I Wonder...

I wonder what she's doing...

Hey everyone so this is my first short story. I hope you like it and don't hate me after reading this!
Song for the chapter- Cascada every time we touch candlelight version. I recommend listening to it as you read because it ups the emotions. Love y'all!

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I sometimes wonder what she's doing. Is she laughing? Crying? Longing for my embrace? Is she happy? Sad? Wondering what I'm doing?

Sometimes, on quiet nights I stare at my blank ceiling, wondering. Oh, I wondered many things.

I wonder things like why stars were in the sky. I wondered who thought of the first fiction story. I wondered how my life would turn out.

Never once did I wonder what I wanted to be when I grew up. I always knew I wanted to be a doctor. Never once did I wonder what my favourite colour was. It's always been black. Some things you just always know. For example, I always knew she was the one. I always knew she would be by my side for the rest of my life.

I was wrong, however. Oh, how wrong I was, for I never all new how empty my life would be once she was gone.

It was abrupt, her leaving. She never showed signs of not liking her life the way it was. She always said she wanted change, so I encouraged her to do so. I never once wondered why she was so unhappy, I always thought I knew. It was her job, or some other bullshit answer. Something that could be fixed.

Looking back, I remember the first time we went on a date. I took her to a drive in movie theatre. We made a huge palette in the bed of my truck, and watched the newest horror movie; I knew she liked those. Later that night, I took her to an IHOP for waffles. I hated waffles, but she claimed they were heaven, so I ordered some for her, and watched as her eyes rolled back when she took her first bite. I felt like I was on top of the world that sacred night, for our budding relationship turned real, and that night I had a girlfriend for the first time.

Fast forward to our first Valentine's Day, six months later. Our relationship became a more serious one; our families merged, welcoming both of us as a couple. She got me the VC Andrews book series I've always wanted but never had the time to buy, and I bought her the expensive Marc Jacobs perfume that she'd been eyeing for a while but couldn't afford.

We both put so much thought into our gifts, everyone could tell how we felt for each other.

Another six months, and it's our one year anniversary. She's sick, so we stay home, eating my homemade tomato soup and drinking wine; watching movies for hours. By now, she had moved in with me, my roommate finding another place. We were both so in love, I could see it in her eyes. My feelings for her took up every cell in my body. I was head over heels for my beautiful girl, and we never wavered for a second.

Two years later, she decided to switch careers. She went to college again, earned a bachelor's in psychology. I was so proud of my baby. She pushed through, did what she wanted to. My chest swelled with pride when she walked across the stage. I remember thinking about how wonderful this job would be for her.

Excited, after the ceremony, she ran to me, an expression on her face I'll never forget. It read, " I did it, I really did it." That night, we went to a club and danced until three am to celebrate. She got drunk, and I was her ride home. We  ended up sleeping till four in the afternoon. We drove around for a good three hours. I took her into an antique warehouse. She collected antiques, and had a box of rare money from her travels around the world. In the warehouse she found a coin from Sweden, a coin from Greenland, and a five cent bill from the Great Depression. I bought a few vases for our apartment, and she found a ton of old photos and dolls.

What had to be my favorite moment of ours was when I proposed. It was our fifth anniversary, and I took her to Cocoa Beach, Florida. We spent the whole day making sand castles and swimming. She looked amazing in her dark purple tankini. I loved the way she held herself; regal, like a queen. We collected seashells, holding a competition to see who could find the best one. I went off a little ways, planted the shell I bought, then acted like I had found it. I ran back to her, "tripped" and "fell", then presented to her the perfect shell. Inside, I had placed the ring. Her eyes widened so much I could almost see her skull.

When she said yes I cried. I cried because this was my dream come true. My dream was that she would be the one I married, and here I am, five years of dating, now on my knees in front of the woman I love. My heartbeat sped up when she collided with my chest. She squealed, repeating yes until I came from my trance and hugged her tightly, lifting her from the ground slightly. We pulled back, her eyes watering, me full-on sobbing. We kissed, my hands tangling in her hair. When we came up for air, she breathed, "I've waited so long for you to say that, you have no idea how much I wanted this."

I will never forget that day, the day she made me happiest. We planned the wedding, setting it up for three years later.

Little did I know, however, she would leave me before then. That day was the worst of my life. Now we skip to present time, exactly twenty months after our engagement. She called me about month ago, crying so hard she could barely breathe. Her best friend, Lauren, had been found at the scene of a collision, not breathing. The week after that had been rough for her. I took her to Lauren's funeral, and she cried the loudest, kneeling next to the girl's coffin. She had been offered to speak for her, but she declined. I was angry at that. Who would make her give a speech in this state?

At the burial site, she had to leave, for she couldn't bear to see her best friend be placed in the ground. My beautiful fiancée was never the same after Lauren's death. We laid together every night. She would wake at two am, screaming the girl's name, clutching my chest, gripping my hand. Every night I would stroke her head, whispering comforting things in her ear. This went on for two weeks, then she said she needed time to recover, or "space."

And I let her. I let her leave that night, told her I would wait for her. I was such an idiot for letting her leave. I knew it would be hard, but I had no idea how hard, for six days later, her mother called, sobbing.

Now here I am, a week later, the day before her funeral, staring at my blank ceiling, laying in a cold bed at two am, longing for her touch, wondering what made her want to leave, forever.