HER

It was months, and months of back and forth

You're still all over me like a wine-stained dress I can't wear anymore

Present Day - February 2018

The months following proved to be the most horrid as I found myself in that awkward stage between grief and unspoken sadness that clouded all of my judgement. He never showed up in those weeks following my brothers death, it was  as though he knew that his absence and lack of contact was the very reason that I was mad at him. I hadn't been planning on holding the small inconvenience against him, knowing that it was merely his schedule, the schedule that I had grown to disprove over the few months that we had been able to spend together; however, that was before he refused to attend the funeral - well maybe not refused, more like declined to answer my calls and was therefore unaware of the time and place of my brother's funeral. I tried to understand and relinquish the control I felt that I needed to have over the curly brown haired boy, but the fact that he seemed to place everything of his above getting on a flight or answering a phone call for his girlfriend,seemed to speak volumes of his character in my opinion.

March 2017

"Hey," I spoke into the phone receiver for what felt like the thousandth time, trying to eagerly connect with him and feel the weight of the world slowly drift away from my shoulders just by the sound of his voice, yet each time I picked up the phone, I would only be met with the dial tone and his overzealous speaker stating that he was unavailable and to please call him back at a later time. I knew him better than to believe that he was not checking his phone, besides that, his voice mailbox would have been overflowing by now with the needy messages that I had been leaving him over the past few days as we setup the last of the funeral arrangements and attempted to call all of the family members that had somehow moved away and not heard of my younger brother's death. A gently sob escaped my mouth as I tried to contain the sadness that was overcoming my entire being, but there was no way to do such a thing.

I had always been so strong, and I commended myself for that stating that I was independent and able to handle anything that came my way; however, when I was faced with this tragedy, my mind went blank and I was unable to process anything of real value. All I wanted at that time was familiarity that I once found in him, but he was nowhere to be found when I needed him the most. Whether it was his busy schedule that impaired his ability to call or his wild mind Trying to come up with a reason as to why this would happen, I was angered by his arrogance and unwillingness to contact me. It was not that I was oblivious to his truly overwhelming work schedule, but my entire being seemed to be questioning what he could possibly be doing that couldn't spare a second for him to send a text stating that he was sorry or devastated. Most of all, how important could I have really been to him if he was unwilling to even send a text when I had clearly become overwhelmed with grief as was obvious from the countless voicemails that consisted of my anguished cries filling the line as I sought for the words to say to him that would make him give me some sort of sign.

"The funeral is planned for Wednesday," I spoke, suddenly remembering that he most likely was not in the same time zone or even going to listen to the message on the day that I was leaving it on, making me sigh and add on that it was two days after the voicemail had been left. "I know it is short notice and you are really busy, but I just really want you there and I thought-" my voice gave out before I could finish the sentence. I held the phone away from my mouth so he wouldn't hear the labored breaths that I was taking in order to assure that I did not fully sob once again on his messaging system. If he was able to keep this poker face, why was I not able to? Maybe I cared too much or maybe I was just far too emotional to hide any of my anguish with him behind a fake smile that would brighten any person's day. I wanted to curse myself for allowing the curly haired boy to have so much control over me, but in all honesty, I thought he was different. I thought that maybe since we clearly had something, he would surely find it hard to flat ignore my cries and pleas. Perhaps he would even just call for a minute to comfort my shaking being with his smooth and silky voice but no such call ever came.

"I would really appreciate it if you came or called or anything really," I paused, not knowing if I was sounding too desperate at that moment, but there was no taking it back at that time, it was already out there. So, I decided to go off of that and vent my entire feelings, thinking that maybe it would cause him to realize how neglected he was making me feel. "And you know, the least you could do is call or text your girlfriend after she loses her brother because that is just the polite thing to do," I spat at him, knowing that it would not change anything, but maybe it would allow me a few moments of solace without considering  his frame sitting in his room staring down at his phone and neglecting to respond to me. Details of the funeral flew out of my mouth as I recited the parlor's name and the address like it was second nature before following it up with the date and time once again. Before I hung up, the thought occurred to me that I should add in my true thoughts about his appearance at the funeral. "If you don't show up," I hesitated, knowing that this last sentence would probably slit my own throat more than his own.

Clearly he was unfazed by my threats and my cries as the radio silence had been continuing throughout the entire time after my brother's untimely passing. However, a part of me thought that he would at least feel like he needed or owed me some sort of apology. "Then I guess I know where we stand," I muttered under my breath, hanging up the phone quickly and Throwing it across the room in order to get the horrid memories away from me. Despite all of our faults and issues, my lock screen still mocked me by holding a photo of him and me from the Thanksgiving that we had shared with my family earlier that year. We appeared so happy in the photo, his arms wrapped around my shoulders from behind as he gazed into the camera with eyes full of love and I held onto his arms gently with an enthusiastic grin overcoming my face. In the picture, you could never have theorized that only four months later, the same couple would be at each other's throats and willing to call it quits.

