Calamity [Zarry Stylik AU]©️

Chapter 49: A CUPCAKE FOR YOU

Z,

Way back when he was broken and wanted to go...

Funny how water from the sky can feel warm even when you're cold. How the droplets run from your face, down your neck, travelling down your back to appear at your feet leaving a shiver as they go. I don't know how I have been standing here if we're honest.

Five minutes?

Fifteen?

An hour?

I don't remember coming here to be fair. I just...am.

Time has no meaning anymore. What, it's been a month. Two. Three. A year since you've been gone forever from my life. Nothing feels...the same. Nothing feels real. Nothing is real.

Why would you do this? Why would I do this?

It's that time again. Your birthday is gone - that was painful - and the anniversary of your departure is around the corner. Things always get more difficult around this time.

I keep asking myself 'why' time and time again as if you would answer me or as if I'd magically know the answer. Why did we meet, just so you could leave, and I am left with a gaping hole in my heart? Why did our lines cross at my exhibition, so we could fall in love and lose ourselves?

I look at The Hilton, standing tall, firm, and everlasting in its existence. Going on as if you hadn't jumped from their sixth floor. Guests coming in and out, staff welcoming and serving, sheets cleaned, new drapes, new carpet. All new. All changed and you are nothing but a comma in its existence. A footnote. A sad story they would tell in between breaks.

The poor artist who jumped to his death however long ago...

And the sad fool who would stand on the place where he crushed himself.

The idiot who would remember him by throwing a party in that same suite, on the same day, every year.

I look up, seeing the floor ever so high, as the water falls on my face. Were you afraid? Were you...at peace feeling the wind blow through your shirt? Did you regret it as the concrete neared closer?

I close my eyes feeling the pain all over again. It hits me deep within myself, so hard that I stagger back, clutching my heart. I have cried time and time again, and just when I feel I have no tears left, I cry some more. I don't know what hurts more: the absence of you, my grief, or my broken leg.

My body is swaying due to the alcohol and the drugs swirling around in my system. I have not been able to keep a steady pose ever since you died. I drink, I smoke, I pop pills...all of that to keep the pain of your absence away. I'd tear my heart out if I could.

The rain is heavy and the weather cold. New York is beautiful in the winter and the cold months are known for having no mercy on its citizens. So, here I am standing in the rain, in the cold, wearing a black T-shirt with a heavy long coat, dark jeans and loose boots. Soaking wet, with a brace on my knee - since I refused to wear a cane like an idiot. I close my eyes momentarily, pushing away the sounds of the honks, the engines, the people talking and the city bustling with life in the absence of you.

I can almost hear you laugh and feel your touch on the back of my head.

I'm standing at the place where you died.

I hoped it was nothing but a dream. A terrible dream.

I open my eyes again and I see the flowers strangers have laid out for you, as well as candles and a teddy bear. Gestures of care even after all the time gone by. It used to be a big pile of affection, but now just one or two bouquets - the hotel probably doesn't find it very funny to have a full altar. I don't know who keeps leaving these, but they were sweet. The flowers were drenched in the rain, curved at the stem, barely alive anymore; the teddy was soaking wet and toppled to the side with his face on the dirty concrete, the candle had gone out and there was nothing but water in the small glass.