I Am Stretched On Your Grave [CALLAGHAN]
Robert Callaghan has always prided himself on being a strong man. Even during the worst of times, he has often acted as a pillar for his friends and those few who could call themselves his family. He knows loss, he understands loss, and it isn't as though he's so alien to it that he can't offer sympathy or even empathy...
However, he has never known loss like this.
As the drizzle rains down around them, everyone else who loved her makes their comments and offers their condolences, but here- he's a lone pillar, not so much ignoring those who approach him so much as barely conscious of their presence. They find him a poor conversationalist, and for the moment, seem to have drawn that taking care of Abigail while he stands at the edge of the fresh-dug grave is what he needs.
Which it isn't; what he needs is for this not to have ever happened. He needs the cold, still form buried underneath soaked dirt to still be by his side, to still be laughing, smiling, teasing, he'd even take her scolding him for staying up at all hours of the night when he needed to take care of Abigail while she ran out and did some errands...
He swallows, once, finally looking down at the pale rose in his hand. It, too, is dripping wet- the water that the umbrella has caught has dripped down on to it, whereupon the drops get caught in the many folds of the petals. The way they run and finally fall towards the ground, they almost look like tears, as if the flower itself is crying for him.
Which is so strange, because he hasn't shed a single tear since last night, when he'd cried himself to sleep realizing that this was going to be the final goodbye. This, here, is where he's going to have to eventually turn and walk away and leave her be...
His grip tightens on the stem, digging in to a thorn. He does not want to let her go. He still wants her, he still needs her, perhaps as long as he does not cry here he has not yet said that goodbye...
Swallowing again, Robert knows that for a foolish thought. Still, it seems like hours before he is finally able to bring himself to let go, and the rose finally slips from his hand to fall lightly upon the grave. And when he is finally able to bring himself to turn and walk away, which seems like another few hours later...it is only so that he can take Abigail's hand, consenting to her vocal desire to go for a walk, and he lets her lead him down the path before them, alone.