Love Kills (Dnf Short Story)

Unidentified Guilt

The dreary low-hanging clouds loomed above covering the tombstones in a faint haze. The green grass was too vibrant for the dull grey and brittle stone path that led around the cemetery and the fountain's water was too blue for such a sad place. It almost looked comical, dreamy even, how the bright colors would contrast against the numb haunted ground.

The black dressed people who surrounded me were all familiar faces of family or close friends. All of which I've barely met since this funeral was being held in the United Kingdom for family reasons. I couldn't even look up at them, however. I, myself, was an emotional person so just seeing them with tear stained cheeks and reddened noses would cause me to break down. I wasn't very keen on doing that. I had to stay strong for his family and my fellow friends. I'm sure he wouldn't want to see me bawling my eyes out because him, too.

I barely glance up at the casket (which was heavily doused in bright blue bouquets and letters of sorrows) and begin to feel my eyes sting in pain. Not physical, but mental. How would I ever let go of the grief I feel? I still remember him from the day before. A healthy and bright man who always brought a smile to my face. We went out for lunch and discussed work plans and we were just joking around as always.

No one could have ever known what he was going through, he was too good at hiding his pain. He never brought it up. He never let it show.

That's when the real guilt kicked in. I never knew one person could feel so much liability for a death. I feel as if I had only asked him how he was during our lunch, or maybe gotten him a birthday card with his birthday present that year, it could have changed everything. I wish it had been me in his place. Not him, one of the most caring and kind people I knew.

Finally, the tear fell down my cheek and dripped off my chin. As much as I wanted to let it fall slowly to the damp ground, I was quick- maybe too quick- to wipe it away. My friend who stood by my side silently, in his all black tuxedo and shiny black dress shoes, lifted his gaze from the lush grass under his shoes to my face.

His face was drenched in anguish, from his curved eyebrows to his frown. He looked as if he could drop to his knees and tear his own heart out at that moment. Although I felt as if he could sob for days, he quietly rested his arm on my shoulders and brought me into a hug. I hesitated at first, trying to stay strong, but I eventually let myself wrap my arms around my shorter friend.

"Are you doing okay, Clay?" Nick whispers into my ear.

The question makes me shudder and my legs wobble underneath me. My breath stops for a mere second as I take a moment to think about it. Am I doing okay? Am I holding up? No, not one bit. Will I? I don't know... and I think that's why the question pains me so much to think about. Yeah, right now I might be 'okay' but later tonight as the rain pours outside my open window and the breeze enters my already cold and dark room; I know I'm going to fall apart like charcoal after a long night's fire.

Unsure how to respond I just shake my head and shrug my shoulders. I feel the cold raindrops that rested on my shiny black sleeves run down and land on my hands, causing me to realize how frigid and shaky they are. Nick lets go of me and places his palms onto my shoulders and squeezes comfortingly. I give him a shy and probably miserable smile to hopefully reassure him that I'm truly okay. He just nods and returns to his original state, silently looking at the grass below him and grieving quietly in his own head.

----

I teared up while sharing my eulogy to everybody. It was so overwhelming sharing the funny times and times of hardships between him and I in front of his family and friends. I told them how much I wished I could have gotten to know his family better and how I wished he could have heard me tell him 'I love you' one last time. Nick stopped me before I could continue ranting about how I wish I could have done something or been him in the casket instead of, well, him.

When Nick pulled me away from the podium and into an embrace, I lost it. All my composure was gone. It all was drained and locked away in a vault with a missing key. Tears stung my cheeks which were already raw from all the constant rubbing. Nick's hand rotated in a calming circle on my back and he assured me with relaxed words.

"It's not your fault, Clay." He tried to shush me, his nails gently scratching my back. His hand trailed up and down my spine in a steady pace that my breath wanted to follow.

"I could h-have just asked... asked if he was o-okay!" I shout meaninglessly, having already lost hope in myself after the first tear. I feel all the eyes of those who were grieving on me. I feel like I'm a toddler having a temper tantrum.

"No one could have seen this coming, Clay. And you know that." He tried again, ultimately failing as I pushed him away forcing him to tumble backwards and let go.

I turned away and ran back to the entrance of the cemetery. Letting the now downpour of rain wash away my salty tears of grief. My vision was blurred but I couldn't care less. I wasn't just running now, I was sprinting towards the giant black gates, not paying attention to my footing in any way. Of course my unfortunate self ended up tripping over a tree root which twisted itself above ground, leading me to fall on my face in utter embarrassment.

I scramble back up onto my feet and find a nearby bench to rest at, as I feel my legs and lungs ache. I feel like I'm drowning in sorrow and guilt except the water isn't water, it's lava scorching my legs to bone and taking away any oxygen. I try to inhale anything, but complete panic comes over me when nothing, absolutely nothing, enters my lungs. I just sit there gasping like a beached whale.

Lucky me... Nick was following closely behind me when I broke away from his gentle grasp only a few minutes ago. As soon as his worried eyes caught a glimpse of my dull and unkept blonde hair he jogged over carefully as he didn't want to slip on the tree roots (unlike me). He plops himself down on the wooden bench automatically sighing in disgust as the water comes through his own clothes.

"Clay, I understand you want to- wanted to do something, but he's dead. There's no more woulda, shoulda, coulda, anymore. He's... George's dead, Clay." Nick said rather aggressively, but I think I needed the assertiveness.

I nod somberly and a few more tears litter the edge of my white collared shirt. I am unable to get away from that thought. The thought of death. The thought of guilt. The overwhelming thought of 'he's dead'. My breathing is still harsh and Nick just tries to console me with reassuring words, trying to get it into my head that it's not my fault.

Nothing worked though.