Match Maker One Shots

Fourth of July

Summary: 1 year later, the wound still stings

Warnings: august-centric, grieving, matteo

2023

August could feel it creeping in. The anniversary was coming up. Why did people call it an anniversary if it wasn't a celebration? She would never understand it. Sleep had been minuscule all week, as had eating. There was nothing anyone could say to make her feel better. She would just have to go through the five stages again.

August sat alone in her dimly lit living room, the rain outside tapping on the window like a sad and distant melody. It had been almost a year since Matteo, her beloved boyfriend, had passed away, and as the anniversary drew nearer, her mental health spiralled into a deep abyss of sorrow.

The memories of that fateful day haunted her. She could still feel the icy grip of the phone in her trembling hand when she received the call. The voice on the other end, choked with tears, had delivered the devastating news that Matteo had been in a car accident and was asleep in his arms as he took his last breath. It was as if the world had shattered into a million pieces, leaving her to navigate the wreckage of her life alone.

In the beginning, the grief was like a tidal wave, overwhelming and all-encompassing. Every moment was coloured by a profound sense of loss. But as time passed, she had hoped that the pain would ebb, that she could start to heal. However, as the anniversary approached, it felt as though the wound in her heart had been torn open anew.

August found herself replaying their last moments together in vivid detail, every word and touch etched into her mind. She missed the way he would surprise her with breakfast in bed on lazy Sunday mornings, the warmth of his hand in hers as they strolled through the park, and his infectious laughter that had the power to brighten the darkest of days.

The knowledge that Matteo was never coming back was the cruel twist of the knife. Last year, she had hoped against hope that it was all a terrible dream, that he would walk through the door with that mischievous smile of his. But now, as the anniversary loomed, that hope had withered away, leaving her with an emptiness that seemed impossible to fill.

August's mental health suffered under the weight of her grief. She withdrew from friends and family, unable to find solace in their well-intentioned words of comfort. Each day was a struggle to get out of bed, to face a world that had moved on without Matteo. The colours had faded from her life, leaving everything in shades of grey.

Sleep eluded her, and when it did come, it was plagued by haunting dreams of Matteo, as vivid and bittersweet as their memories. She would wake in the dead of night, drenched in sweat, clutching the pillow he used to sleep on.

Therapy provided some relief, but the ache remained. August tried to honour Matteo's memory by visiting his grave, sharing stories of their time together, and placing fresh flowers. But it was a bittersweet ritual, a reminder of the life they had planned and would never get to live.

As the anniversary arrived, August's mental health plummeted to its lowest point. The grief was as raw and agonizing as the day she had received that life-altering call. She felt adrift in a sea of sorrow, yearning for a way to bring Matteo back, to undo the tragedy that had torn him from her.

In the midst of her despair, August clung to the memories, finding solace in the love they had shared. She knew that Matteo would never truly leave her heart, and she vowed to carry his spirit forward, finding strength in the love they had known. It was a long and painful journey, but she resolved to navigate it, one day at a time, carrying Matteo's memory with her as a beacon of hope in the darkness.

August had always known that confronting the past was essential to moving forward, but it was never easy. The guest bedroom, which had once been a place of warmth and shared dreams, now held the remnants of a life that felt long gone. Boxes, neatly labelled, were stacked in the wardrobe, containing Matteo's clothes, belongings, and the bittersweet fragments of their shared history.