Gone [chpt. 1]

This is chapter one of what I hope to keep continuing of "Gone". If you haven't read the first part of the story, please read it! And if you want to, read and review this for me, please!

Sirens filled the empty silence of that night. Several nurses tried to get me up but I couldn't feel any part of my body. How could I, when my other half was gone forever? I never heard the end of the apologies, "I'm so sorry for your loss." Everywhere I went I heard that stupid phrase. Nobody wanted to leave me alone to grieve. The process was ripped right under me when they asked me to plan the funeral. My first reaction was disbelief. How could they expect me to plan my fiancée's funeral? It was unethical!

Despite my constant protesting, my father obligated me to go through with it, and with a deadline. I spent one week organizing the funeral. Days passed by me without him. I planned the funeral in a trance-like state. I tried not to show any emotion, even though it was eating me on the inside to break down and let everyone take care of me. But I was a strong independent woman; I didn’t need anybody’s help to cope with Charles’ death. When they placed him inside the casket, I broke down in tears.

Charles looked so peaceful and serene, exactly like when he was in the water. It had left me cold, empty, and hollow. He was never coming back. How could I bring myself to think that he was really gone? I pleaded with God to give him back to me; it wasn’t his time to leave. My prayers weren’t answered as they lowered him into the ground. The priest said his prayers and I stared at my dead fiancée.

My father took control of the funeral for me after that. They had barely covered his casket with dirt when I heard someone call my name. I looked around me, but everyone was staring at the tomb. I had dismissed the thought, thinking I was hearing things. Anyone would have called my name; I was the most important person in Charles’ life. A couple of seconds later, I heard it again. I had turned toward the sound, but found nothing.

Our group of mourners was the only people in the cemetery. Except for the people under the tombs, of course, but they couldn't call to me. Then who had said my name? My father had beckoned to me before I could assess the thought further.

“Yes, father?” I’d asked. He looked down at me. No tears had been in his eyes, but I could clearly see the sorrow that had been bestowed onto him. Charles had been like a son to him.

“People are starting to question why you aren't looking at Charles' tomb. What are you staring at?” he asked. His gruff voice calmed me down some.

“Nothing, Daddy. Just trying to cope with...this. It's a little hard knowing that my fiancée is buried six feet under,” I had replied. He’d stared at me with his black sad eyes.

“You can go home and get some rest if you want. I know it's been a hard day for you,” he told me. I hugged him and walked away to the cemetery entrance.

I had passed row after row of people who were once alive. People who were loved when they were alive. People who involuntarily hurt those people who loved them. I was passing people who were gone and would never come back. I had lingered at the entrance, staring out over the cemetery. Why would there be colorful flowers and beautiful trees in a sad place like this? I had thought. The warm breeze stopped. I looked around me. There was a stillness that didn't belong. For some reason, it was darker, though there weren't any clouds. What had happened?

“Ana.…”

I whirled around and looked to see who had called my name. He was staring at me, his arms opened wide, waiting for an embrace. I ran into my brother's arms.

“It's okay, shh, shh, it's alright,” he cooed as he stroked my hair back and held me in his chest. My tears ran down from my eyes and soaked his black collared shirt. He didn't seem to have been bothered by the strange noises coming from my mouth. My brother was the only person that was truly there throughout my entire relationship with Charles. He was the one who had accidentally introduced us.

“He's gone, he's gone,” I repeated. He held me for another ten minutes or so until my crying stopped.

“It's going to be okay. You can still live without him,” he had tried to reassure me.

“No I can't.. I loved him with all my heart! And now he's gone forever,” I whispered. He crushed me into another hug and rocked me back and forth.

“You can overcome this, A.G.,” he had whispered into my hair. And I had believed him. My brother was the only person who hadn’t apologized for Charles’ death. He knew I would be sick and tired of the words by then. He knew me too well.

Aaron Jonathon Montgomery was my brother. My father wanted his name to be passed down to him, but my mother wanted it to be different, so she reversed them. Aaron was seventeen when he accidentally introduced me to Charles. I was about fourteen-years-old when Aaron took me out to a dance. It was a high school dance, I wasn’t even allowed to go, but Aaron took me anyways. I remember the black suit and tie he wore, he was so handsome. He brought me as his date, though he was meeting his real date inside the dance itself. He sat me down at a table and left with his date, Marissa Williams. She sat her brother down at the same table and left to dance with Aaron. I didn’t speak to Charles at first; I was a very shy girl. He played with the frayed ends of the tablecloth and stared down at the plastic cups they gave us. His blue eyes shone like jewels that night, even without the light, I could clearly see the glint when he moved. His black messy hair was pushed back from his face and doused in gel. I caught him staring at me a couple of times. I’d look up whenever he was staring at me, and he’d look down immediately. This continued for another twenty minutes or so, until he sat up in his chair and didn’t look down when I caught him.

