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Julliard is on pause.
After hearing about what happened, they gave me a leave of absence and told me that I could take my time, although the sad tone in their voices over the phone as they told me this made me think they knew exactly what the end outcome would be.
I'm never stepping foot back in New York. Never again.
It took a month for them to dig Roman's body out of the rubble, and what they did find of him and his crew was absolutely horrific. Roman's parents had to go identify the body, and the darkness in his mom's eyes since she got back from that viewing have been so haunting; I've barely been able to look her in the eye.
People walk past Roman's casket, bawling their eyes out as if they were his best friend. It makes me angry, seeing their balled-up tissues pressed to their faces. Their tearstained cheeks and their bloodshot eyes. Is their sorrow even real?
Maybe they feel real sorrow, and it's me that has the problem.
I still can't cry. My eyes are almost too dry, burning and scratching with every blink I take. My hands feel numb, my toes and fingers constantly in a state of cold. I can't sleep, my dreams a nightly occurrence of my cliff and fire, like they combined together in a never-ending nightmare. Every night, I go to sleep knowing where I'm heading, and I wake up in a horrified sweat.
Yet so incredibly exhausted.
My body weeps for sleep, but my mind continues to stay in this state of numbness that no amount of thawing will get me out from.
"Luna." I turn around, seeing Lonnie, Clyde, and Flynn standing behind me. They're all in their black suits, their hands tucked into their pockets and their shoulders slouched forward. A weariness and hopelessness lays in their eyes, and I so badly wish I had it in me to go comfort each one of them, let them know how much Roman loved them.
But I can't.
"Hi," I whisper, turning back toward the casket.
I hear footsteps, and a hand lays on my shoulder. I close my eyes in a flinch as Lonnie speaks in my ear, "I'm so sorry, Luna. Roman was unlike anyone else in this world. He loved you so much. I've never seen anything like it in my life. Your love was fucking true. It was pure. So damn real." His voice chokes up, and he clears his throat. "I've known him my entire life, and he changed when he met you. I know him, and he's going to be waiting at those fucking gates in the clouds, just waiting for the day you walk through to him."
My eyes burn, but no tears come. I imagine him, waiting. Waiting for years. Watching me live. Watching me grow old. All the while he stands there, his elbows on the clouds as he stands there all alone.
"Luna, I wanted to give you this." Clyde hands me a beat-up notebook, worn around the edges. The spine is broken, bent, and well-used. "This was our song book, but Roman used it mostly. I thought you'd like to have it." He smiles at me, a pool of liquid wobbling at the bottom of his lids. I look away, taking the notebook and smooshing it against my chest. Burrowing it against my heart that doesn't know how to beat anymore.
My black dress is soft against my skin, a light, flowing piece that ends at my knees. It feels like death on my skin, though. Just another reminder of what I've lost.
And I've lost everything.
"Thanks," I mumble, suddenly eager for his words. His handwriting. I turn around, walking away as I search for my mom.
"Where are you going?" Lonnie asks.
I look at the casket, knowing I have a while before they bring the empty box to the cemetery. Whatever remained of him was cremated. His parents gave me the urn, telling me they know he'd want to be with me.
It's back in my room, shoved underneath my bed. I don't know what to do. I barely know how to function.
"Roman isn't in that box," is all I say to the guys before I turn around and walk away, in search for my mom.
I see her by the front door talking to Goldie. Clutching the notebook against my chest, I walk up to her. She gets a concerned look on her face when she sees me. I haven't left the casket since we got here.
"Sweetie, what's wrong?"
"I'm going home for a while."
Her eyes widen. "What about the burial?"
My heart sinks. I don't want to go, but from the look in her eyes, she expects me there.
"I'll meet you there,” I plead.
She stares at me, her eyes flitting across my face. Making sure I'm okay. Trying to read what I'm not telling her.
There is so much, Mom. So much.
