A/N- So, Mar is going through the 5 Stages of Grief…my attempt to try and convey them.

CHAPTER 44

Day 19

Through the wall I can hear the cry of a hungry baby. With every second of that annoying sound, I crawl under the covers. The same covers I've been under for the past 10 days since…yeah. My body feels restless and tired for I have not caught up on sleep; Main reason being the baby which resides here in the house now. Seeing as to I don't talk or do much of anything…all these things should come to me easily but sleep is my enemy.

Eleanor Grace arrived, I wanna say, 6 days ago? Well yeah, Maria and Phil both went to scoop the baby up. Ask me a couple weeks ago or days even, and I would've told you how fucking excited I was to meet the kid. Ask me now…tables have turned, cards flipped. In the meantime, while these people were bringing baby home…I was devising a plan to ignore and not acknowledge her. Simple thought of seeing her made my skin crawl because last time I saw the frail being, she reminded me of her father…too much. First thing that came to mind was moving in with Mama Rosa BUT Dominick is already staying there. Yeah, Micks and I both drove Maria into getting him outta the crib for his own mental health. The next was moving into the upper-floor of Inkblot BUT that'd drive me to point of insanity—if I'm not there yet.

Front door creaked open and footsteps shuffled in. Gasping, I pulled my hair thinking about just how fucked I was. My hand felt around for my trusty Batman blankie, that shit never leaves my sight as it is my safety cover, and tiptoed it to my door. Silently, I peaked though the tiny crevice I managed to open. Maria held the baby with such adoration and care, kinda killed me. Phil just sat on the edge of the couch, smiling at the sight. This had made me so jealous; I actually walked over to them, cautiously.

Both had seemed genuinely surprised by my presence, "Hey, look who finally crawled from under her rock.", said Phil, seemingly happily. How he managed to not crumble like Micks and me surprised me.

"Look Eli, it's Auntie Marley.", cooed Maria to the tiny bundle in her arms. Observing how lovingly Punk's girlfriend held the bundle made me feel depressed, "Marleene, you wanna hold her?", she asked

Wringing my hands nervously, "N-no…I just wanted to…", Maria's fuckin' pout and owl eyes made me give in, "Um…fine."

The woman squeals happily, too happily, "Okay you just su—"

"I KNOW…I know, I've held babies before…", it sounded terrible but I hadn't meant to come off like that.

Woman just kept on smiling, how she usually does, and handed me Eleanor Grace. Never in my life had I taken into consideration how much kids look like their parents. With shaky hands I uncovered the child's face a bit more and stared at Wesley's reflection. At first I had thought I'd be good but the more I kept staring the more I wanted to cry…which I did. Baby looked, looks, so much like her pops. From the ears, nose, hair, to the eyes. "She looks so much like him…", I whisper, something I did must've woken up the diaper-user 'cus the baby began to wail. This shit had made me jump and tremble causing me to ALMOST drop her. "HE-HERE!", I pushed the love child into Maria's arms and scrambled in the direction in which I came from.

As I closed the door, a foot stopped it. I backed away and began pacing about the room trying to calm myself down. All of that had sent me into an emotional breakdown type of thing. Oh how I had regretted ever having gotten out of bed.

Strong tattooed arms engulfed me at the waist from behind and slowly my shaking had gone down to just sobs, "It's okay, doll.", he kept repeating but we both knew NOTHING was or will ever be just 'okay'. Funny, really, how being in those arms had given me a sense of comfort and safety.

So yeah, it has been 6 days and I have yet to get used to the baby's cries. That's just me…Micks, she's a different story. The woman can't stand her own child. Literally goes into a rage when Eli cries or coos. Sometimes, I feel that Micks woulda' killed the kid already if she were on her own. Shit, she woulda' killed ME. Point blank, McKenzie lost a part of herself when Wesley…yeah.

Day 36

It's my fault Wesley's dead. I mean, if I had told him to back away or DONE SOMETHING he'd be here. Even HE tells me. Asks me why I didn't do shit to save him. In my dreams—nightmares. My brain, my body, soul can't—hasn't been at peace with itself. Somewhere, I know different but fucking hell…

Everybody up in this house avoids me at all costs. My mood swings have taken a turn for the worst and I lash out at anybody, for anything. My frustration and anger cannot just be contained.

Why did this happen to me? Why couldn't that cunt, bitch, whore have gone in his place? WHY DO PEOPLE WHO DESERVE TO LIVE AND THRIVE…DIE?

Day 51

Just another, of many, sleepless nights where all I do is stare out my window and think about Wesley and how or what he's doing. Wishing to be there, wherever there is. Rethinking about things I could've, should've, and would've done to have prevented his death. Just another night going over the path my life has taken. It has been little over a month since Bossman's untimely death and I still spend my days cooped up in my room crying, thinking, wondering, eating—nothing productive to say the least.

