I Fell Apart

The only thoughts running through my head at Josh's funeral were relatively grim and more or less expected.

Why? It's my fault. What if? What now? I can't do this. How could he?

Those thoughts wouldn't leave me no matter how hard I tried to expel them from my mind. I couldn't go back to work. I had trouble eating. I never slept. I was heartbroken. Terribly, horribly heartbroken. And, I was so lonely. The love of my life left me. He killed himself without an explanation. He left me here in this tired and lonely world to contemplate what he left behind. Memories and emptiness and broken hearts.

There was a feeling I had deep inside of me. I could feel it all the time. It was, in fact, an emptiness deep, deep down inside of me. Flooding my lungs and my stomach and weighing me down. Keeping me tied down to this house and these memories.

I wanted to blame Josh. I wanted to blame him so bad, but I couldn't. For some reason, I just couldn't bring myself to blame him. I could only find that I blame myself.

Was he depressed? Did I not pay enough attention? Was he trying to let me know? Was I just not enough for him? Did I make him unhappy?

I was filled with so much doubt and guilt, and it felt like it was eating away at me. As I slept and ate I could only think of him and how much I missed him. So, I focused on walls. Sitting and staring and try to keep my mind away from the blood stains in the carpet that won't go away how much I bleach and scrub.

Is this depressing you? I'm sorry. It wasn't what I had intended at first. But, I tend to get carried away easily. I babble and talk endlessly because there are so many thoughts in my head at one time. It makes work hard sometimes, too. I can't help it. You understand, don't you?

Now, I'm starting to sound like Josh. I'm just a doctor for God's sake.

So, long story short, by about one month after the funeral, I was in non-stop moping mode. Mourning and depressed. Stuck in a rut that didn't feel like it would ever end. Trying not to vomit from the stench of bleach and blood that contaminated my bedroom. The bedroom that I couldn't leave no matter how hard I tried. I just didn't want to leave. I felt obligated to... well, I suppose to remain with what little there was left of Josh. I didn't really want to leave it.

I knew that to feel better, I would have to move on. But, I couldn't move on without forgetting. And, I couldn't forget him without getting depressed. So, there was little to no chance that I would ever be able to get better, move on, or forget.

There was a brief moment as I laid in bed when I contemplated distracting myself from Josh. I contemplated filling the hole he left with another man to replace him, but I soon realized that no man would ever be able to replace Josh. Not ever. And, then I realized how terribly selfish it was of me to try and replace him not two months after his death.

No, I would hang on to his memory and his love, even if it meant a never-ending sadness attached to either, or both.

When the doorbell rang one Saturday night, it took me a couple minutes to even hear it. I had been so lost in my thoughts and self-pity that I had tuned out the world around me entirely. And, even when I finally heard the doorbell, I had no motivation or desire to find out who was on the other side of that door. It was dark out (what time it was was a mystery to me) and I just couldn't be bothered. If I had answered the doors in my footsy Snoopy pajamas with frizzy, unkempt hair, and a blemished, make-up less face, the person on my doorstep would probably end up feeling rather discouraged by my appearance, and would merely turn around and walk back to where they came from. I would have gotten up for nothing, and they would have wasted a ten foot walk from their car to my door.

But, finally, after nearly ten minutes of a constant ringing, I realized that all of lights in the living room were on, and they probably knew I was home. They didn't want to take no for an answer, I suppose. Oh, how disappointed they would be.

I let me feet slide out of the sheets and land on the soft beige carpet. I padded slowly out of my room, avoiding the stain, down the stairs, and to the door. I unlocked it, relishing the heavy clicks and grinding metal, and opened the door slowly. My tired eyes landed on a tall man with dark black hair. He frowned upon first seeing me, but a small smile spread across his face soon. He looked me up and down.

"I knew you were home." I didn't say anything, not feeling the energy. He eventually caught on, and cleared his throat. "Uh, okay. Well, good evening, Dr. White. My name is Tomo Milicevic. My employer, Mr. Leto, would like to congratulate you for all of your achievements in the medical field. He wishes to honor you tomorrow evening at a dinner party. He very much hopes that you will attend." He looked at me expectantly. I stared back with dull eyes and hunched shoulders. I shut the door quickly.

I started back upstairs, but he started knocking at the door in a steady fast rhythm. I heard his voice on the other side. Most of it was jumbled and incomprehensible, but there were a couple words that I could make out. Words like 'please', and 'doctor', and 'dinner', and 'sorry', and 'Joshua'.

I opened the door again. I cleared my throat as it started to tighten at the sound of his name.

"What the fuck do you want?" I snarled lowly. He clasped his hands behind his back, lifting his chin.

"My employer, Mast- Mister Leto, would like to congratulate you-" I started to close the door again. "Wait!" He nearly put his whole body in between the door and the jam. I sighed and rolled my eyes, opening it back up. He sighed as well. "May I come in?" I raised an eyebrow, and let out a small sigh of annoyance.

"Fine." I led him into the living room. He looked a little uncomfortable, but was pretty good at hiding it. We both sat down- him on the couch and me in the armchair.

"Dr. White, my employer would just like to extend a simple invitation-"

"Did you know my boyfriend?" He shifted in his seat.

"Joshua? Ah, well, my employer knew him. Mr. Leto would also like to extend his deepest sympathies for your loss." I narrowed my eyes at him.

"You said his name, Mr. Milicevic. Why?" He cleared his throat, shifting again.

"I wanted to get your attention, Dr. White." There was tension in the air, mostly felt by me. Me, who was sitting there with my footsy Snoopy pajamas, frizzy, unkempt hair, and blemished, make-up less face. Tired and lonely.

"Well, you have my attention. But, not the kind of attention you were hoping for." I stood up. "How dare you? I will not attend your employer's dinner party, and I never want to see you around my house again. Get out." He stood up slowly.

"Of course, Dr. White." He bowed his head. "That was terribly rude of me. But, please do not think of my employer as such. He would be very upset to know that you decided not to come because of a rude messenger. I apologize for my behavior." He reached into his pocket, pulling out an envelope. He held it out to me. "Mr. Leto is really looking forward to your attendance, and I hope you will think it over. I promise it will be a night to remember." I sighed. "It will change your life, Ms. White." I took the envelope from him quickly, crossing my arms stubbornly. He smiled lightly. "Thank you. Again, I offer my sincerest apologies."

He walked to the door and I followed behind. He opened the door, turning back one last time and bowing his head.

"Goodnight, Dr. White." I nodded.

"Goodnight." I closed the door behind him.

What a strange man.

The question was- should I go?

Ha.

What an obvious question.

If I didn't say yes, this story wouldn't have been very interesting.

It is to laugh.

Of course I went.