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“Nope. I tried reaching out to her a few months ago, but the number’s been disconnected. Her Facebook and Instagram have been shut down. Like I said it’s like she disappeared.”

“That’s good.”

I let everything sink in and holy fuck if Caroline ever finds out she’ll raise hell and that five-foot-three woman scares the shit out of me when she’s pissed.

For the next few days, I stay in bed and forget the world. Tonya hasn’t stopped by because she’s out of town visiting her sister and newborn niece. She insisted I go too, but the thought of getting on a plane and being around people didn’t sit well. Honestly being home alone is what I need to do and what I want. I have everything I need and Tonya made sure to stock my fridge before she left.

Everything’s going great until I get a text from Evan’s brother, Christian, and it throws me back to where I’ve been.

Christian: Hey, Caroline. I hope you’re doing okay. We haven’t talked in a few months and I really need someone to talk to. I miss him. Fuck I miss my brother. It’s weird at home. My parents are still walking around like zombies and there’s a shrine of Evan at our house. We can’t let go that he was shot and killed. I mean, did you see anything? I need you to really think. Please. We need answers. We need closure.

When Mason and Devin went into the restaurant there were three bodies: my husband, the shooter, and an innocent bystander. There was no trial and no one could figure out the motive of the shooter. It’s an ongoing case and is leading to nowhere. They know who did it and planned the hit, but gathering the evidence or finding people to speak against this fucking gang is next to impossible. On the streets there’s this mentality that snitches get stitches. There’s no room for snitches, so people turn their heads while family members are left without any answers or justice. No one was brought to justice and two innocent lives were taken away from their loved ones too soon. Knowing those people are still out there and living their lives makes me sick. How can innocent people be punished while evil lurks every corner, waiting for its next victim?

I read the text message over and over again. Maybe Christian’s right. I think about the night and really focus on the people there. The man pushing me back was our server and I remember seeing a few patrons and the manager I guess. Fuck, I can’t remember everything.

“Think, Caroline,” I press the palm of my hand to my head. “Think!” Nothing else comes to mind. Everything seemed to be normal that night, except the shooting and losing my husband. “Why can’t I remember?”

I send Christian a text back and try to be very careful with my words. He’s hurting to and I don’t want to sound like a bitch.

Me: I know and I’m trying so hard, Christian. I can’t remember anything else. Everything I said from that night is what I remember. I wish I can do more and give you guys the closure we all need.

Christian: I get it, Caroline. Hey, listen. Don’t be a stranger okay? We’re here for you too you know?

Me: I do and I appreciate it. Thank you so much.

Christian: You’re welcome.

Tired of being in bed I get up and organize some things in my room. It’s mundane and boring, but at least I’m up and moving. My eyes find the picture of us on the nightstand and I grab it, sitting on the bedroom floor, and rocking back and forth.

“Evan,” I call out for him. “Can you hear me right now?” I stare at the picture and tell him about what’s going on. “I need you to help me. Help me solve this case,” I tell him and squeeze the frame in my hand. “All I want is for you to get justice. All I want is for those monsters to be behind bars for life. I just want peace of mind.” Wiping my tears I let out another breath. “Everything sucks without you. I’m scared to do anything. I’m scared to laugh or smile because I don’t want to forget about you.”

In so many weird ways I feel as though if I start living my life then I’ll forget Evan and that’s not what I want to do. I want to always remember him and give his legacy a voice. I want people to know how strong he was and what he did for this community. Part of me wants to be strong enough then the other part is scared. It’s hard to put into comprehensible words what I feel like doing. What’s right? What’s wrong? How long do I grieve or do I grieve forever? Is there life after losing someone you love so much?

Hearing the front door open I don’t attempt to move. It’s probably my mom since Tonya’s away.

“Care!”

“Mason?” I mutter and slowly get up and put the picture down. Not caring what I look like because it’s Mason I walk out of my bedroom and down the spiral staircase and meet him in the kitchen. “Mase?”

“Why the fuck is your door unlocked?”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Hi, my neighborhood is the
safest
and it’s gated, so really? I think I can leave the door unlocked. And it’s not like someone will be stupid enough to rob my house or come after me. Shit, maybe they can try.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Why?”

Mason brings me in his arms and kisses the top of my head. “When was the last time you showered?”

Pushing him away I climb on top of the bar stool and twirl my oily hair. “A few days ago,” I mutter. “What’s your point? Why the hell are you here again? You and I haven’t talked in
months
and then out of nowhere you came to my house being a hero, pretending that you care and that I mean something to you. And now you want to come here all trying to save me. I don’t need it,” I spit out and stand my ground against him. When it comes to Mason I usually don’t argue with him, but I know what he’s doing and I’m not falling for it. For months since Evan’s death he’s blamed himself. I’m not sure if I blame him too. To be perfectly honest I blame the entire police department. If they had been doing their jobs and pushed their informant harder my husband would be alive and we’d be happy.