Maria bathes and shaves me…talks to me even knowing that I most likely won't reply. Colt and Phil feed me and constantly try to make me leave the safety of my room to go out. Eli is now about a month old and I have yet to acknowledge her; Micks still refuses to touch her, maybe tolerate her, but never touch or anything. Dominick is holding up at Mama Rosa's but wants to come home. Thing's outside these walls I have no clue of, unless somebody texts me…which is 24/7. Mostly people from the parlor or people who know me and have my number; I keep my phone off most of the time and only reply when they start believing that I'm 6ft under. Neighbors come over and help out with the cleaning and the baby. Some go as far as cooking full meals and shopping.

Just another night but then my phone starts vibrating like crazy, a call. Confusedly, I pick up the damned thing and look at the called ID. To my surprise it's Randall Keith Orton. For the past couple of days he has kept a tab on me but this is the first time he has called, which actually makes me wanna smile.

"Hello?", my voice sounds gravelly from the lack of use

"Well hello Gorgeous.", he croons. Fucking cocky bastard

Sighing, "Shuttup, stud."

The man gasps, "That isn't how you greet somebody you supposedly miss so much."

That earns him the tiniest chuckle, the closest thing to happy, from me, "Ha ha. Why you callin' so late? You drunk?"

"Nah, I'm just in my hotel room…restless. You came into my mind and well I just hadda' call.", sarcastic!, "I'm in Seattle, by the way."

Getting out of bed, "Mmm…well all I'm gonna do is bore you. Must be nice to travel though…"

"I don't care. Just wanted to catch up and check up you, sweetheart. Eh.", he says

Walking out of the room and tiptoeing to the living room, "Nothing to catch up…just how much I-I miss Wesley…and you, of course. And how fat I've gotten. I'm fine…really."

I hear him sigh, "Honestly wish you didn't have to go through something so horrible, but that's how life is, darling. Time'll pass and the wound will scar—sure it'll still reopen once in awhile but you just gotta remember the good times and keep strong. As for missing me, hell I must say I get that quite a lot.", he chuckles and I smile a fraction, "But this 'I'm fat' thing…no, no, no…I bet you look just as good as when I met you."

Settling into the couch, "I know, I know but still…it hurts. I'm not one for showing my feelings and shit but damn…I've never felt so down, so-so…", my lips tremble

"You can talk to me, you know?"

I nod my head as if he'd be able to see, "Its just that…he was my bestfriend, Randy.", I close my eyes, "Maybe, just maybe, I coulda' done something to-to…I don't know."

"Look, keeping on with the If's and But's will only do more harm than good…you just gotta learn to accept how things are. It's hard, trust me when I lost my brother…man. It was difficult, we were so close."

This came as a shocker to me, "You had a brother?"

"Robert, he died in a car crash way back when I was a kid. As I said, it was hard but…eventually, you learn to live with it."

His words linger in my mind but don't help much, "Thanks…Really."

"Anytime…but hey, when am I gonna see you again?"

Tapping my chin, "I don't know…not to be a bitch but I rather not see you…or people in general…for awhile."

"I understand. You need alone time."

"Yeah…", after some silence, "How's Addie and Sam?"

"Well, from what they tell me over the phone…they're great. I miss Ads…never did I think being a dad could be so…I don't know, hearing her voice or her laugh makes my day better. Is it wrong to say I love the kid even if I've just barely met her?"

A small smile graces my face at this info, "Nah…it's cute actually."

"Oh be quiet…but yeah. Sam…Sam she's actually pretty chill. Well, from what I've come to know."

"You ain't trynna get in her panties, are ya'?"

He gasps, "Wha—Why would you even ask such a thing? Of course I'm not… 'cus I've already."

My eyes open wide, "You're sucha dog, Randy."

"You jealous?"

My cheeks burn slightly, "Just a tinsy-winsy bit."

He chuckles, "You got Punk to keep you busy while I'm hard at work."

I gasp, "Fuck you."

"Whenever."

"Ugh…"

He laughs, "Talkin' 'bout the man…what's up with you and him? Don't deny…you've told Dave and me about that."

Rolling my eyes, "It's…difficult."

"How? Can't get it up or…?", he has a woman…

"I-I really don't wanna get into this…I've got a lot on my plate as it is…I don't need that shit…"

"Sorry…"

"Eh, it's okay."

"If it's any consolation…Dave and Maria have a thing…it's pretty serious. So she'll be outta the way sooner or later."

