/ / F A L L I N G F A S T / /

/ / T W E N T Y - O N E / /

4 years later.

I sat on the floral print couch in the rehab center, waiting for my doctor to come in and give me the news I've been waiting for. I'd been anticipating this moment for the past eight months of my time spent in this hell hole.

I could sit here and tell you how terrible rehab was for me, I could drone on and on about how I dreaded getting up in the mornings only to be told to see therapists, groups of addicts, and doctors, day after wretched day. I could tell you that my life had stopped these past months, as I was told 'accept your pain' and 'open your mind to new outlets'. I could complain endlessly about the perpetual sharing of stories and crappy food and new shipments of addicts.

But I won't; because no matter how much I hated this terrible lockdown building (2 visitors per week), it made me deal with pain. Pain that I had kept locked up for years. Everyday since Skylar had passed was another tally on my countdown. To what you may ask? I had no clue. I had no sense of completion without her. I didn't see the point in dragging on and on, re-living that day.

The strange thing was that I didn't start feeling the pain until almost a month after her funeral. It was as if my life didn't seem real without Sky. It felt as though I was floating through a dream, where everyday blended together with the last and there was nothing to seperate them from the next. The sun would rise and set, as did the moon. I didn't watch those sunsets anymore though. I did not dare look up to the moon and stars that used to protect the love of my life. I couldn't; because the constant reminder of the Sky, was hard enough to bare.

Once about a month passed, I started having nightmares, that was if I even slept at night. Most of the time I would drive around without a destination in mind but my mind telling me to continue to her deathbed. I would park in that empty lot and walk to her blood stains, sometimes I would sit there next to them and stare at them. I would sit there and talk to her about how much I missed her and how hard it was to keep going on. Sometimes I would bring a bottle of red wine. Maybe some Jack Daniels. On her birthday I would bring a bottle of champange and two glasses. The second never drank, always poised and ready for her soft lips to touch the rim. They never did. Eventually I would slowly pour it out next to her. I'd return to my car, but I would never cry. Driving fast, that was my method of crying.

After my first crash, George told me that I should look into seeing someone. I refused. I did not want to be shamed by Skylar, because I knew she would be watching me. I knew that someday this would all catch up to me. That with every drink I took into me, I was disappointing her. I hated myself for it, but I couldn't stop. It's a terrible feeling to hear that the love of your life had been self-destructing slowly. If she could, then I was just as equally as capable.

A girl I met at a bar, she had a great impact on me. In fact, for the past ten months we had been dating. Now I know that I couldn't go on and on about her like I could Skylar, but she was a great girl who cared about me and tried to help. It was nice to have someone in my life who actually wanted to help. Someone I felt understood what I was facing.

She talked me into seeing a consultant, and from there I was registered at a rehab center a few miles away. The turning point for me, the reason why I agreed to see someone, was because in my third car crash I almost killed another person. I felt so much remorse, the guilt everyday was overwhelming until I couldn't stand it; I attempted suicide.

After I woke in the hospital, she was standing above me, crying and saying how she was so scared I was gone. Scared that she had lost me for good. I remembered that day when I lost my own love and I suddenly understood what she was saying. I felt her pain, because I could recall that intense drive I made as I followed her to that empty lot and watched her pull the trigger. The desire I had to run up and toss that gun and hold her until she was fixed. But it was too late for me to fix that. Not this time. This time I would fix it before I hurt this new girl.