Caitlyn handled grief well.
Or at least that's what the people around had been saying.
Your death was a silent one, no one even knew you until you and Caitlyn began dating You changed her life, and she changed yours.
"..."
She stared at the report of your death, it was lying beside a few files and documents she had been working on. She stood abruptly from her chair, her footsteps numb, making a beeline towards the hospital, till they began to increase in pace.
She breathed heavily, staring down at your corpse, while the nurses tried to pull her away.
You were healing, and getting better. You told her it was fine and that she should catch up with her work, so why were you there? Unmoving and pale.
You lied.
Caitlyn furrowed her eyebrows in anger.
How could you leave her like this?
That feeling of resentment swirled in her chest, and she pushed you out of her mind. Not a single tear fell, no. She buried herself in work, lost in the endless hours of documents and deadlines. Anything to escape the memories. Anything to shut out the dreams of you that haunted her every night.
She dressed up.
It was weird, because you weren't there, complimenting her and leaving teasing remarks. It was strange how silent the room was.
Her face held neutrality, a sense of indifference.
She greeted guests with a practiced air of composure, nodding politely to acquaintances who came to pay their respects. Her smile, poised but vacant, barely masked the storm churning beneath the surface. She hadn't even spared a glance at you in the coffin yet―either because the image was too much for her to bear, or maybe her paranoia gripped her in such a way that she couldn't accept this as the finality of your presence in her life.
Her footsteps were slow, deliberate, as if every movement was an effort, dragging her toward the podium. The weight of the moment seemed to hang heavy in the air, and she paused before the microphone.
She cleared her throat, the noise soft yet sharp, as if she were trying to ground herself. Her eyes briefly flicked to a piece of paper in her hand, the edges slightly crinkled from the nerves she'd tried to keep hidden.
The speech didn't quite reach her heart; it didn't speak the truth of her grief, of the ache that gnawed at her chest. It was simply a string of words, an attempt to honor you, but it could never express the depth of what she was feeling. The speech, like everything else today, was a hollow imitation of what she truly wanted to say.
"I'm going to keep this short," she began, a half-laugh catching in her throat. "Knowing she'd probably make fun of me for getting all sentimental."
A faint smile tugged at her lips. She glanced up for a moment, as though searching for you in the crowd that wasn't there, then returned her gaze to the paper, her voice steadying.
"My life grew quiet when she disappeared... maybe because she always talked a lot. Whether it was about how our dog could talk in secret, or the latest conspiracy theories―ones even first graders wouldn't believe―or even about the best restaurant in town, which, by the way, I still think was definitely overrated."
She paused with a small shake of her head, followed by a few chuckles from the crowd. It was a release, a brief respite from the suffocating weight of grief.
But then, the laughter died down, and silence fell again, thick and oppressive. She stared at the paper in her hands, but it was as if the words had started to blur into an unreadable mess.
"Though I can't lie... I'm mad at her."
The words were barely a whisper, but they felt like an anvil weighing her chest down. Her fingers curled around the podium, gripping it with such intensity that her knuckles turned white. The air seemed to still around her as she spoke again, her voice trembling now, a mixture of anger and accusation.
"I'm angry. I'm angry that she's not here to argue with me over which movie to watch tonight. Or to scold me for not remembering to feed the fish―again."
She wasn't crying, not yet, but the effort it took to maintain control was evident.
"When I first met her, I never could have imagined the impact she would have on my life. She didn't just enter my life; she transformed it. She gave me something I hadn't known I was missing: connection, love, and a sense of peace I never thought I'd find."
She was bitter about this because you gave her something she couldn't live without. And now she had to learn how to live again.
Her words caught in her throat, and for a moment, it felt as though time had stopped. She stood there, broken but still holding herself together, hanging on by the faintest thread. She hadn't broken down yet―not when she first heard the news, not through the funeral preparations, not through the endless stream of condolences. But here, at this moment, in front of everyone who had come to say goodbye, she was faltering. Something inside her was finally giving way.
"I'm angry at her because she put me in this position."
