Red

Some nights, Liz wakes up screaming. She dreams about the crash almost every night, about holding John’s hand while their car flipped over so many times she was sick.

The thing Liz hates most is waking up; she expects to see John when she rolls over; instead, she’s faced with the side of the bed she won’t even touch. She can still see the indents he made in his pillow the night before the crash. Liz reaches up to wipe her eyes, biting her lip to keep from crying harder.

She hasn’t checked her voicemail in days. Sometimes, she doesn’t even bother to get out of bed until she gets too hungry or has to use the bathroom.

So many people have come over, trying to make her feel better by bringing her food or hugging her and telling her “everything will be alright.” Liz isn’t stupid, though. She knows that she’ll never feel whole again; that, for the rest of her life, she’ll always be missing something, that a piece of her will always be gone, taken from her the day John was killed.

In a way, this reminds her of the times when John would go away for tour. The first time he ever went away, she cried herself to sleep at night for three days straight.

“Liz? Darlin’?”

“John,” Liz says, sighing, rubbing her hand over her face walking up the stairs to their bedroom. “I miss you so much, Jesus Christ.”

She can literally hear John smiling through the phone. “I know, baby. You’ll get used to it.”

“I don’t want to get used to it,” she whines, to which John answers with a chuckle.

“You’re so cute when you’re tired,” he murmurs. “Go to sleep, baby. Just think; the sooner you go to sleep, the faster tomorrow comes. And the faster tomorrow comes, the faster August comes.”

“And you’ll be home in August,” Liz whispers, running a hand through her hair and grinning from ear to ear. She sits down on the bed and sighs into the phone.

“Baby?”

“John?”

“Do you want me to sing you a song?”

Liz smiles, biting her lip. “Aren’t the guys all right there?”

“Well, yeah. But I’ll still sing to you, if it’d make you happy.”

“God dammit, I love you, John Cornelius.”

He laughs. “And I love you, Elizabeth Rose.”

John clears his throat. “What do you want me to sing?”

Liz blushes, even though they’re thousands of miles apart. “Oh gosh, I don’t know.”

“What about Tom Petty?”

Liz grins. “Well I didn’t see that coming, John.”

“Hey, shut up! You should have suggested something then.”

“Sing me one of your songs,” Elizabeth whispers, closing her eyes. “Pretty please.”

John laughs nervously. “One of our songs? Well, alright.”

Liz puts him on speaker phone and crawls under the blankets, which still smell like John.

“Went outside and saw the moon,” he sings into the phone. “And it made me think of you.”

Liz hears the other guys laughing in the background. “Hey, shut up, Garrett.”

“What’d he say?”

John smiles. “Garrett’s an idiot and thinks you’ve got me whipped because I’m singing you to sleep from 2,500 miles away.”

Liz hears a muffled, “Hey, that is not what I said you fucker!”

“Shut the fuck up, Garrett,” John yells, laughing. “I’m going in my fucking bunk you dick.”

“Aw, I’m sorry I caused you so much trouble, John,” Liz mutters.

“Nah, it’s fine, baby. Don’t worry. Now, where was I?”

“Went outside and saw the moon…”

“And it made me think of you, then the rain, it came and came, there you were inside of my brain. I’ve been thinking of you.”

She knows it’s a stupid way to think about it, but, for the first few days he was gone for tour, she always missed him so much that she didn’t know what to do. Most of her time was spent at his parent’s house, hanging out with his brothers. They treated her like they would a sister, if they’d had one.

Shane and Ross had both been over to see her a couple times over the past week. She’d been released from the hospital with only a few scrapes and bruises, a couple broken ribs. She hated that, how she’d gotten off so easy and John hadn’t. She hadn’t told anyone, but all she can ever think about is how much she wishes it had been her instead. She knows it would have torn John up even worse than it hurts her if she had died and he hadn’t, but it doesn’t matter to her.

His brothers remind her so much of John that it hurts her to talk to them. The way they talk, laugh, smile.

Everything makes her think of him. Liz’s eyes start to water again so she rolls over and lays face down in bed until her phone rings.

She lets the call go to voicemail when she hears a familiar voice. “Liz, sweetie? Lizzie, it’s Jenny.”

John’s mother.

She jumps out of bed, running to the home phone situated on the dresser she used to share with John; the one with his jeans still folded neatly right next to hers in the bottom drawer, the dresser with all of his socks still mismatched in the drawer with hers.

“Jenny,” Liz says, closing her eyes.

“Sweetheart, you missed John’s funeral. We called you, Liz.”

Elizabeth sniffles, her bottom lip trembling. “God, Jenny, I know. I know I did. I’m so fucking sorry. I’m so sorry.”

She could tell Jenny was crying on the other end of the line. “This was my oldest son, Elizabeth. You think you’re the only one missing him?”

“No. God, Jenny, I’m so sorry.”

Jenny sighs. “It’s fine, Liz. It’s really okay.”

“No, it’s not, Jenny. God, I just feel…I feel empty. And I know I shouldn’t be talking because he was your son and everything, but, God, Jenny; he was my fiancé. I loved him so much. I love him so much. Missing him is the hardest thing I’ve ever been forced to do.”