Day 01 - Sweaters

Day 01 – Sweaters

“Are you going to come to bed now?” He asked, teasingly strutting towards the bedroom. “We’ve got some unfinished business.”
She laughed. “Stop it, John. I need to finish this up, and if I join you, I can’t see myself getting it done in the near future.”
“But it’s near Christmas, Layla!” John whined, his shoulders slumping in disappointment. “Please?”
“Give me a while, alright?” By now, her head was ducked down, staring intensely at her laptop, completely immersed in her work.
He sighed, looking at her, this woman he loved so much. She was so kind, and so wonderful, he would have never asked for anyone but her. Ambling into the bedroom, he stripped down before slipping into the inviting warmth of the comforters. As he dozed off, he heard a scream which startled him into awareness. Flinging the comforter off his body, he skidded into the living room to see a person grappling with his wife.
“John.” She pleaded. “Help me!”
The person turned, and one thing that struck him was their vibrant cobalt eyes before he felt something forcefully enter his stomach. His eyes wide, his hands touched his midriff before coming up to enter his vision; showing blood on his suddenly pale hands. Layla screamed, rushing towards him but getting flung back by the imposter. John managed to stay on his feet, using his bulk to punch the intruder twice, effectively dropping him to the ground.
“John?” Layla murmured, her voice thick with tears as she scrabbled up, helping him sit in his regular chair which coincidentally was right behind him. She reached for the phone and when she turned, she screamed in horror.

~ ~ ~

Memories are horrid things. They’re painful. They’re happy. They hold so many emotions that all in turn hurt you. Life isn’t fair. Your memories only reflect that.
My husband and I had been so happy only a simple month ago. One man, who had been convicted, had changed all that. He murdered John, the only man who’d know my love and had ravaged me, leaving me scarred.
I could only sob as I watched John bleed out, and the only thing I could think of was the fact that I’d denied him when he’s asked me to go to bed with him earlier on in the night.
The emotions still plague me, as do the nightmares. They wake me up screaming, and my roommate continuously has to spend time with me; assuring me that no, I wasn’t alone in this world and yes, people still cared for me. It was hard living through this, but I had to battle it through.

At a tender age of 30, I’d given up the idea of working, just living off the money that John and I had mustered up for our future house. We’d saved together for five long years and now that money was all going to fund my alcoholism. Soon, I’d have to start working again but I’d come to that when it happened.
The doorknob hit the wall harshly and I jumped as my roommate walked in, a vexed expression on her face that smoothened out as she saw me sitting in the middle of the floor, John’s sweater bunched up in my hands as I nuzzled it.
“I was looking for you,” she explained. “We’re going out today. Is that alright?” |
Nodding, I looked away, burying my nose in the fabric of the sweater, and taking a deep apprehensive sniff that still managed to retain John’s scent. This brought on a wave of fresh tears, and I struggled to rein them in whilst my roommate was still in the room.
“You’re coming with us.” My roommate, Raina, persisted. “Please?”
“Oh.” I muttered, and getting up from the floor, I gestured to the bathroom. “Do I have time to have a shower?”
“Go for it.” She shrugged, offering me a small smile.

I walked to my room, yanking out my towel all the while holding John’s sweater in my hand. It was one of those corny designs that he’d gotten as a present from his nephew that he was unable to throw away. Thus, he got himself used to it.

I sat in my bed, watching the world go by. I’d made excuses for tonight, I didn’t want to go out in the end. Instead, I wanted to hold John close to me, and tell him I loved him. I’d managed to consume a large amount of alcohol and I guess that one could say that I was inebriated.
“John?” I spoke out, seeing a figure laying across the foot of my bed. His scent surrounded me, the cologne that he’d always use.
But when I blinked again he was gone. No John. He’d been murdered. A month ago? It didn’t matter.
Choking on my tears, I brought the sweater close to me, cuddling it, holding it tight. I was supposed to grow old with him. I was supposed to be his forever. We were supposed to be so happy.
And now he was gone.

Leaving me to cope.

People who say that dying is hard haven’t obviously experienced being left behind. That is the worst pain of all.
Because the one person you love; the one person you need and want.
They’re never going to be there for you. To hold you. To comfort you. To love you.  

This was a bit rushed because my little sister is having a concert, and I probably won't be able to get it done later. I might come back and edit; it was a bit too fast.
Looking forward to seeing yours, m'love. Allons-y.