Hung my head as I lost the war,

And the sky turned black, like a perfect storm.

When the day of the funeral came around, I found myself collapsing in on myself and falling apart purely due to the fact that the chestnut haired beauty still had neglected to text or call me, making my self esteem falter and my strength become feeble. My mother tried to get me to look past it and say that he was merely busy, but I knew that if he had heard those voicemails he would have called quickly and been on the first flight to Illinois, yet he was not and his message box was still not full, leaving me in awe of the man and how bipolar he could possibly be. As I got dressed, I thought of how he could show up and encompass my black clad body with his olive toned arms that were littered with dark ink. Nevertheless, as the hours of me standing before everyone with open arms welcoming the sympathies for my loss, I was left wondering where he was or if he would even show. After the visitation had ended, the funeral began as we had opted to perform the visitation, funeral, and burial all within the same day in order to get the process over with as quickly as possible.

When we were told to take our seats for the ceremony, I sat in the front with my mother as was customary for the family but I made sure to leave a seat open beside me amongst all of my extended family that was gathering around me: a spot for him. As the ceremony went on and the time dwindled down, it became more apparent than ever that he was not coming. The pastor made some final remarks and smiled at the remembrance of my brother's life; however, the tears falling down my cheeks were not only for the boy lying within the casket but also for myself as I had not been wise enough to know that the he was truly not ready for that kind of commitment. Nevertheless, I was happy to leave the funeral parlor with my mother and for her to drive over to the cemetery as the leader of the procession behind the parlor vehicle. Never before had I thought of not being able to drive in the procession, but as we got closer to the cemetery, I realized that I was truly blessed to have such a selfless mother as she was the only reason we had not crashed into a ditch during the entire drive.

"We gather here to say goodbye to one of our most dearest friends-" the pastor began as I tuned out his speech, no longer wishing to hear anymore about my brothers death or how his memory would live on because I knew exactly what to expect. It was not even a year after my father's death that I had forgotten how his voice sounded, having to rely on recording s to remember the familiar rumble. I had forgotten the way he used to hug me in the same amount of time, quickly followed by the way his eyes would crinkle when he smiled until he became a lifeless memory. Granted, when someone showed me a picture, everything would come back and I would remember the glorious times, but if his own daughter could forget that much, what about everyone else? How could anyone else remember him better than his own daughter?

As I looked over to my right, I saw a black vehicle approach and the driver stop near our procession vehicles. My heart sped up thinking that it would be him with a suit on and his curls slightly gelled back as he often did during special occasions. Nothing was more awful than the feeling of disappointment that crowded my chest when the person exiting headed the opposite direction with his blonde hair and a bouquet of flowers held in his hand. I stayed silent for the rest of the day, opting out of the dinner that was provided after the burial in order to go home and wallow in my own self pity. As I pulled up to my house though, I saw a familiar vehicle parked on the curb and an even more familiar figure perched on my doorstep with his body covered in his signature black suit.

Instead of my body being filled with happiness though, I was filled with a rage that I had never experienced before in my life as I approached him, heels clicking against the cement of my driveway as I slammed my car door and took his attention away from his phone that was lying in his hand. Without a second thought he stood up and attempted to approach me as I walked straight past him and toward the door. He threw up his hands in the air as though a question as to why he was even trying; however, no words ever left his lips of such magnitude because he knew of my backhanded smack far too well from occasions when men had attempted to pick me up in the club. The familiar man followed me into the house, walking into the kitchen only seconds after I did and watching as I opened a bottle of whiskey and pressed the bottle of liquor against my lips, completely forgoing the glasses that were stashed away neatly in the cupboards.

"You know that this is not how we deal with pain," he mumbled, moving toward me to take the bottle only for me to shove him away from me and slam the bottle on the granite countertop with enough force to make some of the addictive liquid swish out of the container. His emerald green eyes fluttered with shock as he took in my rapid movements. Before long, I was standing in front of him, whiskey still on my breath, and my finger pressed into his chest while tears threatened to escape my eyes. "Love," he tried again, only leaving me to push him away once again when he tried to encompass me in a hug.

