Before Sunday

Thirty Three

8:39 PM

Madeline says nothing as she drives me home. I'm grateful for the silence. The searing sun has been clouded over by a blanket of dreary grey and it looks like a thunderstorm is coming.

It seems entirely appropriate.

My sun is gone.

I lean my head against the glass of the passenger side window and stare blankly at the world. A world which should have simply ceased to exist the second Jax was no longer a part of it. A world that has the audacity to continue—to go on as everything was before—like mine didn't just explode and rupture into a thousand tiny pieces I can never put back together again.

I pull my knees to my chest and close my eyes, wishing they could stay closed forever.

Madeline's voice is shaky when she finally breaks the silence. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No." My voice is clipped. Short. "Sorry, I want to go home."

Problem with this is home is no longer home. Be it this time or another one, my home in this vast existence is wherever Jackson is. I want to go there.

Madeline slumps a little in her seat. "I'll take you home then."

The first drops of rain start to fall as I exit the car.

Even heaven is grieving his absence.

I mutter a barely audible "thanks," to Madeline and before I shut the door she tells me to call her later. I lie and promise that I will.

It's no surprise that Tori isn't at the dorm. In itself this is another small blessing because I am sure my appearance and the shadows that surround me would only invite a barrage of unwanted questions, not to mention the hospital bracelet still wrapped around my wrist.

I change into a pair of cotton pj pants and a clean t-shirt, tossing the one I'd used to wipe Xavier's blood from his face in the trash bin. I flip back my covers, and am about to climb into bed when I notice Jax's beanie sitting on the night table.

I pick it up, allowing the knitted texture of the fabric to bump along the tips of my fingers. Each ridge brings back a memory until my mind is consumed by them. It smells just like him.

I look over at Tori's empty bed, clutching the beanie to my chest.

"I wish for him back," I say out loud. "I'll do anything. Please, I didn't mean it." My throat gets thick again and I swallow hard. It's like trying to down shards of broken glass. Tears sting my eyes with more force than they have yet.

I remember when he first came to me. How crazy I thought he was. How insane he must be to sit there and proclaim to love me. But he did. It was true. I remember tracing the clocks along the skin of his arm, listening to the story each one told. The way he looked at me like I was the only person in the world, how he smelled of citrus, his incredible voice, his touch, most importantly, everything he taught me.

Jackson knew first hand how precious time was. How life can snatch it from you in an instant with no regard for your feelings. How you can wake up one morning and everything is fine and then go to sleep that same night with a gaping hole in your chest feeling nothing but empty.

Beanie in hand, I crawl into bed, pressing his hat to the side of my face. I let the tears come because there is no point in trying to fight them. I'll lose. So I cry and cry and cry.

I cry until there is nothing left.

Until the well of sadness is dry and nothing remains except the empty hollow feeling of being alone—invisible.