The words tore from her throat, each one sharp and accusing. The tears came, but they weren't quiet―they came with force as if the grief had built up so much it could no longer be contained. They fell onto the paper, but she didn't even care anymore. The words she had written, the carefully constructed speech that was supposed to bring closure, were now just a blur, swallowed by her anger.
Anger was easier to swallow than the guilt that twisted inside her, that dark pit in her stomach. Anger, at least, had a direction.
"She should be here to argue with me about stupid stuff, to tell me I'm being ridiculous, to drag me into some dumb conspiracy theory. She should be here... And she's not."
Her hands gripped the podium like she was trying to strangle the thing, her knuckles white, her whole body shaking with the intensity of it. It wasn't enough to bring her the justice she felt she deserved, the justice that came with having her back. She kept a straight face, attempting to look stoic.
This was it, her farewell. Are you listening, where ever you are?
She knew she'd start doing everything wrong without her. Certain she was going to forget to lock the office again, skip a few meals, and forget to turn on the porch lights.
This was it―her farewell.
Are you listening, wherever you are?
Without you, she knew she would start getting everything wrong. She could see the days ahead stretching out before her, filled with little failures and missteps―forgetting to lock the office door again, skipping meals because the thought of eating alone made her stomach turn, forgetting to turn on the porch lights. All the tiny routines you had shared, the life you had built together, felt impossible to carry on alone.
"We always planned a wedding,"
Her knee bounced slightly as she shifted her weight from one leg to the other, the movement betraying the restlessness of her grief. Her teeth pressed hard against her bottom lip. It was bitter, unbearably so, that the wedding you had both dreamed of would never happen. It would remain a plan, a beautiful vision you had created together, now left to wither.
"But maybe..." She took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling unevenly. "Maybe this is the closest we'll ever get."
She blinked hard, but the tears came anyway, sliding down her cheeks in hot, silent trails. It felt suffocating like the grief was a physical weight crushing her from the inside. Where was she supposed to put all this pain? This unbearable sorrow that had nowhere to go, no outlet, no escape? It consumed her, and left her standing there, raw and exposed.
"She's wearing a white dress, with a crowd," Caitlyn whispered, her voice trembling as she let the words fall into the air. "And I'm standing here, telling her how mu-... how much I love her."
Her lips quivered, and she blinked rapidly, trying in vain to keep the tears at bay. Her breath hitched, and she pressed a hand to her mouth, as though she could keep herself together just a little longer. Her mother stood nearby, watching, her face heavy with sorrow. She took a hesitant step toward Caitlyn, but Caitlyn couldn't bring herself to acknowledge it. She stood rooted in place, every fiber of her being focused on you.
This wasn't what she wanted. This wasn't what it was supposed to be. She wanted to stand beside you at the altar, her heart racing with excitement as you walked toward her, radiant and alive in the dress you'd chosen yourself. She wanted to slide a ring onto your finger, to promise you forever in front of everyone who mattered. But instead, she stood here, saying goodbye.
The dress you wore was beautiful, but it wasn't yours. It wasn't the one you had spent hours dreaming about together, describing in meticulous detail late into the night. It was perfect in its own way, but it wasn't right. And the bouquet she wanted to give you―vibrant, colorful, bursting with life―had been replaced by pale roses and carnations.
"This was supposed to be different,"
Her shoulders shook as her lips parted to say more, but nothing came. She was drowning in the words she could no longer speak, the dreams that could never be.
This was the closest she would ever get to marrying you. And it was unbearable. The bitterness, the unfairness of it all, clawed at her insides until she thought it might tear her apart. Her mother slowly pulled her apart, and she leaned against her, shaking her head. Her feet refusing to support her, stumbling towards a pew.
She stood before your coffin, unmoving, as if rooted in place by the weight of everything she couldn't face.
It had been an hour since the wake ended, and still, she stayed. In just one more, they would lower you into the earth, and the thought made her throat constrict.
Your face was pale, touched with a faint purple hue that even layers of makeup couldn't hide. It wasn't you―not the vibrant, laughing, stubborn person she had known. This wasn't how you should look, lying there in silence, with no warmth, no life, nothing. And yet, she couldn't move. Couldn't stop herself from memorizing every detail, no matter how much it hurt.
