Rebound (jade x tori)

two days

Two days. It feels like an eternity since I lost her. Two days since Tori slipped away from me in that sterile hospital room, leaving me alone in a world that suddenly seemed devoid of color and meaning. I can't escape the emptiness that fills our house, a place that used to be our sanctuary, our refuge from the chaos of the world. Now, it's just a lonely space that echoes with the memories of a love that was taken too soon.

I wake up in the same bed we used to share. The sheets still smell faintly of her, and I clutch them to my chest, trying to hold on to the remnants of her presence. But it's just an empty illusion. She's gone, and I'm left with nothing but the pain of her absence.

Getting out of bed is a struggle, as if gravity has suddenly become ten times stronger, weighing me down. The sunlight filters through the curtains, casting a soft glow on the room. I remember how Tori used to love waking up to the morning sun, how she would stretch and yawn, her hair tousled, and pull me close for a lazy morning kiss. But now, there's no one to kiss, no one to share this day with.

I make my way to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face in an attempt to wake myself up from this nightmare. The mirror reflects a stranger back at me, with red-rimmed eyes and disheveled hair. I look so different from the girl I used to be, the one who had her heart shattered into a million pieces just two days ago.

With a heavy heart, I make my way downstairs to the kitchen. The smell of coffee lingers in the air, a cruel reminder that Tori used to be the one brewing our morning cups. I try to mimic her method, but the coffee tastes bitter, like the tears I've been swallowing.

I sit at the kitchen table, staring blankly at the empty chair across from me. Tori's chair. It feels wrong to eat alone, so I push the untouched breakfast aside and find myself lost in thought, replaying our last moments together in my mind.

The sound of her laughter, her touch, her voice – they all seem so distant now, like fragments of a dream I can't quite grasp. I remember the way she looked at me, with those warm, loving eyes, as if I were the center of her universe. And I remember the way she held my hand, even as her strength waned, as if she never wanted to let go.

Tears start to fall, and I let them, not bothering to wipe them away. Grief has become my constant companion, and I've stopped trying to fight it. Instead, I let it wash over me, wave after wave, until it exhausts itself.

I spend the rest of the morning wandering aimlessly around the house. I avoid going into our bedroom, afraid of the emptiness that will greet me there. Instead, I find myself in the living room, surrounded by the photographs that capture our happiness. There's one from our trip to Nozu, one from our first weekend together, one from our celebraties-underwater pizza night. 

My phone buzzes with a text message, breaking the silence that has settled over the house. It's from Andre, Tori's best friend, and the person who has been my lifeline in these dark days. He's checking in on me, making sure I'm okay, even though he knows I'm not.

I type out a response, telling him I'm still here, still breathing, and still trying to make sense of a world without Tori in it. He offers to come over, to keep me company, but I decline. I need to be alone today, to face the reality of my grief head-on.

The hours pass slowly, and the sun climbs higher in the sky. I try to find distractions – reading a book, watching a movie, even attempting to do some work – but nothing holds my attention for long. My mind keeps drifting back to Tori, to the life we had together, to the future that was stolen from us.

Lunchtime comes and goes, and I realize I haven't eaten anything all day. I force myself to make a sandwich, but the taste is bland and unappetizing. I choke down a few bites before pushing the plate away. Food just doesn't hold the same appeal it used to.

As the afternoon wears on, I decide to venture outside. The world beyond our front door feels foreign and unwelcoming, like a place I don't belong anymore. I walk aimlessly through the neighborhood, the empty streets echoing with the hollowness in my chest.

I pass by the park where Tori and I used to take long walks, holding hands and sharing our dreams. It's painful to be here without her, but I can't avoid it forever. I sit down on a bench and let the memories wash over me – the way she would smile at me, the sound of her laughter, the feel of her hand in mine. I close my eyes and try to conjure up her presence, as if she's sitting beside me, but all I find is emptiness.

The sun begins to set, casting a warm orange glow over the horizon. It's the kind of sunset Tori used to love, and I can almost hear her voice saying how beautiful it is. I watch as the colors change and shift, feeling a strange sense of peace wash over me. It's as if Tori is still here, in the world around me, in the beauty of the sunset, in the memories that live on.

As darkness falls, I make my way back home. The house is still and quiet, just as I left it. I light a few candles, their soft flickering light casting dancing shadows on the walls. It's a feeble attempt to chase away the darkness that seems to have settled in my heart.

I find myself in the bedroom, standing at the edge of the bed we used to share. The tears come again, hot and relentless, as I reach out to touch the empty space where Tori used to sleep. The pain is almost unbearable, but I can't turn away from it. I need to feel it, to embrace it, because it's the only connection I have left to her.

I curl up on the bed, clutching one of her pillows to my chest. It still smells like her, like home, like love. I close my eyes and let the tears flow, allowing myself to grieve, to mourn, and to remember. It's a painful process, but it's one I can't avoid. Tori was the love of my life, and she will always be a part of me.

As I lie there in the darkness, I realize that life will never be the same without her. The pain of her loss will always be with me, a constant ache in my heart. But I also know that I have to find a way to keep going, to honor her memory by living the life she can't. It won't be easy, and there will be days when the grief threatens to consume me. But for now, in this moment, I let myself feel the depth of my love for Tori and the pain of her absence.

I close my eyes and whisper her name, as if she can hear me. 

 "Tori..." 

 It's her voice that answers.

 "Yeah, Jade?"