misto pov
my husband is dead.
i turn around faster than light. a look of horror paints itself on my face, even more so than it already had. my breathing gets rapid, and my legs get shaky. the paramedic that was talking to me is gone, she probably went to help. i rush to the back doors of the ambulance, but someone— a bystander— gently leads me around the corner.
"hey, hey, hey. that's not safe man," a calm male voice says.
i turn my head. "i have to, that's my husband," i protest.
he pauses, and his eyes soften. "he's in a better place now, bro."
i don't answer, but i start shaking again, and a lump rises in my throat.
the guy lets me fall onto his shoulder, catching me.
"it's all my fault," i mumble uncontrollably. "if i didn't-"
"'ay," he says, pulling away and staring determinedly into my eyes. "it is never your fault. did you stab him?"
"no"
"no. exactly. you didn't do anything wrong. i saw it happen. you said he's your husband? all you did was kiss him. that's what couples do. it's not your fault."
i don't answer, but it helps, in a way.
•••
the walk home was different. it was too quiet, but still too busy.
i open the door to our— my— apartment. i take off my shoes immediately and i find one of his favourite hoodies. i lie down on the couch and pull the sweater against my face, breathing in his smell. it's both calming and heart-wrenching.
i do something i haven't yet had the chance to do. i cry. i sob, taking shaky breaths. why did it have to be him? why did he have to stand up for me? why did that idiot have to yell at me? why didn't we just have dinner at home? why can't things just go back to normal? how do people expect me to live my life as normal again? i just lost the closest person i've ever had, and now i just have to ignore it? i can't just... be the same person i was. god, i just want to be numb, i don't want to feel anything anymore.
a couple days later
•••
i hear the door open and close, but i couldn't care less.
"misto? it's me, victoria," she says. "where are you?"
"in here." i call from the bedroom.
victoria comes in. "oh dear, you look dreadful!—"
"thanks"
"—i'll make you some soup, why don't you come and sit at the table?" she coaxes me out of my nest of blankets, and leads me to the kitchen table.
"i haven't been able to eat, vicky, it's no use."
she purses her lips. "then let me do laundry or something."
i wave my hand dismissively. "do what you want."
and she does. but what i don't realize, is that she washed everything.
•••
"where do you want this?" victoria asks, carrying a white laundry basket with clean clothes in it.
"thank you. just set it in that corner." i reply, standing up to walk to the couch. see, that's my new routine. i sit in one place and contemplate the point of being alive, then i get bored of that, so i go to a new place and contemplate moving to alaska; just to, y'know, shake things up a bit.
i lift a soft grey blanket. that's weird, i thought i left it right here...
"hey vicky? do you know where that black hoodie went?"
"yeah, i washed it."
my eyes snap to hers. "you what?"
"why? what's the big deal?"
i put my hands on my head, trying to steady myself. "that was all i had left of him. his smell, and you washed it away??"
"oh, misto, i am so sorry! i didn't even consider that!" she exclaims, walking toward me with outstretched arms.
at this point i decided enough was enough. you're getting the tuggoffelees you signed up for! not this angsty bullshit
a week later
•••
my phone rings, victoria picks it up.
"hello? yes, he's here. sure" she says, passing the phone to me, "someone's asking for you."
"hello?" i say, uncertain.
"hey, how—" uh. no. you're supposed to be dead. maybe i'm hallucinating his voice? maybe it doesn't actually sound like that?
"who is this?" i say quickly.
"who do you think it is?"
i laugh in disbelief. "my dead husband."
the person hangs up the phone, and i roll my eyes. then, the door opens and i nearly have an aneurism.
"you'd be right, except i'm very much alive." tugger says, though i'm not sure if it really is him. could it be?
i look at victoria, she's as confused as i am.
i stand up and walk cautiously towards him, furring my brow.
he chuckles "can't i come into my own home?"
i ignore his question. "you're as hot as i remember, but do you have evidence? lift up your shirt."
he obliges, revealing a bandage bound around his midsection.
"okay, fine, but—"
"mistoffelees for fuck's sake, kiss him already." victoria says, clearly getting fed up with my caution.
"my tugger is dead. who're you?"
"the police looked for you when they were investigating the scene, but you weren't there. did you leave?"
"i though you were dead," i whisper, stumbling back. "he told me you were dead."
"who?"
"the guy..."
"what... guy?"
"he- he pulled me away and calmed me down, he made sure i was okay and told me it wasn't my fault—"
"oh my god," tugger and i say at the same time, realizing what had happened. the man who comforted me, was the same one who stabbed my husband, i let him get away.
"i'm so sorry," i start, but tugger cuts me off, pulling me into his embrace.
"it's never your fault, baby."
this story is full of plot holes but stfu i like it
i'm not good at writing murder mysteries lmao