~inspired by the movie Anna~
"Honey, it's time to go.", my mother pesters me. I look down at the grave where my love is buried.
"Then you go.", I say emotionless, my eyes on the picture of him. The way his smile curls up, and the sides of his eyes crinkle. His smile, made my tears run a bit faster. I will never see him smile again.
"I'll be in the car."
I hear her footsteps walk away, and I engulf myself in a hug. I wipe my tears on my shirt looking down at the grave.
"You should fucking be here. You left me." I close my eyes trying to find that warmth he use to give me.
"You said we would be together for always. You lied." I kneel down laying the red rose among all of the other flowers people have put.
"Look at these, everyone loved you, Nate." I get back up to my feet, "I love you. You ruined me, Nate. You are dead. You fucked up. I told you I was here why couldn't you call me? You knew I would've ran to you. This is your fucking fault. I hate you for doing this to me. You left your parents and me. You left me, Nate. I don't want you to be gone."
I turn around trying to tear myself away from the grave, without crying but I fail miserable. I cover my mouth with my hand, trying to muffle my sobs as I walk toward a tree. Once I get to the tree I turn around resting on it, letting the tears roll down my face down my neck. I will never feel him hold my hand. I will never hear him say he loves me again. I will never see him again, ever.
I wipe the tears, walking to my mothers car. The funeral was bullshit. It was his fault, he killed himself, he choose to leave me. I kept walk then finally getting into the passenger seat of the car.
"Don't. It doesn't help."
| Six Months Later |
I hear my mom talking to someone down the hall. I look down at both my wrists, covered in bandages from all the cuts I have been giving them. I just wanted to be with him again. He killed himself why can't I kill myself. My bedroom door opens revealing my mom and a tall male, with brawl curls and an indie style, not professional at all. She fakes a smile, "Jenna, this is this man I told you about."
"Aren't you late for your divorced parents meeting mom?", I spat back turning my back and focusing back on my drawing. I blend the colors together making it into that lovely crimson red color.
I hear my door closing again as the man speaks up, "May I sit?" I nod, still not looking into his eyes. "Hi I'm Harry. Your mom said you like to draw." He says softly, a bit cautious.
I glance at him, scanning his features, "Are you a doctor?"
"I'm your therapist."
I scoff, "Therapists are for the weak.", At least thats what Nate use to say.
"But you are far from weak aren't you?", He says, causing me to finally looking into his eyes. I get a strange feeling in my stomach. Butterflies? No, fuck no. No.
"I'm very strong.", I say as I continue to draw.
He gets up, looking at my walls, "Who is this guy?" He points to the multiple drawings and paintings of Nate.
"The love of my life. Who is now gone."
"Is he the cause of your pain?"
I turn silent, taking violet stroke of paint to my drawing, trying to contain my anger. Hoping he will catch the hint that it's a touchy subject.
"I'm not trying to hurt you Jenna. I'm trying to help.", He says, trying to get me to look at him.
"And how do you except to do that?", I question him, turning towards him.
He smiles, "It's my job, and I want to help you. I've lost someone I loved too. I can help."
"Did your heart get ripped out? Crushed into a billion tiny pieces? Spent countless nights crying and yelling to the sky, ' I hate you'?", My voice gets louder, getting angry.
He nods, "Have you been hurting yourself?"
I take a breath turning back around to my drawing, moving the blood red color around.
"I need you to do something for me. I'm going to tell you a story, then ask you a question. A girl was at her mothers funeral. She meets this 'stud' there that she has never met before. She thinks he is amazing and all she has ever wanted. She falls in love with him right there and then. But they get separated in the crowd of the funeral before she could get his number.." I turn to face him.
"Two days later this girl kills her sister. What is her motive?", He finishes.
"To see the man again."
He gets quiet and I say, "But the more logical answer is the kill the father. If the girl didn't know him then its highly unlikely that her sister did."
He nods, writing some notes in his notebook.
"You are testing me, aren't you?", I ask.
"It's my job. I have to see how you respond to situations."
"I'm not a killer if that is what you are implying.", I spat.
"I know, I never said that. I just need to know things about you."