Unspoken Words

After

                 Is there a word for the feeling of the physical pain when all you want to do is be with someone? I'd imagine that is how Rose felt at the end of Titanic when she realized that her true love was gone forever. I can't help but wonder if she felt that way all her life, and if I will, too.

                "It's been nine months, and you're not doing any better," my older brother said, interrupting my thoughts. I had been trying to read but, like I've been doing lately, my mind had wandered off and my eyes stared at the pages without really looking at them. I hadn't even noticed when my brother walked into my room and sat down across from me on my bed. I looked up to see his green eyes laced with concern. His face looked tired and his light brown hair, usually perfectly intact, was a mess. I quickly glanced at the mirror across from my bed and looked at my messy dark waves and my usually tanned skin looked pale. The dark circles under my eyes made me look like the undead, which is exactly how I felt. I quickly turned my dark brown eyes to his green ones, then lowered my gaze.

             "I'm sorry," I finally responded softly.

              "No, don't apologize. You have every right to feel the way you do, I'm just scared that you won't ever stop feeling this way. You don't see yourself when you zone out and you get this look on your face, like you're frozen with fear or something. It terrifies me, and I just want to see you happy again," he expressed, his words pouring out like he'd been wanting to tell me this for a long time. All I could do was sit there, trying to listen to him and not just hear him.

              "Just tell me what I can do to make it better and I'll do it," my brother continued, his voice now urgent. His words brought a small flash of anger and guilt to me.

               "You can't bring him back, Vincent," I uttered.

               " I know that, but do you? I know how much it hurts right now, but you can't keep going on like this! You can't keep on thinking that there was something you could've done to prevent this! He made his own choices that night , he chose to drink and drive! Who knows what he was thinking? We'll never know but you can't keep beating yourself up over something you had no control over!" Vincent yelled at me suddenly, his face growing red. I stared at him, shocked with hot tears running down my cheeks. My mouth and eyes were open wide, as he went on.

               "I know how much you cared about him," he continued, gently now, " and I know he adored you. You two were perfect for each other, but he's gone and you have to move on with life and be happy. It's what he would have wanted. You know I'm here? Whenever you're ready to talk, I'll be right here." Vincent reached over and pulled me into his arms, placing a gentle kiss on my forehead before getting up from my bed and making his way to the door.

                "I love you, sister. Don't  forget that," my brother reminded me before shutting my door, leaving me shocked and confused.

                For a moment his words made me angry. Vincent didn't understand, nobody would ever understand. Life did the cruelest thing to me. It gave me the only person I could ever truly love, then ripped him from my grasp as if it were taunting me, and showing me what I would never have, what I could never have, what I should have never had. He always seemed too good to be true, it didn't feel real at first. I never thought I would ever care about someone as much as I cared about him. No, care present tense. There is no past tense with him; at least that's what I have been  trying to tell myself for the past nine months. Throughout missing him and through all the waves of pain that I drown in at night, it's still present tense. I don't think that will ever change.

                 I'm not sure how long I sat there pondering my thoughts and mulling over Vincent's words, but I knew it was late when I heard that my mother was home from work. I should go to sleep, but sleep didn't come easily to me, not anymore.

                  Finally, I got up as I got  the feeling of anxiety building up in my chest as I walked towards the bookshelf in the left corner of my room. I r4eached for the back of the top shelf where the book was: Hayden's favorite book.

                  Before Hayden and I were officially dating, we would always talk. We talked about anything, about everything, until two in the morning. Once, he disclosed to me his favorite book. I was surprised to see a romance novel in his hands that day. Hayden didn't seem like the type of guy who would ever be into those kind of books. I realized quickly that he wasn't at all what I had thought he would be like. He was the greatest guy I had ever met, the greatest guy I will ever probably meet. Hayden was funny, intelligent even though most people thought he wasn't, and he liked to read. He had wanted me to watch the movie instead, he liked it better. He had laughed at how much I had cried. The memory brought a smile to my face, surprising me. Most memories with him were too painful to remember. The tattered book I held in my hands was one of the only things of Hayden's that I had left. His sister brought it to me a few days after he died in the car crash. Walking back over to my bed, I flip open the book to the first page and begin to read. Maybe it will help me feel closer to him, even if only for a brief moment.

                    I'm only a few chapters into the book when I turn a page to find handwriting in some of the margins. The blue pen is slightly smudged but the handwriting is lucid, it's Hayden's messy handwriting. Some of the things he wrote are random, but as I flip through the entire book, some of them stick with me. There are only few in particular that matter; his thoughts, his feelings, and the ones written about me. Vincent's words echo in the back of my mind, and slowly realization dawns on me. Hayden Cole is the most amazing person I could have ever met, that I will ever meet and I was incredibly fortunate and grateful for that. He loved me as I loved him. His poor choices that night have caused me pain, but there was nothing I could have done to stop him or to save him; no matter how much I wish there was. Hayden is gone. and he's never coming back. He's the one that stopped living yet I am the one that feels dead inside. Hayden wouldn't want that, I don't want that. Slowly, I shut the book and I quickly walk across the hall to my brother's room, cracking open the door. Then, I flip the light switch on.

                    "Vanessa? What time is it?" Vincent asks groggily, as he sits up in his bed.

                    "I'm not sure," I respond while slowly walking towards his bed.

                    "I-I realized that you were right, I'm ready to try and get better now. Hayden would want that, too.

                    "You said his name," Vincent said in awe.

                    "Yeah, I know. Finally, after months," I said manage to let out a laugh as I cried at the realization.

                    "Do you think you can talk to me now, Vanessa?" Vincent asked cautiously.

                     "Yes Vincent, I do. I can do this now." I responded, feeling stronger than I've felt in a long time.

                      Talking to Vincent helped, actually just talking helped. I hadn't been doing much of it. Vincent listened as we talked in his room for hours until we fell asleep.

                      When I woke up the next morning , the tight feeling in my chest didn't feel like it was crushing me and the gaping hole that I started feeling all those months ago didn't make me want to curl up in hopes of closing it; it was starting to close on its own. These feelings were still there, but they were starting to grow duller. This was the beginning  of the end; the end of the pain.

                       I love Hayden Cole, I will always love him and I will never forget him. He was an important part of my life. He was more than I could ever put into words, but he is not here anymore. I have to move on now, and I will be happy once more.