supermarket flowers • lesy

9.9

Jesy's POV

Well. She didn't lie.

She really was only waiting for me to see her one last time.

I wish that I could say something else to make everyone happy. I wish that I could say when I kissed her that night she somehow found the stength inside herself and lived on. But unfortunately, I can't do that.

And now that you know she's gone, I'm sure you're expecting me to turn into Lemony Snickket and describe her death in the utmost beautiful way. But I can't do that.

There is no beautiful version of death.

Leigh-Anne just stopped breathing that night. In her sleep. Three lovely fucking hours after I left the hospital.

Or at least that's what they said.

To make it even better, I didn't know until I walked my happy ass into that hospital room with the purple flowers I always brought her and realized that the whole hallway was filled with people. That was her family.

Of course because they were so against their daughter possibly kissing a women and that women being me, I wasn't called. I had to find out the hard way.

She just wasn't there. She's gone.

It wasn't surprising or anything but no one wants to accept the fact that the person they love most is going to die the day after you see them. And anyway, it still hurt like hell. It still hasn't sank in yet.

I can't say I didn't cry or that I didn't think about hauling myself off of a damn cliff. I'd be lying if I said I feel okay living my life without her.

But I also know that if Leigh-Anne was still alive she'd slap me across the face and tell me to get my shit together.

I didn't know much about her. But I wasn't going to let anyone lie on her. I knew parts of the real her. The one she hid from anyone else.

So after everybody left I walked into her old hospital room and I took the old teddy bears and Get Well Soon cards from the desks and threw them in my car. I took those stupid fucking supermarket flowers that I had in my hand and bashed them to the floor.

After maybe hours of crying my eyes out of my head, I got up and I walked out of the hospital. Each step closer to my car I imagined Leigh-Anne walking out with me. I wish it worked out that way. But it didn't.

So here I am now. Six days after she died. I'm in her house. I promised her I'd watch it for her. That's how much of a sore loser I am.

A funeral was held for her this morning but I didn't go. First of all, I didn't feel like I belonged there but in all honesty I don't think I'd be able to see her that way. That was the way I seen her before I left the hospital. You know, with her eyes closed.

Part of me felt like I would have tried to shake her awake the way I used to wake her up for chemo.

The Leigh-Anne Pinnock I knew was a world of wonders. She was loud and in-your-face and she liked nachos. Her laugh was contagious and she could sing her little heart out.

The Leigh-Anne I knew had a lot of fight in her bones. She had the most beautiful smile and everyone wanted to steal her heart but she kept it guarded. That's who she was.

Now, how the fuck was it going to go from that to silence and no life in her at all?

Why? That's what I should be asking.

But that's just the thing. Cancer doesn't have a fucking why. It doesn't pick favorites like your middle school maths teacher did. It just does what it wants. Sometimes too soon.