Like You Better Dead

"I'll never sleep here anymore
My house is not my home.
I like you better dead and I'm better off alone." - In Flames

He died all alone.

In a state of disturbing shock, I stare at my trembling hands, watching as they quiver and turn an icy shade of pale white. My vision fades after a moment of an unblinking intensity, until my eyelids fall closed and fail to muster enough strength to reopen. Any and all air has been drained from my lungs as I remain deathly still, not daring to inhale even a small dose of oxygen for it might interrupt the peace I know I should be forcing upon my mind. A moment of silence is all I have left to offer the memory of the boy I once knew, the boy who left behind a girl who doesn't know how to prepare for the news of his death.

Calloway Sullivan died today. And I have not the slightest idea of how I should be coping with this fact. I can comprehend the emotions of astonishment and disbelief coursing through my chilled veins, but I never expected to feel pangs of — relief? Comfort? — at the realization of his death. Guilt splashes against my heart at such thoughts, but I can't force them away. Calloway did not deserve to die, no matter what he did to me in the past, and I'm sickened by my own emotions of finding solace in the assurance that he is now gone. Forever. How selfish could I be?

And then a deep, haunting sense of dread settles low in my stomach to make it all worse, threatening to finally spill the tears locked behind my tightly squeezed shut eyes desperate to escape this experience of torment. I saw Calloway only yesterday — or rather, he saw me. He came to me, pleading, begging, for me to come back to him. To forgive him for everything. To say I still love him. And I pleaded, begged, for him to let me be, so selfishly. To say that if he still loves me, he'll leave me alone.

And now, he's dead. The very next day after Calloway found me to summon me back to him to bound me as a tethered child, he is found dead from a heroin overdose in his empty bedroom. All alone. He died all alone. How can I convince myself that his last conversation with me and the timing of his lethal overdose is a mere coincidence, a spooky but accidental act of fate? That I did not influence the drug expert's fatal mistake which resulted in death?

The potential burden Calloway has left me with as his parting gift finally forces the tears to stream free from my eyes, and my body resumes its habit of breathing to then escalate to body-wracking but quiet sobs. I'm so used to hating Calloway, but for so long, I loved him too much. Once, he was the only existence I loved, and now? He's gone. I can't love him anymore, even if I haven't for a long time, and he can't hurt me anymore, even if he hasn't for just as long, either. But he's still gone, and knowing I'm still breathing and remaining on this earth vacant of his soul is the strangest of feelings yet to understand.

I hush my cries a moment later with a rush of panic, though, at the startling sound of the apartment door being unlocked. I swipe under my tender eyes to dry them of slick tears, probably to the effect of painting my cheekbones black with ruined mascara. I don't have time to freshen my appearance more as my roommate suddenly and unexpectedly enters the room to interrupt my breakdown, and Lance is struck still at the sight of me shivering on his couch.

"Cadence," he greets with surprise when his eyes meet my wet ones, voice softly delicate as he dares to step closer and then pauses, "what's wrong?"

He was alone. That's what is wrong.

I force a gulp of air down my throat as if it could clear the hoarseness of my own voice, and I attempt to sit up a little straighter, feeling an unusual sense of vulnerability. "I, um, I just received some news," I explain, hoping more tears will refrain from spilling. "My ex boyfriend's brother just called, and said he was found dead this morning." An embarrassingly choked cry manages to escape from my lips, igniting a spark of humiliation from allowing myself to express so much emotion to someone so easily, especially Lance. "Heroin overdose."