Willing Captive(71)

Mourning isn’t easy. The pain of grief doesn’t go away. You just find a place for it. Store it away somewhere only you have access to.

There are different stages of pain, all of which hurt like a hell. Mourning someone you love, though, is agony. I just wish the pain wasn’t so sharp and stabby.

Losing Nox has brought me so much clarity. I feel so ashamed that it took the loss of his life to make me see things I should’ve seen, what feels like a lifetime ago. He lifted the thick fog that was surrounding me, and sent it away.

Always protecting me, even in death.

I read somewhere that if you’re going through Hell, keep going. It’s the only way past it.

You have to face your pain, your guilt, and your sorrow. But when the strong hands of grief capture you, it is overwhelming, and completely devastating.

I fear I’ll never get past the stage of Hell I’m in.

The only way past grief is to grieve. It’s the high price you pay for a love so sweet.

I don’t think I’m ready to move on just yet.

Last Sunday, I was sitting at my regular bench, when I felt someone’s eyes on me. For a second, a note of panic went through me. I pretended to keep reading. A minute passed, and although I still felt eyes on me, the panic faded to nothing. Taking a chance, I looked up right in time to see Rock and Boo walk away from me. Boo’s back shook in what I’m sure were silent sobs, and Rock wrapped his arm around her waist. His hand came up to wipe at his own fallen tears. And somehow this made me feel content. A watery smile spread across my face and I stood, taking two small steps closer to them. When they reached the black SUV I’d travelled in many times during my stay at the safe house, they turned to face me. Holding my eReader to my chest, I lifted my free hand slightly, and extended my fingers in a motionless farewell.

Rock smiled, lifted his hand to his mouth, kissed his forefinger and middle finger and placed them over his heart. Boo smiled a shaky smile, and mouthed love you. Then I watched as they drove away.

So, of course, today I’ve been sneaking peeks all over the place, but sadly, they haven’t come.

I’m not very social, still. I’ve made a few friends at work. People around my age-group with similar interests, but I’m not forcing myself to get out there just yet. I’m comfortable in my loneliness.

There is one girl I’ve formed a bond with. Her name is Hailey and she’s a lot like Boo.

Badass with a hint of lady.

The second I spotted her at work, I knew she’d be a good friend to me. Hailey is my age, with dark hair, dark makeup, a petite body, and a great attitude. I call her Goth-chic.

She’s the only person who knows how I spend my Sundays. She told me if I needed her to come with, that she would. I explained it was something I like to do on my own. For a second, I thought about keeping my mouth shut and letting her come, but the new independent part of me opted against it. I was seriously surprised when she shot me a smile and replied, “Alrighty then, babe. You just let me know if you need me to come, and I’ll be there.”

This morning, I uploaded my eReader with the latest smuttiness and I’ve found a good one. I read and read and read, and before I know it, four hours have passed. Just when I stand and stretch, I hear someone move to sit at the opposite end of the bench. From my peripheral vision, I can see it’s a man with a large build. He wears jeans, a black tee and white sneakers. He also walks with a cane.

For a moment, I tell myself to face him with a greeting. But this really isn’t the place for nice conversation. I assume the man is here to do exactly what I am here to do.

Mourn.

I let him be. Sitting back down on the bench, I lift my eReader and pick up where I left off. The book has some serious funnies in it, and I’m trying really hard to be respectful and curb the laughter that bubbles up my throat.

I make some odd choking, gurgling noises. The man turns his head to face me.

Avoiding his eyes, I turn my bright red face the opposite way and pretend to cough.

Lifting my eReader so high that I’m hiding behind it, from the corner of my eye, I see that man stifle his grin.

Busted.

The man clears his throat before he practically whispers, “Funny book?”

Clearly mortified, I don’t look up from my book when I whisper back, “I’m sorry. That was rude. It won’t happen again.”

He leans to the side, his body close to mine when he replies just as quietly, “Nothing wrong with laughter. Some people say laughter can heal anything.”

Shaking my head slightly, I scoff, “Well, those people have never experienced true pain.”

Leaning back away from me, he allows a moment before he whispers, “Sounds like you know a little something about it.”