"You don't get to say that to me!" I suddenly yelled at him as his eyes went as wide as saucers and he was able to fully see the anger that was covering my face. Not only was angered by his presence, but I was hurt from his lack of presence when I needed him the most. Of all the times he could have chosen to be busy and to have something to do that was unable to be rescheduled, he had to pick when I needed him the most. Although he had no idea at the time of planning it, it was just convenient how he was always available when he wanted something or needed me, but when I needed him to be there with me and support me in my endeavors or anything for that matter, he was never there. "You don't get to come here and act like my hero all of a sudden," his head lowered at that statement as he tried to find a way to tell me that he did not mean to hurt me in so many words. That was always the routine with him, and I had always been needy and foolish enough to fall for it, which made my blood boil more than I could ever imagine. I recalled all those times when I said I was a strong and independent woman, knowing that each time I ran back to him and forgave him was a time when I proved just how needy I truly was in real life. I was just a pawn to him and all of our relationship, I had been playing into his hand, which caused the fire to intensify as I stared at his face that I still loved in some vague and unexplainable way.

"What do you want me to do, huh love?" He asked, his voice raising and his vein protruding from his neck as it normally would when he would become angry. "Do you want me to define my whole schedule around you and tell everyone that my entire world revolves around some chick back in Illinois because we are dating?" He asked, scoffing at the idea of doing exactly what I wanted him to do. While I knew certain things were just unable to be done, I still thought that it was not such a hard thing for him to take off for a day or two and attend the funeral of his girlfriend's brother. I did not think I was a bad girlfriend for asking such a thing from him. In fact, almost every girl would expect that regardless of someone's status or busy schedules. "I can't make time bend around you and your schedule!" He finally shouted, throwing his hands down on the counter as I stood beside him simply staring at his profile and wondering who he even was.

"You think this was my plan?!?" I screamed at him, taking a step away as I now knew that I despised the man standing beside me: maybe not his full being, but at least the side he was showing in that moment though. I could never imagine the man I met earlier that year as saying those things to me; however, here we were standing in my kitchen as he accused me of being too needy. "I wanted you at my brother's funeral!" I yelled at him, throwing papers at him as I let out all of my frustrations on him. "I wanted you at my cousin's wedding because I was the maid of honor and I wanted you there as a date because I love you and I wanted that day to be spent with you!" I screamed at him with anguish filling my voice as all of the held back anger boiled over and I felt my heart tear apart at the realization of what was about to happen.

"I asked for two days out of your entire year but I guess you can't even do that now can you?!" A look of pure shock overcame his face as he tried his best to recover from my hateful comments and brush them off, but I knew better than that. I knew at least one of the daggers I had thrown had stuck somewhere in his tough exterior and was slowly ripping him apart; however, I could not bring myself to find any type of joy in it. He stumbled over his words trying to find a suitable argument as I found tears rolling down my cheeks for what felt like the hundredth time that day.

"Get out," I finally found the strength to mutter, pointing toward the door as his eyes widened and he frantically began to apologize, to which I was numb to as I kept my finger strictly pointed toward the door and my face stoic. Finally, he gave up and made his way out of the house, slamming the door behind him as I collapsed on the ground and found myself holding my own arms while sobbing.

Rain came pouring down when I was drowning

That's when I could finally breathe.

July 2017

Unlike my normal summers, I spent that one at home with my mother and trying to get her through the grief that was overcoming her. Since my brother's death, she had never been the same, going in and out of psych wards as she attempted to harm herself multiple times a month. Due to her struggles, I was forced to either place her in those wards or return home and finish my education at a closer university, which was never really an option as scholarships were not readily available for transfer students and my full ride to University of Iowa was obviously not transferable. Beyond dealing with my mother and her constant housing assignments being mailed to my apartment along with the bills that were requiring some sort of payment, I had been attempting to find some peace in my own life concerning the only man that I tried and succeeded in falling in love with. He had contacted me since that day, every week on a Wednesday afternoon without fail. Even though it had been four months since I had essentially told him to get out of my life, he stilled reached out to me and tried to help me in any way that he could, even sending money which was swiftly returned to its sender moments later. Meanwhile, I had enrolled myself into a therapy office in order to release some of the pent up tension that was consuming my entire being.

When I had first met the red haired woman that as assigned to assist me in my healing, I wanted to laugh at our differences and how ironic it was that a doctor's office for therapy would stick such a chipper and bright person with a dull and lifeless one. Nevertheless, I went faithfully as she asked me personal questions that seemed to dig deeper within my psych and made me feel somewhat better. We began with the obvious things that made me tick, the mention of my father or brother's death was a large one as I practically bit her head off when she asked how they both died.

