She takes another deep breath, feeling her eyes water and the gaping hole in her chest grow with every step she takes. She tightens the strap of the book bag on her shoulder and contemplates turning around.
I could turn around. I could turn back around and pretend this isn't real. I mean, I don't have to do this. I don't have to say goodbye yet, she considers, her thoughts morose and churning like the black coffee in her hand.
She pauses, stagnant and staring. After a moment, she steps forward and sits down cross-legged on the dewy grass, in front of an unmarked gravestone. She swallows, setting down the coffee and tucking a stray sandy curl behind her ear. She bends over herself, hands holding either side of her rib cage, as if her grip could keep herself from splitting apart.
"Hi." she whispers. Her vision becomes blurry; tears drip down her colored cheeks. She chastises herself and squeezes her sides tighter; she'd been doing so okay until this moment. She hadn't cried for almost two hours.
She reaches up, gently wiping her face with her maroon sleeve. She stares at the uneven grave, watching black ants skitter from the brown grass and over the plain tablet. She can feel herself unraveling, something pulling her apart at the stitches. No matter how tightly she holds herself, the feeling doesn't leave. Her throat tightens and her voice begins to tremble, "I miss you."
Tears break past the dam of solitude with her admission, one following another until it morphs into a steady stream. She lets out a loud sob, finding herself crying and convulsing on her knees in front of the grey slab of stone. She can feel this pain writhing inside her chest and eating away at everything keeping her laced together.
"How could you just leave me like that?" she asks him, suddenly finding herself so angry, her hands balled up and her heart in knots, "You fucking asshole. You just left me. You left me star-crossed and fucking empty, you stupid piece of shit. You selfish piece of shit! You promised me forever, you fucking asshole! I hate you!"
She lifts the bag from the dead grass and hurls it at the gravestone, then, unsatisfied, throws her coffee after it. It sprays over the stone and the dead grass behind it. Cries of frustration and loneliness and everything force themselves from her throat. She swears she's choking on her sadness, and anger, and shock. She's come to the revelation that she isn't much more than a giant clusterfuck of nothing.
She sits back onto her calves. She disentangles her hands from her hair and pushes her wild curls behind her ears. She wipes at her eyes, nose and cheeks, but finds her face unable to keep dry.
"I'm – so – sorry." she apologizes, trying to compose herself, but finding her words interrupted by the sobs coming out of her mouth.
"I don't hate you," she quickly insists, wiping furiously at her tears until her skin feels raw, "I don't hate you and I never hated you and I'm so sorry. I'm sorry for this and I'm sorry for now and that I didn't say goodbye to you the way I wanted to and that I didn't tell you I love you and I'm so sorry."
She chokes again, trying to find her breath between her bawls. She stares back at the stone in the ground, a fleeting sort of hope in her brown eyes, as if she actually expects a reply. The hope goes just as fast as it comes, emptiness settling over her.
"You know, they tell you it gets easier. They say that it's supposed to get easier. But it's been a lot of months and every fucking day it just gets harder," she tries to continue, but can't stop the cry of pain that leaves her mouth, "I miss you so much."
Her eyes feel sore. She feels something in her throat, but nothing in her chest.
She rubs at her cheeks, laughing sharply and drawing her legs into herself. The saddest look crosses her face, something between resignation and despair.
"I know that you didn't mean to leave me. I know you didn't want it to turn out like this," she closes her eyes, every part of her quivering, "But that doesn't make it any easier."
She opens her swollen eyes, reaching through the tears into her discarded bag. She pulls out a bottle of pills and a bottle of wine, setting them gingerly at her side. A bitter smile crosses her face.
"You know, Tav, you were right. We really are a lot like Romeo and Juliet."