
It was a physical pain, like a huge empty void that would never be filled.
The wind whipped my cheeks, tousled my greasy hair. I had only bathed once since he died. And that had been almost a week ago. I wouldn't have, except my mother made me.
I smelled that bad.
I couldn't see them, but I knew my eyes were bloodshot. I looked up at the solemn faces surrounding me.
Father Dom was conducting this whole ordeal.
I refused to admit it was his funeral.
My therapist said I was in denial.
I said I was pissed.
It was ironic though. He was the one who was going to marry us.
And now he was making our separation official.
Why? Why me?
I began to shake as the box was lowered into the ground. I couldn't stand anymore, so consumed by grief, so…tired of it all. I had thrown up repeatedly the day that I figured out it was really happening. That he was really gone.
In a way he had never been before.
Suze stared at the ground. I felt like shit. I should have done something. I didn't want to see her like this. She crumpled on the ground in a heap, watching the coffin being lowered into the ground, sobbing uncontrollably.
I had to get her away from here, no one was doing anything. Just looking at her. He wouldn't have wanted her to be like this. I knew that much.
I made my way over to her, as quickly as possible. She looked like she was going to throw up. I figured she wouldn't…there was nothing for her to throw up. I don't think she'd eaten at all in the last two weeks. Anytime she looked at food, she'd cry. She'd weep and moan his name.
Anytime she looked at anything that reminded her of him. She cried a lot.
I gently lifted her from the ground. She struggled in my grasp.
"Jesse!" She screamed, tried to throw herself at the coffin. I wasn't sure why people did that. There was nothing left there. Just an empty shell. The soul, the important part, was gone.
"Jesse…" she whispered. I lifted her into my arms and carried her fireman style to my car.
"You're going home."
"Jesse…"
She fell asleep in my arms.
When I woke up, I was laying on something soft. There was light coming in from my window. I sniffed and tried to cry, knowing that I had nothing left in this life. Nothing.
I dragged myself into a sitting position and looked around my room. It was my old room, the one at my mom's house. It hadn't changed since I'd moved out. It was still horribly pink only it was used as a guest room now. There was what I thought was probably every picture of Jesse ever taken strewn around. Including the miniature of him that had been painted over a hundred years ago. I got up and then stumbled into the bathroom. I hit the light switch, and wished I hadn't.
My appearance was so bad, that I forgot everything for a nano-second. I looked dead. As dead as him.
No. I wouldn't think that way. He'd come back to me. He always had.
Wouldn't he?
Of course he would. I wouldn't let myself think otherwise.
What I saw in the mirror resembled me. Sort of. The girl in the mirror had green eyes surrounded by raw redness. She was pale, too thin, sick and weakly looking.
Her hair was stringy.
But she was me.
I flipped off the light switch, ditching my original thoughts of a shower and stumbled back into my room. Walking felt weird. My head felt empty and every step was a huge effort.
I sat down on my bed and cried.
"Querida?"
I started to cry harder. Over and over his voice had played in my head. Some figment of my imagination that wanted me to remember every painful detail.
I felt a hand touch my back soothingly, and I was pulled into a strong embrace.
Spanish words mumbled against my hair.
"Querida, look at me."
I drug my eyes up and stopped crying. No one would think to copy him that perfectly. Not even my imagination. I wrapped my arms around him and cried new tears of happiness.
A/N: Okay, you should be happier with us now. Hopefully. Please review!