"How did they die?" She asked in a somewhat toned down voice, which I appreciated; however, I did not want or need a reminder of their death as I was already acutely aware that cars were death traps but I still managed to get inside of one every single day t travel from my apartment to my school's campus, then to my internship, and then back to the school for these therapy session which were held by graduating psychology majors who were already considered doctors. I bit back a snarl at her as I found myself looking down at my hands and trying to get out the two words that I knew were the main reason for all of my life problems.

"Car accident," I whispered out, her head popping up at the sound of my voice. It was not that I never spoke in therapy because I would, but when she asked questions that were very personal and straight forward, I tended to take a few minutes to consider my answer before I actually responded. Yet there I was, fulfilling my job in answering her question quite quickly.

"Which one?" She asked, digging a bit farther and biting down son her pencil that she always had in our thirty minute sessions. "And what happened between you and this character that you talk about so much," she struggled for a few seconds,searching through her notes before finding it and saying his name so gently and smoothly as though it were no big deal. My fists clenched as I stood up from my chair and grabbed my purse with my right hand quickly and stomped out of the office with a small 'gotta go' being thrown over my shoulder as I came up with a fake office meeting that I was currently missing.

She attempted to call after me but I just kept walking, wiping away the single stray tear that escaped my eye as I trotted away from the university campus and got into my car before traveling back to my apartment that was roughly five minutes worth of a drive away from the campus. When I finally got there, I instantly regretted it because I was reminded of all of the memories that still were etched in the double bedroom space that I had rented out with my best friend during the school year. Usually I was never reminded of him there because the blonde haired girl was always filling my mind with pleasant thoughts; however, now that she had gone home to Miami for the summer, I was once again encompassed by the ghostly memories haunting the four walls surrounding me.

So I punched a hole in the roof

Let the flood carry away all my pictures of you.

September 2017

Crashes filled the small apartment that I lonely occupied during the first few months of the school year since my roommate had decided to travel abroad for the first semester. Glass fell around the area that I was standing as I looked at my hand and found blood dripping from my tiny, yet effectual, fist. Tears freely flowed down my cheeks as I resided to sliding down the wall, looking over at the picture frame I had just smashed beside me on the wall, checking to see if the picture that it held was damaged, which it was not. The picture still captured a smiling me with those tossed brown curls popping out to my right side and his dimples permanently etched upon his face as he slightly turned away from whoever took the picture to stare at me. Previously, I had thought that those pictures would be happy to look back on, but now, six months after he had been gone, I still found myself longing for his return and glancing at those pictures with a slight anger toward my immaturity and inability to love the amazing man within them.

Despite knowing that he would never come back, I still left them up as a way to torture myself as I would look back on the memories daily when I would see his smiling face staring back at me. Maybe I was just a masochist and wanted to be tortured every day of my life for the mistakes that I had made in the past; however, researching my mind for the reasoning behind my obvious infliction of emotional turmoil on myself was not going to give me any type of relief at that point as I was feeling the side effects of hurling my fist into a glass frame as the leftover glass shards tore at the skin of my knuckles even farther and blood seeped further out of my wound.

Those moments cleaning my wound were the first moments that I truly realized that therapy wasn't working as I assessed my hand wound and came to the conclusion that I would need stitches after trying to get it to clot over the course of ten minutes. I drove myself to the hospital through blurry vision and told myself to not cry or seem like I was weak. Little did I know that I was not crying because I was too weak, I was crying because I was too strong. Too strong in myself to admit that I could ever be wrong.

And by morning, gone was any trace of you,

I think I am finally clean.

December 2017

My therapist calling my name seemed to break me out of my trance as I blinked twice to get out of the memory that had been replaying before my eyes for the past several minutes. Her soft voice seemed to be the only thing that could break me out of those silent reveries those days as I tried to find a way cope with the loss of one of the most important people in my life; however, it was not the same person she always wanted to talk about. No, instead of it being my little brother, it was the curly haired idiot that made my heart break the year prior. I felt myself tense up at the thought of his dazzling eyes and beautiful smile that could light up the room. Her eyes only seemed to narrow at me once again as she repeated my name multiple times again, my mind obviously getting lost in the thought of him.

"Yes?" I finally answered, blinking once again as she simply let out a loud sigh and pouted at me before writing something in her file and closing it despite the session only being halfway complete. While normally I would say that I had spent the time daydreaming, I knew by the clock on the wall that only fifteen minutes has passed since my set time, meaning that I was still due to be there for another fifteen minutes. She seemed to pick up on my confusion as she folded her arms over each other and just stared right through me as though I had committed some sort of felony. Yet again, she let out a sigh and removed her glasses in order to rub the space between her eyes in hopes to ease her oncoming headache. I noticed she did that a lot around me, probably as I was so absent minded most of the time that she felt as though she was not truly doing her job.

