Prompt- Misha dies and Collie's life goes basically to hell
A.N.- Happy birthday Satan :) :)
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My phone buzzed and I reached over, turning it off and throwing it against the couch. I was sick of it going off constantly. There was only one person I wanted to hear from, and I knew he couldn't call me anymore.
I raked my hands through my hair, feelings how greasy it was. I knew I should shower, but I had no energy to get up.
I was sitting on the floor in our living room. I knew that by myself, I wouldn't be able to live in the apartment. Misha had always paid the rent.
Not like it mattered anymore. Misha was dead.
Some asshole texting on his phone ran a red light and hit my boyfriend's car. Misha had died on the way to the hospital.
The worst part about it all was that he hadn't died instantly, but he hadn't lived long enough for any of us to make it to him. He'd lived just long enough to suffer from his injuries, but not long enough to hear us say we loved him one last time.
"Bye Misha. I'll see you when you get home from work." I'd said that to him the morning he died. Those were my last words to him. Why hadn't I told him I loved him?
"Bye Collie! I'll help you with your homework when I get back from work!" That's what he said to me when he left. I wish I had stopped him. I wish I had pulled him down and hugged him and kissed him and just distracted him so that when that car ran the light, it wasn't Misha who was in front of him.
But I hadn't, and Misha was dead. His family had sobbed broken heartedly throughout the wake and the funeral. Emma looked like a wreck. Mrs. Redner looked like she was going to cry for the rest of her life. Mr. Redner had looked like he'd never known happiness as he held onto a picture of him and Misha when Misha was a child.
I had just stood still, silent, the suddenness of loss brutally numbing me. My brother had been trying his hardest to get a hold of me. Even my parents had been calling me and coming to the apartment.
I just ignored my phone. I kept the apartment door locked, keeping quiet as people rang the doorbell and knocked and tried to get in. I didn't want to see anyone.
Now I just sat on the floor, all the pictures of me and Misha lying in front of me in their frames. I had gathered them from around the apartment and had just been staring at them for hours.
We looked so happy in them. Smiling, laughing, teasing, kissing, hugging, so damn happy and unaware that it was all going to come to a tragic end.
I hadn't eaten in almost two days. I'd only been slipping in and out sleep, awoken by a nightmare or sitting up in bed shouting for Misha. I couldn't sleep in our bedroom anymore. The bed was too big and empty. Misha's side felt far too cold.
I missed him.
But I didn't want to think that. If I started thinking that, the numbness would shatter and I'd be forced to face the agony of losing Misha Redner.
"Stop looking so happy!" I snapped at the pictures on the floor. "Stop looking so damn happy and in love!" I picked up a picture and threw it, watching the frame shatter as it hit the ground.
Rage pumped through me as I began to throw all the frames, listening to the sounds of them breaking to pieces just like I had. "Fuck you! What was the point of any of it! What was the point of giving me Misha if I didn't even get to keep him! What was the point of killing a fucking 20 year with his whole life ahead of him! What was the point of ripping a good guy out of this world! What was the fucking point!"
I shouting at the top of my lungs. I grabbed the last picture and stopped myself from throwing it, chest heaving.
In the picture, Misha and I were smiling at each other, faces close. I knew that we had kissed moments after the picture had been taken.
But in it, we were looking into each other's eyes with nothing but love. Misha had a light blush on his face. He looked alive. He looked like a boy death wouldn't dare to touch. He was beautiful and happy and hopeful and in love and alive.
"Oh no," I whispered, looking up at all the broken pieces of the frames thrown around on the floor. I scrambled to my feet, sneakers crunching over glass as I dug out the pictures. Only two of them were ripped.
I sat back down in the living room, hugging the pictures to my chest. Everything erupted through me, the pain, grief, and desperation of loss, pumping through me with a terrifying force.
I burst into tears, rocking back and forth as I held the pictures to me. I would have to move out of the apartment and probably back in with my parents. I had no job to afford a place of my own. I would have to leave this place where I had been so happy with Misha. I would have to endure a life without him.
Why did it have to be him? He was such a good person. He could've done so many great things, and now he was just a mangled body in a casket, buried underground to be forgotten as time went on.
No, no, no. I would never forget Misha. I wanted nothing more than to hold the memory of him inside of me so I could keep it forever, but I also wanted to share it with everyone I ever met. I wanted Misha to live on. He didn't deserve to die. His memory didn't deserve to die.
I sobbed so hard that it almost scared me. My chest was burning, and I had never felt so desperate in my life. Everything had fallen apart that day. Nothing would ever be the same. I would never be the same.
"I love you," I choked out, looking at the pictures in my hands. "I love you. Please. Please, Misha. I love you so much. You're my dork. Please."
I wanted him back. I wanted to hear his stupid puns and see his shirt tucked in like an idiot. I wanted him to hug me and kiss me and laugh at me when I couldn't cook right. I wanted to crawl into bed with him and curl up in his arms. I just wanted to see him alive. I wanted to tell him I loved him. I'd give the world to have Misha in it.
But more sobs were ripped from me as I bitterly digested the fact that Misha Nolan Redner was dead and never coming back. I wouldn't get to hear his laugh, feel his lips on mine, or have a future with him. His family would never get to tease him and hug him again. He'd never tug on his little sister's hair playfully again.
He was dead. I wished I was. When mortality reared its ugly head, you realized how quick death was, but how painfully long surviving without your loved ones stretched on for.
"Misha," I whispered, hugging the pictures and letting myself cry out for him. I would love him until I died, and I would mourn him for just as long.
