Feel The Heartbeat In My Mind.

I remember standing by the black, sleek coffin, the look on her parent’s faces as they mourned the loss of their daughter’s life. It happened several years ago in the month coming, and I already felt the depression and realization settling in—as it does every other year. Her face was snow white, the Californian sun having no real purpose now that she was dead. Her lips, I remember them being a light pink color, rather than them being coated with blood red lipstick that left numerous stains on many of my shirts. Even peppered on my neck, though they were washed away I still picture the perfect outline of them on my skin.

Her dimple piercings along with her septum were removed, just like the first day I set eyes on her in our sophomore year of high school. Her nails were a chipped white, she wore her favorite blue dress, and her parents laid her beloved leather jacket over her coffin as it was buried. We were young, in love, sex after every show me and my band played, and drug highs and drunken lows. I could never take away the crash that killed her, the crash that should have taken my life and not hers.

Our friends were more scarred by her loss rather than angry that is was, in fact, my fault. For weeks afterwards, her friend of many years—Ciara—sobbed and whined for months afterwards. She was completely heartbroken, and refused to continue touring with us until she was fulfilled with mourning. It took Ciara many, many months afterwards to get somewhat better. She was still broken beyond repair but she somehow found out how to live without her beloved friend, like the rest of us had. The only difference is that I mourn the whole month in which she died while everyone else mourns the week she died.

It has been years since my love Petra has died and it seems as if I hadn’t made much progress. Without her being here, my life has gone nowhere but down. I have found my new love Aria except she doesn’t own my whole heart, the other half is owned by Petra and nothing can take that away from her. It may seem bad but I do not love Aria as much as I love Petra, I will never love her more or equal to Petra. That seems selfish but Petra is my one and only true love. I shall wait until I can join her, whether it is today or the next day.

Aria is a wonderful girl who should definitely leave me. I offer her nothing while she offers me her whole world. She continuously says that I am the one and only one for her and she will never let me go. I tell her I love her but I don’t say it with meaning; those are just words now. When I told Petra I loved her, I had meant it with everything I had, but not when I say it to Aria. Aria doesn’t deserve me, I give her so much shit it surprises me that she puts up with it. I am always an asshole to her, especially the month that Petra died, and I am usually always drunk or high. I find myself raising my hand to hit her more and more as our relationship goes on. Aria does hit me as well but it doesn’t hurt me like I hurt her. I verbally put her down all the time, controlling her and what she does. But at the end of the day, it seems like nothing I do can drive her away; she really does love me.

Ciara and my band mates have learned to live without beloved Petra. It hasn’t been easy for them but they have done it and have moved on with their lives. All of them were as attached to her as I was but they seem to have gotten over it rather well, while I have not. The guys have found girls for themselves and almost all of them are married. I am happy for them even though it has always brought me to tears knowing my best friends will all be getting married, but I won’t. I have vowed to myself not to marry anyone who isn’t Petra. Ciara has new friends but she always makes time to hang out with us—the old gang. She visits me at least once a month and tries to visit five times during the month in which changed my life. Ciara has completely changed since Petra died, her attitude is different and so is her outlook on life; nothing but her looks are the same about her.

I crawled out of my thoughts as I felt the depression sinking deeply over my heart. I leaned up from the couch and reached over the table, grabbing my heroin and my needle, preparing myself to shoot up. I don’t use drugs as much as I used to but I tend to only use them during this despicable month. Aria hates me doing the drugs so I hide them from her and if she finds them, she doesn’t speak a word about them.

I felt the high almost instantly as the heroin went in my blood stream. I closed my eyes and leaned back, closing my eyes from the relief it brought. I smiled despite of myself and drank some of my Guinness. I felt all of my muscles relax as the drug reached them but I jumped up quickly when I heard keys fumbling outside the door to the apartment. I knew it was Aria so I grabbed my illegal substance and the needle and ran to the kitchen. I opened a top cabinet and grabbed the old cookie jar we never used; I hid my two items in there along with the other drugs I had sitting in there. Aria is diabetic so we barely ever have sugar in the house so I know she will not go near the cookie jar. I quickly threw the jar back inside the cabinet, ran back to the couch, and collapsed on my back while turning on the TV just as she opened the door.

I looked over behind my shoulder to see her baby blue eyes set on getting the key out of the lock. She had her arms full of groceries but I didn’t offer my assistance as I just watched her. Aria cursed to herself as she finally got the key and slammed the door shut.

“When are you going to fix that damn lock?” she snorted, as she went into the kitchen. I heard her opening and closing cabinets trying to find the proper place for each item. I gave her an incoherent noise as I watched the porn that just so happened to be playing. I forgot I bought this CD and started playing it when Aria left but turned the TV off without turning off the DVD player. The girl was sucking the man’s dick slowly as he fingered some other girl half his age.

Aria came into the room with a scowl on her small, pale face. She snatched the remote from my hand and turned off the TV. “Must you watch that?”

I shrugged and sat up, looking into her eyes. They were angry but I could see her love for me in them. She sighed heavily as she sat next to me, throwing the remote across the room. Aria held her head in her hand and pulled at her hair. I didn’t offer her comfort even though I probably should have. I didn’t care as much. I stared as her, letting my thoughts take over. Petra and Aria were polar opposites; they would not have gotten along at all. I noticed this before and I’ve found an answer for why I picked Aria: I didn’t want anyone like Petra—even though no one could be like her—I didn’t even want someone remotely similar so I picked someone I knew was different from her.

“It’s April—the month, I know. Just get over it quickly, alright?” she asked, as she raised her head to stare into my chocolate eyes. I knew my eyes read nothing, they lost that ability. All feelings beside bitterness, evil, depression, loneliness, anger, and hatred left along with Petra.

I nodded as I leaned towards Aria, connecting my lips along with her small pink ones. She tried her damned hardest to add passion but I shut her down. I pulled away, grabbed my beer, and stalked out of the room. I heard her sigh and then the sobbing began. I have the tendency to make her cry almost daily but it didn’t make me feel bad at all.

I went into the bathroom and locked the door. I opened the medicine cabinet and took a handful of pain pills as long with three pills that were supposed to help with my depression. I think its bullshit, but Aria says it works and that’s the least I can do for the girl. I sat on the toilet and hung my head, letting the tears gush out. The first drop of water fell from my left eye and trickled down my cheek, hitting the floor. After that, they all poured out. I could have started a whole river.

I took long swigs of my alcohol and sat there, helplessly missing my dear Petra more than a child misses their warm blanket or soft teddy. I sang softly to myself, singing a song that Petra absolutely would have adored: One More Sad Song by All American Rejects. Petra loved metal and hardcore stuff, but she always had a soft spot for the sappy sad songs.

I soon moved to the tub, feeling the drugs—prescription and not—working on me. They numbed the pain away from me but I felt hollow. I turned the water the highest it could go and sat there with my clothes on. I wasn’t planning on killing myself because I knew that Petra would not forgive me if I did so, I wouldn’t go to heaven to join my love, and I knew the guys wouldn’t be able to handle the pain. I finished off my beer and closed my eyes, letting the drugs take me to sleep so I could dream of being with Petra still. That was the only way I could be with her and that’s why I often slept for long hours, I needed as much time with her as I could get. But those hours were definitely not enough.