"𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥."
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𝐒𝐘𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐈 𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐒 , a 26 year old fashion designer and the younger sister of the official bridezilla of the season. A young lady who left her homet...
𝐎𝐌𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓 — 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐍 {sat... february 8th... '9:07 PM'}
TW: discussion of suicide.
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"i know that it breaks your heart when i cry again, over him. i know that it breaks your heart when i cry again, instead of ghosting him."
___________
THE DRIVE HOME FROM the studio was silent as Azire watched the city of St. Bernard unfold along the nearly empty roads. It had been a long day of shooting, meetings and other things that kept him busy for twelve hours.
As he pulled into the driveway of their home, he cut the engine and sat for a moment, staring at the darkened windows. The house felt too quiet these days. A far cry from what they had envisioned when they first bought the place—preparing for a future that no longer existed.
He sighed, running a hand over his face before stepping out of the car, the sound of his keys jangling when he walked up toward the front door.
He walk into their dream house and immediately want to turn right around and leave. The curtains are hung with hurt there. The floors are waxed with it. It lingers heavy in the air. Azire rather work at Razors twenty hours a day than do the work of grief waiting in the house.
Inside, there was no music, no laughter. It was like walking through a memory of something that had been, but was now gone.
The faint jingle of their dog, Pumpkins' collar brought a small smile to his face as the labradoodle puppy ran up to him, scratching against his pants with her claws.
"Hey, girl," Azire muttered, crouching down to give her a few head pats. "Mommy feed you?"
Pumpkin wagged her tail harder, her wide, innocent eyes. She didn't know the pain that had taken over this place, didn't understand the loss or the cracks forming between him and Symone. To her, this was still home, still the place where everything was supposed to be okay.
Azire stood back up and glanced around the living room. It had once been filled with warmth—pictures of their engagement, plans for the future, baby books stacked on the coffee table, reminders of the joy they had once felt. Now, it felt like a mausoleum, a shrine to the life they were supposed to have but never got to live.
Pumpkin barked softly, nudging his leg as if to encourage him to make a move, to do something. Azire scratched his neck, feeling the weight of his indecision pressing down harder than ever.
He let out a breath and made his way toward the stairs.
His shoe soles scratched against the grey wooden floors as he carefully creaked open their bedroom door, to see that it was empty. But, the wool blanket from their bedroom set was missing.