My interest peaks upon hearing this but depletes…She's still in love with Phil and probably won't leave him for a fling. Sudden fatigue overcomes me, or it's just that talking about Phil has brought my mood down—whatever, I fake a yawn, "Hey, I think ima call it a night…Take care, call me whenever."

"Alright. Take care, Marleene…I mean it, no crazy business. I still gotta find a way to bring you with me on the road.", he chuckles, "Wish me luck 'cus with only a few hours of sleep and this signing I gotta do…I'll be a zombie."

I chuckle, "No worries and good luck, hotshot. Text me if anything.", with that I click and so returns the sadness and shit.

Day 60

"Marleene…Maleene…Doll. DOLL.", calls out a voice but I can't really hear it. My main focus is getting away from Wes's zombie grasp. "DOLL…IT'S JUST DREAM…WAKE UP."

Shaking back to consciousness, I realize that I'm on the floor. Phil is all up in my face with a look of concern and I'm soaked in a thin layer of cold sweat, heavily panting. "What happened?", I ask feeling confused and yet shaken

"You were having a nightmare, beautiful.", he says tucking a strand of hair behind my ear

Rubbing my eyes, flashes of my nightmare come back to me and shake me up even more. The dream itself shouldn't be scary but it was Wes coming back as a zombie…coming back to get me. In this dream, he hates me with a passion, cursing the day we became bestfriends—saying all the things I've always feared would come out of his mouth and the things I fear he wants to say even now that he's long gone. I tuck in my knees and begin to rock back and forth, whispering 'No' over and over as if that'd get rid of these horrible thoughts.

"Hey, hey…beautiful, listen to me…hey…", Phil's futile attempt to get through to me. Off his knees, he picks me up bridal-style, takes me to the vacant living room, and sits down—still holding. He holds me like he held me at the hospital, like an infant. Lips peck the top of my jungle of hair and whisper soothing things.

Without thinking, I hug the man I try to avoid, to keep away…I hug him. My body, too tired of restraining all emotion…gives up. Yeah, I sob into his shirt as he strokes my arms. Usually, I'd run into my room and lock myself in but not this time. I cry out all my anger, hurt, sadness—everything. This is you realizing you can't bargain anymore. This is you letting go of all that anger…this is you not wanting to be lonely or isolated…this is you coming back.

"Beautiful…", begins Phil, "it's okay. Calm do—"

I lift up from his chest, tears running like streams down my cheeks and all, "It's not okay. Just hold me, Phil…hold me beca-because…this is me realizing tha-that he's gone and there's nothing I can do about it. This is me accepting. Hold me and shut up. Hold me because in your arms I feel safe. Hold me."

And that he does. Until, I'm sound asleep and limp.

Day 64

Sometime way past midnight, I'm half-asleep. It's cold but feel ever so warm once I snuggle further into the body next to me…BODY? This sets off alarms in my head…bed intruder! Ever so slowly, I crane my neck to see who exactly sneaked into my bed. When I do manage to peek…I quickly turn to look out into the moonlight that shines through my half-open windowsills, smile slightly, and close my eyes once more hoping to get at least another hour or two of sleep.

If you question who it is…it's Phillip Jack Brooks. Is this a new occurrence? Not since 4 days ago. Of course, to a woman who is half-asleep this is alarming.

The man has made his way since that day when I gave him that 'Hold me' speech. Most likely because of my reoccurring nightmares that weirdly only ever go away if he's holding me. As I said, in his arms I feel comfort and safety. No ground rules, as I don't mention this during the day…we barely speak as it is. He usually leaves in the early hours of the morning for his coffee run. This new ground is…weird but then again…my life hasn't been normal in a long time. Maybe this is wrong—sure feels it, but it feel just too right. Plus, this way I actually sleep soundly; his breathing soothes me. The warmness he adds relaxes my nerve-filled body. The beating of his heart reminds me that…I can at least sleep and know I'll wake up to the man, who like Wesley, I love—except in a non-brotherly way. Convincing yourself?

Squirming a bit, my conscience always bothers me, I sigh feeling guilty. Maria would bust a cap in somebody if she knew. That is, if she doesn't already. What if she knows? It's not as if we're fucking…I mean… "Beautiful…I'm a light sleeper…stop moving around…", tensing up, I close my eyes tight. It has been only 4 days, this still feels awkward. Punk wraps his arm around me and snuggles with his head atop my head, "Sleep…"

Something I've noticed, is that the bags under the man spooning me…they've disappeared. Well, not fully but somewhat. He's an insomniac; why else would he have heard me crying in my sleep? Also, nobody goes on a coffee run at 5 in the morning…unless they're blue collar workers and the man isn't one. Stop over thinking and sleep…

Last thing before my mind drifts off, like always, is about Wesley. I miss you, dude. Like a lot. Send me a sign that you're okay and don't hate me…