It smelled like morning.
Well, you're probably wondering what morning smelt like for me. To me, it was the fresh brew of coffee, light fog in the air, and the smell of her soap, which was from her shower. Although this world was filled with grey, there was nothing like her. Nothing so colorful and vivid. The kind that fills up your vision and soaks into your retina. Yes, that was what she was. Too beautiful for this world, too pure. I wouldn't let go of that, ever.
Soon after I heard the pantry doors squeal open, I got out of bed. Such an annoying noise, it was distasteful. My hands were cold, rubbing the crust out of my eyes. Walking into the bathroom, I brushed my teeth, then fixed my hair. Steam coated the mirror, which I wiped away with my hand. I had deep, brown eyes that seemed to have no end. Without another pause, I shut off the lights and strided towards the kitchen where my darling was. Her long hair was tugged into a bun, gaze focused on a pastry she pulled out, presumably from the pantry. This girl... she was mine. Never anyone else's. Not until it took her away.
It was then that she collapsed, and you're probably wondering why the hell she would suddenly just fall to the ground while preparing breakfast. I... I would never know truly what killed her. Everything after that flashed by, as if it was just shots taken from a camera. Panicking. Calling 911. The ambulance arriving. Being at the hospital. Waiting. But everything pauses at that moment. It's as if time decided to slow down to make it as anguishing as possible. Those white walls, they stared me down, almost jeering at my distress. It wasn't until late that night a doctor in a standard white coat strided up to me as if it was not unusual and declared her dead. For a moment, I felt the anger boil inside me, ready to beat the living out of this man, as if it was his fault she wasn't alive. Breathing felt like vodka burning down my lungs instead of my throat. I couldn't bear to just sit there and cry about it, I never cried, so I simply got up after ramming the chair I was sitting in into the wall and stormed out into the hallway. After that, it was more just flashes of events that happened, filling out paperwork, calling people to tell them the news, driving home... Everything felt even worse at home because her presence filled the rooms, and at every turn, a memory sparked. At the table, she would talk about how she was doing at work, a genuine smile always on her face. Next to the TV, us watching movies until we fell asleep, her head propped on my shoulder. Down the hall, her lips crashing into mine after a long day. Though, in the bedroom it was worse. That smell. The soap.
All of it was too much.
Instead, I went downstairs into the den, thinking it would clear my head to have a drink.
I was so wrong.
On the counter was a bottle of wine, opened and empty. Beer bottles lined the edge of the table, a shot glass on it's side. She never drank. Only I did. What the fuck was she doing... This was not the girl I knew. The girl I knew would never drink herself to death. What made her do this? Who hurt my love this much to where she would do this to herself? She was always smiling, always laughing, always making jokes...
I was determined to find out what made her do this to herself.
I would find out who pushed her to the edge.
And they would pay.
