A Silent Voice
I sat there at my old dresser, combing my hair and doing my makeup. Just the way he liked it. My hands moved automatically—lipstick, mascara, blush—each stroke familiar, practiced. Pointless.
I looked at him through the reflection. He was lying on the bed, numb. His face was buried in my old sweatshirt, fingers gripping the fabric so tightly his knuckles turned white. He was breaking, piece by piece, but I couldn’t touch him. Couldn’t hold him. Couldn’t tell him I was sorry.
“Why did you leave me?” His voice cracked, muffled against the fabric. “WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME?!”
I flinched. If I could still feel pain, I think it would have torn straight through my chest.
The door creaked open, and his mother stepped inside. She looked tired—more tired than I’d ever seen her.
“Baby, come on,” she said gently. “You have to get up.”
He shook his head, his breath coming out in short, sharp gasps. “I can’t.” His voice was wrecked, a hollow whisper of the boy I once knew.
I moved to the bed, sitting at the foot of it, my eyes locked onto his shaking shoulders.
“Baby, you have to get up. Please,” I whispered.
Of course, he didn’t hear me.
His mom sat beside him, rubbing his back. “I know it hurts. I miss her too, but it might give you some closure to see her one last time.”
His whole body stiffened. Then, suddenly, he was up—pacing, seething, barely containing the storm inside him.
“Yeah, because I wanna see the love of my life dead in a casket!” he snapped, laughing bitterly. “Yeah, that’s what every fucking boyfriend wants to see!”
He turned to the window, gripping the sill like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.
I stood behind him, hesitating before reaching out. My fingers hovered just above his skin, aching to feel something—anything.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I didn’t know it would hurt you. I didn’t even think you’d care.”
His mom sighed, standing. “If you change your mind, we’ll be in the backyard.”
And then she was gone.
He let out a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair. And then—just like that—he broke.
His knees buckled, his head falling into his hands as he sobbed.
I dropped to my knees beside him. “Baby,” I stammered. “Baby, I’m so sorry.”
But he didn’t hear me.
And he never would.