“I’m here because you’re my best friend . . .”

“Stop right there,” I slowly tell him, putting up my hand and squaring my shoulders. “First thing, we’re not best friends and secondly, you don’t need to be here. I don’t need you.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you okay?” He says while taking my hand and looking at me. I want to look away and tell him to get out. I want him to stop looking at me. I’m not a project and I don’t accept pity. “I’m here now. Being around you when it first happened scared me. I didn’t know how to handle it. But now, I know I want to be here and help you. I want to be your best friend again.”

“Why the hell do you want that?”

Tucking a strand of hair behind my ear he smiles and continues to look at me. “Because you’re the only woman in my life who puts up with my shit and doesn’t want to sleep with me. With you, I can be myself and I know you’ll love me no matter what. So admit it, Care, you love me.”

“I hate you.”

“Awww, baby, I love you too.” He rubs my arm and starts laughing. “But right now you smell and need to shower.” He sniffs around and looks in the sink. “Oooookay so when was the last time you did anything with the house?”

“Why?”

“Well you smell and your house smells. Go shower.”

“Fine,” I mutter again and lift myself off the barstool and head back upstairs. Walking into the bathroom in my bedroom I look in the mirror and gasp in horror. My hair’s a mess. My face is oily and I have a zit right on my nose. “Lord.”

Shedding out of my three-day-old outfit I get in the shower and welcome the warm water to fall over my body. Standing under the spray I close my eyes and suddenly out of nowhere a scream rips through me and my fists pound against the shower walls. I hit the walls hard and my eyes remain closed. My mind is blank and it’s as though I’m having an out-of-body experience. There’s supposed to be different stages of grief and for the past nine months I’ve stayed on stage four; depression.

In the weeks following Evan’s death I made dinner for us and set the table. I refused to eat and waited for him to walk through the doors. I checked my phone and called him, wondering where he was and if he was okay. Then anger came and I tore apart my house. I took a knife and stabbed the couch, over and over again, screaming and crying, asking God why He had to take away Evan from us. This anger stayed for over a month until Tonya decided to stay with me for a week and kept me busy. It helped and for a moment I thought I was going to be okay until I skipped bargaining and jumped right into depression. I couldn’t eat or see anyone. I pushed away the people who mattered and had my own pity party. I stopped going to work and received a call from the principal. I let the call go to voicemail and refused to listen to the message until Tonya came over with Walker, Principal of Webster Thomas High School, where I worked for two years teaching, and showed students how to fall in love with literature. After Evan’s death they saw I was such a mess, Walker gave me some more time off and wants me to return in September. I didn’t respond. I just nodded.

It’s now June and I’m not going to work. As much as I hate feeling like a failure I can’t do it. There are so many parts of my life I miss and want back. The struggle to start living again without Evan seems impossible.

“Please come back to me!” I scream and fall on my knees, my head down and the sobs wracking my body. “Evan . . .”

I don’t hear the bathroom door open. I don’t see Mason open the shower curtains and I certainly don’t feel him picking me up from the shower floor and taking me to my bed to lay me down. I absently watch him grab a towel and wrap it around my wet body. I don’t say anything. I lie there, on my bed, numb and cold.

“Hey, Care,” he softly says, kneeling down and gently rubbing my arm. “I’m here if you need me okay?” I don’t nod. I stare at him and he doesn’t push me. Instead he gets up and walks out of my bedroom, but leaves the door open. I watch him walk down the stairs and turn on my other side and place my hands under my head.

“Evan,” I whisper, “I miss you.”

I wait for his response.

And wait.

And wait.

There’s nothing.

Mason doesn’t come back into the bedroom and for that I’m grateful. I don’t want to hear that I should be feeling better or I should be doing something more. One day the pain will go away. One day I’ll be able to stand tall and enjoy life again.

One day.

Whoever said that can burn in hell. Whoever said that has never experienced pain so hurtful that your world is gray and black. The pain sears through your body, capturing your heart and soul, slowly twisting the love and air, leaving you alone and dead.

Dead.

That’s how I feel. This will never be okay. I will never be okay. I’ll never be able to let go of the images from that night. I’ll never be able to stop hearing the flat line when Mason turned off the machines. I’ll never be able to love again.

Love.

Love.

LOVE!

Fuck love. Fuck it all. Love is a bitch and she isn’t done with me yet. She watches me from afar and makes me angry and sad. Love is supposed to give you butterflies and make you happy. This isn’t love. I lost love. Love is never coming back. I’ll never get to feel the intense love shooting through my body, reverberating through and making my heart whole. Love doesn’t want me.

The woman from before, the woman with Evan, is gone and she’s never coming back. She left the day Evan left and there’s nothing to rely on. There’s nothing to grasp. I’m falling and I’ll never be able to let go of this feeling.

Dread.

Depression.

Loss.

I’ll forever be alone.