“You’re really pretty,” he said. I had stared at him and looked into the glass’s reflection.

“Thank you. You are very handsome,” I had replied. He had smiled and leaned on the table. He held out his hand and I shook it, noticing how soft his hand was. He pulled away and stared at me. We had stayed quiet for awhile. Then he leaned closer and exhaled deeply.

“Can I touch your hand again?”

I placed my hand in his and he rubbed our palms together.

“I’m sorry, it’s just that your hands are really soft,” he said. I smiled and brought my hand back to my lap. We stared at each other for a while.

“Your dress is beautiful. You look stunning in black,” he said. I looked down at my dress. It was very simple. It draped over my body until just above my knees and hung by two thin straps on my shoulders. It sparkled in the middle and the bottom of the dress was cut so that it had slits up to mid-thigh. I looked back up at him and smiled.

“Thank you, I spent a lot of time getting ready tonight,” I answered. He leaned closer and so did I.

“What school do you go to?” he asked. I stared down in embarrassment.

“I’m home schooled,” I said. He chuckled and I looked up to bark at him. He saw my expression and stopped laughing.

“I mean it in a good way. It’s just that I’m home schooled, too,” he said. I looked down, embarrassed again.

“Do you want to dance?” he’d questioned. I had cautiously looked up at him and stared skeptically. He then held out his hand and I had placed mine in it.

A flutter of butterflies erupted in my stomach as he pulled me out to the dance floor. He grabbed my other hand and we started swaying to the music. The lights went around us cast shadows on the teenagers that were dancing. The song ended quickly and another started. I hadn’t been sure if he was going to stop dancing so I watched what he was going to do. It was a slow song. He was confident enough to pull me closer to his body and start to dance.

The smell of his cologne filled my nose when I rested my head on his shoulder. It was cinnamon and spices; the most wonderful aroma that I had ever come across. His hand held me tightly to his body, resting on my hip. The spot where it lay felt like it was burning a hole right through my skin. Our bodies practically moved in synchronization to the song. We turned and whirled around the floor as if our bodies were light as feathers and the wind was merely blowing us across the room. It took me a moment to notice that we were the only two people left dancing. Everyone else had formed a circle around us, watching us dance. I nudged Charles and he looked around, bewildered. We stopped dancing and the song came to an end. The people around us clapped and whistled. I looked down, embarrassed for the third time that night. I felt a hand pull mine away from Charles and drag me across the room to the dark corner.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

I looked up into my brother’s face. He was furious and staring at me with his dark black eyes.

“Dancing. This is a dance, isn’t it?” I asked. Aaron let go of my arm and took a deep breath.

“I meant, what were you doing with Charles?” he asked. I had smiled at his name. Charles was a nice name; it was pretty.

“I already told you. You left us at the table and we got bored, so we decided to dance,” I explained.

“We’re going home,” he said. I had opened my mouth to protest, but he had already started to pull me away from the people. I snatched a napkin from one of the tables and took a pen out from my purse. I wrote my number down on the napkin and looked for Charles. He was standing awkwardly underneath his sister, who was yelling at him. As we came over to where they were standing I winked at Charles and he smiled. Aaron still had his hold on my arm while he kissed Marissa goodnight. I had slipped the napkin into Charles’ coat and he patted the pocket. Aaron had looked at Charles with disapproval before we left.

Thought that wasn’t the last time he looked at him with disapproval. At the funeral, Aaron pulled me back to the group of people I had been with before and had made me say goodbye to Charles. I remember staring into giant hole in the ground where they were piling dirt over the casket. Back then, I had tried my hardest to make myself think that I shouldn’t miss him because he wasn’t my husband and you can only miss your husband. I had tried to make myself think Charles had broken up with me and that he’d never come back because he was in love with someone else. My last words to him were horrible. And I regret them.

“Bastard,” I had whispered, “I wanted you forever, and you left me. You’ve hurt me Charles. You should have stayed to console me through this. You should have had to explain yourself before you jumped into the river. I hate you for that.”