Calex One-Shots

tragédie.

I wrote this to Skinny Love by Birdy, a beautiful song.

It's been a year since you've lost her.

Casey.

To say there isn't a day that goes by that you don't think of her is an understatement. That's all you think about, if you must be completely honest with yourself.

Casey Novak.

The incompetent, temperamental, passionate, extroverted redhead that you knew; Casey. You think about her all the time and the smallest thing reminds you of her. Her favorite song comes on and suddenly you're curled in a ball on the floor, crying like a baby and you'd trade your whole life to hear that precious laugh for one second more.

It was a tragic accident. Drunk driver hit her head-on and, with him at seventy-eight miles an hour, she didn't stand a chance.

You had been together a long time before that, one year and seven months, to be exact. She was actually going to meet you at your favorite restaurant. You remember fiddling with the end of the little black dress she loved and the one she wanted you to wear that night. You'd been swinging your feet for over an hour, hoping she didn't forget and when the phone rings, you sigh with relief because you know it's her, telling you she got stuck in traffic.

But the caller ID says it's Olivia and you're annoyed because she picked a hell of a time to bother you with a warrant. You press the talk button and you make yourself greet her nicely.

But her tone is hollow and thick at the same time. You've heard it many times before, because you prosecute sex crimes. It's the sound of loss and you're out the door before she even explains the situation.
You can't feel the tears on your face, hailing a cab and Olivia's voice is in your ear. She's telling you Casey was in a car accident and she wants you to meet her at Mercy General. Soon, she says.

You're there within ten minutes. You throw cash at the driver and you nearly trip over your heels as you run to the emergency room. You pass relatives and mothers and lovers and you're in a dead sprint to Olivia, who's got her head in her hands by the nurse's desk.

You call her name and she looks up at you, and that's when you see that she's been crying. It's too painful for you to assume the worst and so you listen instead, as she tells you that a drunk driver hit Casey head-on, driving in the wrong lane.

She died in the ambulance, Olivia says and she bites back a cry as she watches you, carefully before encompassing you in her arms.

She's shaking and you're sobbing; people are looking at you and they're sympathetic, but you hate them and you wish it wasn't Casey. You're praying as she holds you, saying stuff like "please give her another chance" and "please bring her back". You don't realize that you've been saying these things out loud until Olivia pulls back, her eyes bloodshot and stroking your hair.

"I'm so sorry."

You remember going into the operating room. Casey's lying there. She's always been pale but now, she's paler than ever under the lights and she's got tiny cuts all over her face. They let you see her and they let you touch her.

When you stroke her hair you see the little flower bobby pin you loved. Casey asked you to wear the dress and you asked her to wear the pin. You run your hands over the stones and over her cheeks. You touch her shoulder and you want to beg.

"Wake up, Casey."

You whisper this and you feel her hair. She smells like hairspray and perfume and you're lost. It doesn't make sense to you, because you were just on the phone with her two hours ago.