Her hand rose hesitantly, trembling as it hovered over you. Slowly, as if the smallest touch might break her, she let her fingers graze your cheek. The coldness of your skin sent a jolt through her body, stealing her breath. A shuddering gasp escaped her, and her knees buckled slightly, but she caught herself against the coffin's edge.
Her lips parted, but no words came at first. The church was hollow now, the earlier hum of quiet condolences replaced by an oppressive silence. There was nothing to distract her from the truth anymore. She gripped the edge of the coffin tightly, her knuckles white, as her body began to tremble.
"I can't... I can't let you go," she whispered, the words breaking into a sob as they left her lips. Her tears fell freely now, dripping onto the cold ground. What were her hands supposed to do if they couldn't hold yours?
She bit down hard on her lip, drawing blood as she tried to steady herself. She leaned forward, her forehead resting against the cold, unyielding wood, her breaths shallow and uneven.
"Are you cold?" she whispered, her voice breaking. She looked up at you, her tear-streaked face crumpling further as the words spilled out. "You hate the dark. You hate small spaces. Are you... are you uncomfortable? Are you... happy now? Is it warm where you are?"
She waited for an answer that would never come, her hands clutching the coffin's edge so tightly it felt like her bones might snap.
"I'm sorry," she choked out, her voice barely a whisper. "I'm sorry I avoided you."
The tears came harder, relentless, and uncontrollable. She buried her face in her hands, shaking her head violently as if she could escape the memories. "I―I couldn't look at you. All I could do was work. I distracted myself... I couldn't―" Her voice cracked, and the words fell apart, just like her.
Her shoulders heaved as she leaned against the pew, gasping for air that felt impossible to find. "Were you afraid?" she asked, her voice trembling, filled with anguish. "Did you call for me? Did you―did you hate me for not being there? For not holding your hand when you―when you..."
The thought was unbearable. Her fists clenched tightly, nails digging into her palms as the sobs wracked her body. She shook her head again, the motion wild and desperate, her voice breaking as she whispered, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
Her chest ached, her heart felt like it was tearing itself apart from the inside out. She reached out again, her hand brushing against your lifeless cheek, and the coldness felt just as unfamiliar. She let out a broken sound, somewhere between a gasp and a cry, and pulled you closer―not caring if anyone saw or stopped her. She pressed her forehead against yours, her tears falling onto your face, onto the coffin, onto the empty air between you.
"I can't do this," she sobbed, the words raw and guttural.
"I can't let you go. Please don't make me. Please, wake up. Please..."
Her voice cracked, shattered into silence, as the reality of it all sank in, deeper than it ever had before. You were gone. There would be no more warmth, no more laughter, no more of the life that had filled her world so completely.
And she couldn't bear it. She didn't want to leave. She didn't want to let you go. She didn't know how.
Her tears streamed down, mingling with the faint scent of the flowers that adorned the coffin as if watering them.
Her voice cracked as she spoke, broken and trembling.
"Take me with you," she begged, her sobs shaking her body.
Her grip tightened as if she could physically anchor herself to you, as if refusing to let go could sew your skins together.
"Wherever you are, I'll... I'll follow," she stammered, her words dissolving into gasps. "I don't care what it takes―I'll find you. I'll... I'll hold your hand. I promise."
Her chest heaved as she sobbed into the silence, her cries echoing faintly in the empty church. She clung to you like a lifeline, desperate for something that wasn't there, something she could never have again.
Her hands slid down to your shoulders, gripping tightly as though holding you like this might keep you close, keep you tethered to her. But all she felt was cold, unyielding, and lifeless. She pressed her forehead harder against yours, her tears soaking the edge of the coffin.
"I can't do this without you," she whispered, her voice raw and hoarse. "I don't want to. Please, baby. Please..."
Her sobs came harder now, her body trembling as she clung to you. She couldn't imagine a life where you weren't there. Didn't want to imagine it.
Her knees gave way entirely, and she slumped against the coffin, her arms still wrapped around you as she buried her face in your shoulder. "I don't want to let you go," she murmured, her voice muffled and broken. "I can't. I can't..."
