Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
FIVE YEARS LATER
I woke up in cold sweat.
I slept without a shirt on, and my sheets were soaking. It happened every year, this time around. I was unable to sleep peacefully, unable to get rest. It lasted from a week up to a month.
It was guilt, it was eating me alive, even after all of this time.
Her cold body
I glanced at the clock, it was barely past midnight. I sat up and placed my head in my palms, still breathing heavily. Aside from my thoughts that came to haunt me, nothing else was heard in the room.
''Are you okay?'' A soft voice said next to me. I'd forgotten she was here. She turned to look at me with those soft eyes of hers, her dark hair falling over her shoulders.
''I'm fine, Nina, go back to sleep.''
My fiance mumbled something, before she was out like a light.
Five years ago, she was pronounced dead. Five years ago, all good I knew if life came crumbling down. Life had a vicious sense of humor, and it wasn't better since that happened.
I still kept in touch with her best friend, Cora, and her parents, too.
Cora was... in and out of the country a lot of the times. After Freya's funeral, Cora went off grid for over six months, until Luka found her in a pub in Los Angeles, six days on alcohol. She developed a serious alcohol issue, and Luka immediately had her signed in a rehab.
Cora, of course, was against it. She was claiming that there were no problems, and that she was fine. However, after she kept on having shots of tequila for breakfast, Luka made an intervention and with her parents, they were able to convince her to go and get better.
Luka, on the other hand, was the rock we all needed. He was there for all of us, even for me, which was a surprise. Although he was affected too, and suffered in silence, he never let us know how bad it'd been for him, until her first death anniversary rolled around.
Cora was still in rehab, and although they allowed her to leave for a few hours, she didn't want to. She was fighting demons of her own, and it would've put her back in a spiral of alcohol and drugs the moment she stepped foot outside of the rehab center.
Freya's mom... well, she was not even half of the person she used to be. You couldn't tell by looking at her, but oftentimes, her eyes held so much sorrow, that it was a miracle she didn't die out of a heart break.
Her father snapped quickly after her funeral. They sold their multi million dollar company and retired, spending days in silence, or at Freya's grave.
It was an ache that never left. Everyday it hurt just like it hurt when they pronounced her dead. No matter how much time passed, the wound was still fresh, still open, with no indication of my sorrow ever ending.
