The Mechanic

I Caved.

Here's an Epilogue.

Without Joseph.

-----

Demi's POV

A day passed.

Then another.

Then another.

And the moon rose.

And it faded.

And the sun rose.

And it set.

And without Joseph, the world still spun. People still got in their cars, drove to work, went home, did their laundry, ate with their families, watered their lawns, rode their bikes. Without Joseph, the weather still changed; the stars still twinkled their dim light upon the earth. Without Joseph, children still laughed, rivers still flowed, songs were still written.

Without Joseph, life went on.

All life, except for my own.

I saw him again.

He lied still, a bundle of white roses against his chest; his chest that no longer rose and fell. His lips that no longer allowed words of wisdom into the world, or revealed the porcelain smile behind them. His eyes that no longer could gaze at me the way he always had, but were closed, never to open again. His hands that were no longer stained with the oil of the cars he worked on, but were now clutched onto the roses.

Those damned roses.

God, I loved this man. The pain in my heart reminded me so, as I stared at him, my tears falling onto his skin.

And I touched him.

And he was cold.

"Come back," I pleaded, my voice in pieces. I stroked his cheek; wishing for him.

Praying for him.

We were alone . . . or, rather . . . I was alone. 

There were so many flowers. So many cards and balloons and apologies and frowns and everything that lingered in the air with grief.

But I was alone.

Wishing Joseph would just wake up. And hold me.

And tell me that everything would be okay.

"This . . . ," I grieved, my body trembling. "This wasn't supposed to happen. God, how did this happen? Joseph .  . . please. Come . . . come back."

And I fell to my knees.

And I wept.

--

"The nights . . . the nights have been the hardest," Denise mumbled; her face pale, her eyes red. Her hands were trembling, rippling the cup of coffee in her hands. I sat with her at her kitchen table. "The nights are too quiet . . . and my mind can't take it. My . . . m-my boy-," her voice broke, and her tears came quickly. "My son is gone."

As she brought her hands over her eyes, I felt the breath in my lungs catch, and I knew within moments, I'd be crying too. 

"I've never known this much pain," I confessed, choking on my own breath. "This can't . . . this can't be real."

But it was.

And that reality was forcing itself to settle within us all. 

I never knew I could hear the sound of a broken heart.