Her whispers turned frantic, her tears soaking the satin lining of the coffin. "Please. I'll do anything," she begged, her voice trembling. "Just... just take me with you. I can't stay here. I don't want to stay here."
The minutes slipped by unnoticed as she clung to you, her sobs growing quieter but no less desperate. The ache in her chest didn't fade―it only grew, a black hole of grief threatening to consume her completely.
And still, you didn't answer.
Finally, she lifted her head, her tear-streaked face crumpling further as she looked at you. Her hands moved to cradle your face, her thumbs brushing over your cold skin. She opened her mouth to speak but stopped, her breath hitching as the realization hit her all over again, sharper than any blade.
You were gone.
Her hands fell limply to her sides, her body shaking as she leaned her head against the edge of the coffin. The weight of her grief pressed her down, crushing her under its unbearable mass. She stayed there, silent except for the occasional gasp as her tears continued to fall.
She didn't know how long she sat like that, crumpled and broken. But she didn't care. She would stay here as long as she could, holding onto the last fragile moments before they came to take you away from her forever.
The world moved in slow motion as they began lowering Lin's coffin into the ground. Caitlyn stood frozen at the edge of the gravesite, her body swaying slightly as if the earth beneath her feet had lost its stability. Her eyes, red and swollen from hours of crying, were now dry. Not because the pain had lessened, but because her body had no more tears to give.
She heard muffled noises around her, the quiet words of the priest, the soft rustle of flowers being placed beside the coffin―but it was all distant, muted like she was underwater. The world seemed muted now, as though it had dimmed to reflect the hollow nothingness she felt inside.
Her hands hung limply by her sides, trembling faintly as the final shovelfuls of dirt began to fall. The sound―the dull, lifeless thud of earth against wood―echoed in her mind. This was it. Lin was gone, and no amount of screaming, crying, or pleading would change that.
The finality of it crushed her. She should've looked away, but she couldn't. Her knees threatened to buckle, but she forced herself to stand. To watch. It felt like an obligation, the last thing she could do for Lin, even if it was tearing her apart from the inside out. She was there, watching over you, like how she always had.
The priest approached her, his expression kind but unreadable. He murmured something―words of comfort, perhaps―but she barely heard him. She nodded absently, muttered something she couldn't remember, and walked away, leaving behind the people, the flowers, the world.
The weeks passed like a blur, each day bleeding into the next. Caitlyn's apartment became a prison, filled with memories of Lin that refused to let her breathe. Lin's shoes still sat by the door, her favorite mug still on the counter. Caitlyn couldn't bring herself to move anything. It felt wrong.
She stopped going to work after the first week. Stopped answering her mails, stopped eating meals at regular times―sometimes not at all. The friends who had once checked in on her gradually grew distant, their letters unanswered, their knocks ignored.
Her body began to show the signs of her grief. Her cheeks hollowed, her skin pale and ashen. The bags under her eyes grew darker as sleep evaded her, the nightmares too vivid, the bed too empty. She rarely left the apartment-- her mother had to drop groceries every week, even as though most of them were left outside.
Caitlyn couldn't bring herself to touch Lin's clothes, even as the scent of her faded from the fabric. She clutched one of Lin's hoodies at night, burying her face in it, willing it to bring her even a shred of the comfort she once knew. But it never did.
Her friends tried, at first, to pull her out of it. They left her flowers, stopped by her apartment, urged her to see someone, to talk, to grieve. But Caitlyn refused. Every attempt at comfort felt like an insult, a dismissal of the depth of her pain. What did they know? How could they possibly understand what it felt like to lose you?
Months passed, but the wound inside Caitlyn didn't heal. If anything, it grew deeper. She would sit for hours at a time, staring at the empty chair where you used to sit, the TV playing quietly in the background. She didn't cry as much anymore―her tears had dried up―but the hollowness remained. It was worse, in a way, this emptiness.
What was left was a shadow of herself, going through the motions of life without truly living.
Every night, her hands would clutch whatever could mimic how your body felt against hers, how comforting it was to hold you. And like a broken vinyl, Caitlyn whispered the same words into the darkness, and could only hope the wind would carry her words.
"Take me with you."