Between You and I

Chapter One

~AN: You kind of have to read every chapter beginning to not get lost. ^^ Yeah, it goes back and forth between afters and befores. ~

May 16, 2012: 75 Hours After         

The air feels like gunk as I breathe it in. My eyes are sore and my body feels empty as I just sit here in this awfully bland office, feeling like everything has lost all value to me. At first, my parents wanted to be here by my side, but I convinced them that I was old and strong enough to do it alone. Well, I’m trying to be at least. I don’t want anyone to see me like this, and I don’t want to know if anyone else feels the same as I do. They didn’t know her the same way that I did.

The funeral’s only been over for an hour or two. Her parents decided that it should happen real early in the morning because Valentine wasn’t a morning person, and they knew that it was something Valentine would have found hilarious. It was purely ‘Valentine-ian’ humor. Honestly, it was the worst funeral I’ve ever been to. Not only because I had to stare at her dead body, but because everyone was there.

Her friends, family... Even the people who didn’t like her. I guess that’s what pissed me off the most. They were all crying like she had suddenly become their best friend, and it was just sick to watch them do that. If she had a say in anything, I bet she would have kicked them out of her own depressing, death honoring, ceremony.

 A sounding click from the door rings in my ears a bit as a middle- aged man sits down at the desk across from me. He's so calm; I couldn’t believe the guy. Here he is, on a Wednesday morning, giving out a dead girl’s belongings when he could be back home dealing with happier matters.

“Daniel Ridgewell?”

I nod fast.

When her parents told me that she left a will and I was in it, I couldn’t contain the absolute shitstorm of emotions I had raging inside. Sleep was hard and keeping still was damn near impossible.

The man- Mr. Jackson is the name his desk tag offered- presses his lips together for a moment, trying to come up with the right words to say. Right now, the words, “She isn’t really dead, you know,” are more than perfect. But all that comes out is, “Did you know she was going to do it?”

“No.” Of course I didn’t. If I did I would have made sure she stayed alive! Jesus. Sure, this man knows how to deal with disowned stuff, but he has no clue how to go about the loved ones of the lost.

After a while, he gives conversation another shot.

“Valentine Holmes was a good kid.” The words pull a frown out of me.

“How would you know?” All that he gives back is a sad smile.

“She would always ask me about why I did this job and why I dealt with the deceased’s things. She was always very curious, but her intent wasn’t bad.” Pulling a sheet of paper out of a file, he slips on his reading glasses.

Curiosity was something Val was amazing at. If it could be a profession, she’d be way past professional. Out of everyone I know, she was the last person I would have guessed if someone asked, “Who’s going to off himself?” She was so full of life. Just being apart of hers would make yours way more eventful.

She would make you unafraid to screw up or do something stupid for once. Yes, I screw up a lot, but for the moments I made with Valentine, I believed that she was the one thing I did right. Although, for the moments I didn’t make with her, I also thought she was the worst screw up I ever screwed up.

Mr. Jackson left for a minute or two and came back with a laptop cradled in his arms.

“She wanted you to have this.” He holds it out to me, and I couldn’t believe my ears. Her laptop. She wants me to have her laptop. All her documents, music, downloads... They’re all in there. A piece of her was mine. Something that’s keeping her alive somehow.

“And she wanted you to know that she’ll miss you the most.” My heart stops.

“How...?”

“She told me to tell you the last time I saw her. Said she was going on a vacation.” Sadness and regret brimmed his eyes, and I could tell that he blames himself for not saving her. He didn’t see the signs, and now she was gone on a vacation. The bitter thought tramples the spark of hope the laptop brought me.

It's a vacation she’s never coming back from.