Alex

Chapter Nineteen

Rosie

I missed him. I missed him more and more every day. The pain somehow increased and cut deeper every day. I felt like it'd never go away. I felt like I'd never laugh or smile.

I felt like I was deep, deep in this pit of darkness and grief and the only person who could pull me out was Alex. He's been by my side and his presence sometimes was enough to calm me down, and other times I would break down in his arms, but he wouldn't complain.

He'd pick me up, pick up every single broken piece of me, and hold me so hard in his arms you'd think he was molding me back into one piece. He was stuck on me, always with me, holding me, keeping me close to him, but he didn't speak.

I liked that. I didn't want anyone to speak or reassure me or attempt to match my grief with something as pathetic as condolences. I didn't want it. I didn't want another reminder that came in those five words.

I'm sorry for your loss.

What was the sorry going to do? Was it supposed to lessen the pain? Were you saying it out of pity? I didn't know. I was too hateful. My brain not rationalizing the grief in a normal way. Then again, did anyone grieve normally?

Was there even a single, particular way to grieve? My pain came in waves that would drown me endlessly, and it hurt. It hurt to cry. It hurt to remember. It hurt to be alive. I felt like half my purpose for being alive was taken away, ripped away from me.

I never even got to say goodbye. I didn't get to tell him just how much I loved him. I didn't get that, and that thought was alone to haunt me night and day. It felt like an endless cycle of utter darkness and resentment.

I hated that I wasn't there. I hated that I didn't stay with him a minute longer. There was this tiny part of me that felt selfish for knowing how tired he was in the morning, but yet still walked out of that room.

He was napping, Rosie.

You left him.

He was napping, Rosie.

You left him.

You fucking left him.

There was an inner war inside me boiling and it tore me down and into pieces every single day. It's like I couldn't even convince myself that I wasn't at fault, that at least I got to hear him say I love you, Rosie one more time before it happened.

That didn't even convince me. It had quite the opposite effect on me. It made me hate myself that I didn't dig deeper into why he was telling me he loves me. It felt like I had an entire ocean inside of me because the tears never finished.

I didn't run out. Everything reminded me of my father. The bench at the bus where I'd wait for the bus to take me to him.

The ground beef in the freezer that I bought to make him meatball subs again. The photos that were hung of us all around the house. They were all haunting me more and more every day.

I refused to acknowledge that he was gone because once I let that thought settle in it would be the end. It felt like the end like life had no purpose. Like I had no fucking purpose. What was I supposed to do now? I worked for my father, stayed in this town for my father, and now that he was gone was I supposed to stay for my father?

If I were to leave, people would think he was the only anchor keeping me in town. If I were to stay they'd say that I didn't have a purpose in this town, in my life than to care for my sick father.

I didn't care what people said, but this insecurity that was crawling deep inside of me made me care. If they were talking, they were probably talking about my stupid bitch of a mother who decided to show up.