April-October 31st, 1993

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River told me he would quit, for me, for himself, for his family, and that he really wasn't doing anything bad too often anymore. He always came home sober, every night that we were together while we lived in the apartment. 

Coming home to me every night seemed to have changed him, as it had me. We spent months and months coming home to each other. Our hopes and dreams for each other got bigger and brighter each evening as we laid in each other's arms, discussing. I was happy. I wasn't depressed over my mother anymore. I missed her, sure, but she wasn't everything on my mind anymore, and I loved feeling like I could finally breathe again. I assumed he was happy too, up until that night. 

I got the call at around one in the morning. It was Joaquin. I had fallen asleep early, not thinking much about Rio not being home yet. He said they were at a club, which River had told me about earlier, the Viper Room or something, and something had happened. He said to get there soon, and he said to hurry. I grabbed my car keys and ran, not caring that I was in pajama pants. Hey Jude started playing as I got towards the highway, and I slammed the radio off. I wasn't crying, but I was terrified, and I wasn't sure how much I could take, as I went 80 down the fast lane. I didn't know much, but I knew it couldn't be good. I felt sick to my stomach, but I was afraid to pull over to calm down. Too nervous that I could miss our last moments together.

But I did anyways... 

A/N: This killed me to write. So that's why it's awful... I didn't want to go into any detail. I just couldn't. 

Also, I was terrified that if I looked up the date of River's funeral I would find the pictures of him in his coffin and I could not do it so I made my friend do it.  Oops.  Anyways, two chapters left. If you're not crying yet, just wait... 

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