That night is still so fresh in my memory five years later. The red and blue lights that lit up your sallow face, eyes glazed and unseeing. The sirens that wailed in the distance as I held you in my arms. The sobs that wracked my body as memories flooded my mind.
The fear. The fear of what was inevitable. The blood. The blood of my best friend that stained my hands red. The tears. The irrepressible tears shed for an unwavering fate.
The life. The life lost. A shy soul, that turned vivacious and feisty in the comfort of our shared home.
I thought back to the week before. The cryptic message I received from a disconnected number. Your apprehension when I asked you if they knew anything about it. The paranoia that soon began to haunt my beloved friend. It was by no means tractable; your anxiety grew each day. The careful, composed demeanor you displayed to the world in such sharp contrast to the worry and fear you showed at home. Your obstinate refusal to tell me what you knew and what you were worried about.
You could have told me.
I could have helped.
If only you would have told me.
Maybe that night wouldn't have happened.
That night, the night that will stay with me forever. The night I came home to a threshold drenched in blood. The night I ran in recklessly to find you, unknowing, unprepared. I didn't know, I didn't know whether or not it was perilous to enter. The acute sense of dread that flooded my senses, my stomach dropped and I felt dizzy. I couldn't see straight, adrenaline pumped through my veins. I slowed to a crawl, so afraid of what I would find behind the closed door to your room. My hand trembled as I reached for the doorknob, tears streaming down my face. I knew what was to come. I knew that night would be the night I lost you.
Goodbye corazón, goodbye. I'll see you soon.
