One Shots

He stormed around the house, restless and angry. Angry at himself, angry at the world. Yet he couldn’t help but break down when he saw that picture on the mantle, the one you begged him to frame. The one he knew was your favorite, the one you had captioned “Love you forever, Shawzy <3” in silver Sharpie marker. He couldn’t help breaking down when he looked at that photograph and all the memories, especially that night, came crashing down.

Tempers had flared that night, out of nowhere, and an argument had broken out between the two of you. By now Andrew couldn’t remember the words that had been said by either party, not that it mattered anymore.

You had stormed out of the house that night, and Andrew had tried to go after you. Too late, though, and you were gone. By the time he finally found you, it was too late. A pickup truck, your little car, a drunk driver and a run red light were all pieces of the puzzle he had no trouble putting together.

The cops, the medical personnel on site told him, but he already knew. There was just no way, unless by miracle, that you could have survived. Andrew knew this, yet he prayed and prayed for that little miracle, but it never came.

The days passed in a muddled state for him as he tried to process everything. The team tried to support him, but gave him his space if he needed it. Andrew appreciated what they were trying to do for him, he really did, but moving on from the love of his life would take time.

And every night as Andrew crawled into bed, the anger and guilt would return, little by little; the anger at himself for not being able to stop you, save you. The anger for making you get into the argument in the first place, the guilt knowing he had caused it.

Then that anger would dissolve into tears as he would catch a glimpse of that little jewelry box on the nightstand beside him and feel the coldness from the empty other half of the bed.

Each glance at that ring in the box made him wish so desperately that he could just throw away the ring, pretend it never existed. Yet the memory of planning to perfect proposal still clung to it. It was that night that he had planned to present it to you, to make you more than just his girlfriend, to make himself one step closer to spending the rest of his life with you.

Those first few weeks after the funeral, Andrew visited you every day. Sometimes he brought flowers and sat in silence, sometimes he just stayed and talked. He would talk about about how much he loved you, how much he missed you, and of how sorry, oh so sorry he was. Andrew blamed himself, and could only wish that if you could see him now you would forgive him.

Notes

Sorry if it makes you cry I've had a few reactions like that on Tumblr