Broken

Are you gone?

Through all my  15 years of living on this Earth, I've always been under some type of stress. Whether it be major or minor, it's always been there. As the knife cut deeper and deeper into my skin, though, I felt a sense of relief. It was like nothing I had ever felt before. The blood ran down my arm, going over previous cuts that weren't as deep from Acorn. If I could only feel like this all the time, I thought as the sense of relaxation swarmed over me. 

I was watching the blood run down my arm when, all of a sudden, my phone vibrated on my bedside table. As I glanced over at the screen, I saw Jasen's name on the top of my screen.

What the fuck??

Right, well, needless to say, I answered because I was incredibly curious. As it connected, I almost regretted my decision.

"Hello?" I answered the phone nervously. "Listen, Emily, I don't have much time to talk, but I have to tell you something very important. Suicide is not the answer, it never was the answer and never will be." I almost dropped my phone right then and there. The line went dead.

I had never believed in ghosts, nor will I ever. This story will not turn into a book about living spirits that still walk among us, but I am starting to have my doubts on whether they exist or not. Jasen's funeral was tomorrow, his death was confirmed by doctors, but not by me. At his funeral tomorrow I will see for myself whether he is truly dead or not.

~The next day~

It was the day of his funeral. My mom had laid out a black dress on my bed. The dress was lacy and tight fitting towards the top, and plain black and flowy down the bottom. It was knee length paired with black flats. I'd much rather go in jeans, but my mother was strongly against that. She claimed it was "disrespectful" but in my opinion, he was dead. Why the hell would he care.

Unless he wasn't.

I didn't really want to go. The last thing I wanted was to try and comfort a bunch of his family members and friends, when I couldn't even comfort myself. However, I was going for two reasons, my mom said so, and I wanted to see that he was truly dead.

During the car ride, I stayed quiet. My mom tried speaking to me on numerous occasions, but eventually she gave up.

The funeral home was very nice. It was painted white on the outside, and the inside was filled with gorgeous plants and brown furniture. I didn't care very much for the decorations, though. I just wanted to get this over with.

A man led us into a room where we could be seated during the service, but for right now, there was a viewing. I reluctantly walked up to the opened coffin. My head hung low and my steps were slow and steady. I finally looked up as I reached his place of rest. 

I saw his body lying there, cold and lifeless, with closed eyes, and I forgot how to breath. My whole world crashed down right before my eyes. I didn't pass out, but I guess I forgot how to stand.

I guess I hadn't let myself truly believe that he was dead. He couldn't be dead, but I knew he was. My mom ran up to me and lifted my broken body to my feet. When I say broken, I don't mean physically broken, even though I was. I mean mentally broken. I knew I was young and stupid, that I couldn't possibly have been in love this early, but I was.

My heart, my mind, my insides, all broken. Swept away was what little togetherness I had left.

It was over.