"I can't treat you if you refuse to open up to me," she told me with a raised eyebrow as I felt my shoulders come up in a shrug as though I did not care; however, she was one of those people that could always tell when something as off or when I was trying to hide something - it was what made her an amazing therapist. "And I know that recounting your history with this man who was in your life is hard for you, so I have a solution," she stated, looking up from her papers that she had previously been engrossed in as she caught sight of my tilted eyebrow. A simple smile covered her face as she seemed to understand my reasoning for not wanting to talk about one of the only men I had ever loved in my life.

"I want you to write a journal or a diary, anything really that will be a complete account of your time with this character," she requested, taking in the horror filling my face as she continued on with her suggestion. "We would still have our weekly meetings and you would still be considered my patient, but in order to get all of your anger and pent up thoughts out, this is the only sane way to do it because if I am correct, you have too much of a history with this boy to simply state it in one or two meeting sessions." Her smile that time was sympathetic, almost as though she were inside of my mind and reading my thoughts that seemed to shout how I would merely relieve the anxiety and stresses of our relationship as I wrote about them extensively.

I stumbled over my words for a few minutes, forgetting how to speak in English for a short period as my mind became overloaded with the thought that I would have to relive the past few months of torture as well as the months prior to it in order to fully heal from the still sharpened wounds that were dramatically tearing my heart into thin threads. Although I recognized that I needed to do it in order to grow and get past the woven in tendencies that were causing my sanity to collapse, I never wanted to think that I actually would, yet there I was, in front of my therapist, talking about writing a biography about him and our love. The most confusing part of those moments were not in the way my heart slightly broke farther at the mention of his name, but at how my heart actually slightly fluttered back into place at the mere mention of getting to relive those wonderful ten months that I had with him.

"Okay," I sighed slightly in defeat, hanging my head slightly before looking back up to her. "I'll write it," I concluded before picking up my purse and exiting the therapy session quickly with tears in my eyes as I made my way home, wondering why had ever wished that his spirit would haunt me when I was unable to fully cope with his departure in the first place.

Ten months sober, I must admit

Just because you're clean don't mean you don't miss it.

Present Day - February 2018

Narcotize: that was what I commonly stated our relationship as each time that I would think back to it. Our beautiful time together was nothing more than a mixture of drugs and endorphins rushing into our systems. Even though I never wanted to fall in love, I did. I was forced to fall in love with those dimpled cheeks and bright green eyes that somehow matched his unruly hair perfectly. He was the drug that both killed and freed me, and I would never take those months back. However, by going through all of the memories and looking back on how they had all looped together and entwined so perfectly, I was unsure how I was supposed to want to go back to those moments because in those times I was unable to see the damage that losing him would do to me. At the same time, I only wanted to travel back in time to those eleven months and hold him close one more, to let those three simple words slip through my chapped lips without feeling like a lovestruck idiot. I only wanted to see him one last time and be able to hold him so close that I would never be able to forget that minty, yet manly, scent that mocked my entire existence; I wanted him to haunt me forever.

I dropped the stack of papers on my therapists desk, startling the poor red haired and blue eyed girl that was previously focused on the paperwork lying in front of her. She looked up at me quickly and searched my face with a look of wonder covering her features as though she had never expected the amount pages I had provided to her. I shrugged my shoulders slightly before making my way out of her office and turning on my heel just as I was about to close the door. "I don't think I will be needing any more sessions, that biography really did the trick," I told her with a wink, shaking my head as I heard her shout something about an autobiographical novel at me while I made my way toward the exit.

Once outside, I felt my shoulders release their previously built up tension and rest easy at my sides as I took a deep breath in through my nose and out through my mouth feeling as though I was finally free from whatever type of ghost had been following me those past ten months. My feet walked toward the campus coffee shop as I smiled at those who I passed and nodded my head in acknowledgement of their presence as I had not been doing in the previous months. When I ordered my hot chocolate from the barista, I found myself smiling like I had never done before, which made me all the more confident that I had done the right thing by following my therapist's orders; however, as I found my seat, my bliss was taken away as I heard a husky and tortured voice release a sigh while saying my name. I did not have to turn around to realize who it was, I would always be able to recognize that voice, which was why part of my heart flipped at the sound of my name while another part seemed to break in half.

ATTENTION:

Hey readers! So I don't know when you will receive the last part of Narcotize because it isn't written and I literally don't have a life anymore to write lol. Therefore, I will update ASAP but also in my own timing.

On a side note, pray for STL because our city is a powder cake right now and Ed Sheeran canceled his concert which makes me really sad. Anyway, have a blessed night and I'm gonna go sleep now!!