I think of all the words that were spoken, the flowers that decorated the church, and the faces I saw. I remember my breakdown with Saxon, my dad holding me, whispering soft encouraging words, but I don’t remember anything else. I don’t remember leaving the wake. I don’t remember how I got home or how I made it into my bed.
Glancing down, I see I’m not really in my bed, but sprawled across the top of it with my quilt wrapped over me like a sleeping bag. My body is numb, heavy and weighted into the mattress like I’m sinking in quicksand and have no strength to fight it.
I wiggle my toes to see if I can feel them and assume Mum must have removed my high heels. Slightly shifting my arms, I pat my body to feel what’s going on. I’m still fully clothed, not only in my dress, but stockings and cardigan as well. I drop my arms back to my sides, feeling as if weight and gravity are pulling them down. Closing my eyes again, I pray for more blackness.
“Brooke. Brooke, darling, you need to have something to eat,” my mum’s soft voice whispers into the dark room as she sits on the edge of the bed and rubs her hand over my back.
I roll over onto my side, bury my face into the pillow, and groan. “Please, Mum. Please just go away. Please. Just leave me alone.”
My mum lets out a sob as the bed shifts and her high heels clack down the hallway. Silence doesn’t remain long as heavy footsteps enter. My dad. He moves around to my side of the bed and sits in front of me so I’m unable to turn away from him.
“Your mother and I will go now. She has left some soup and salad in the fridge if you want to try something light. I think you should. We’ll come back tomorrow to check on you.”
I acknowledge my dad with a barely there nod, and he heaves a heavy sigh, kissing my forehead before standing up and walking out. The front door clicks behind them, and I hear their engine start down the driveway.
The guilt for making them feel this way eats at me, for making them feel useless and defeated. This must be hard on them, watching their only daughter crumble right before their eyes. Their once strong, independent, and confident daughter.
I just need some time, some time to grieve and feel broken. I can only truly do that on my own. I want to be able to lie in bed all day feeling sorry for myself without feeling any pressure to get up and move on. Move on. Move on with what? Life? What kind of life will I have now? I don’t have a life that didn’t involve Nate.
I volunteer three days a week at the local art gallery, because I decided to major in one of those creative careers which aren’t actually needed; and someone has to die before any kind of position, in anything remotely related to that area, is available. I help Nate’s mum, Jeanie, one to two days a week with all the charities she supports and sponsors.
I know how lucky I was, not having to work and being able to volunteer doing the things I loved rather than having to go to work doing something I hated because the mortgage needed to be paid, but what will I do now?
There is still no need for me to work as Nate’s business has me more than covered for the rest of my life. Hell, probably for fifty years after I’ve gone.
I lie here and silently hope I have someone to pass it all on to, someone with blond hair and beautiful baby-blue eyes.
Three days later, this is exactly how my parents find me. Still fully clothed, still lying on my bed and still feeling like I’m weighted down with the grief. My mum and dad are calling my name as they walk through the house, but I don’t even have the strength to answer them. My bedroom door is thrown open, and all I hear is a loud gasp and my mother calling out. “David! David … oh my God, David, come quick!”
Mum rushes around to my side of the bed and begins shaking me. Not like the gentle shake of last time but shaking me as if she thinks I’m dead. Shit, she thinks I’m dead.
My eyes fly open and search for hers. When she notices, she pushes me down onto the bed and releases a deep breath. I just lie there, staring at her and willing her to go away. She must read it in my eyes because before I can blink she is running out the room with huge wracking sobs.
She meets my dad in the hall. “She’s not even trying, Dave. I thought she was dead. I thought she had left to be with him.” Her voice is thick with unshed tears. “She hasn’t moved since the funeral, and she even has the same clothes on. Has she gotten up at all?”
A deep breath leaves me and more guilt consumes me. What they must be going through, how hard it must be for them to watch me like this… I carefully roll over and crawl off the bed. Placing my feet on the hard surface of the floor, my head light with the movement. It’s been days since I’ve felt anything except a soft mattress under me.