A week later I was as good as new. My sickness had lasted for two days tops, and, honestly, I didn’t really remember most of it. My head had been so foggy and hot that I slept basically the entire time. But, now, I was laying next to Drella. She was sleeping quietly next to me but I couldn’t sleep.

I snuggled closer to her and snuck an arm around her torso. I kissed her cheek and nuzzled my head into her shoulder. The amount of love I felt for this girl was indescribable; she was my life. I breathed in, the ocean breeze scent of her hair overwhelming my senses.

Drella turned in her sleep, laying on her side and facing away from me and towards the wall. I scooted closer to her and held my palm against her stomach and my chest against her back. I kissed her shoulder and laid my head down, closing my eyes. I fell asleep to her heart beating against mine.

“I had this whole speech planned, but I decided not to say it,” I said quietly. The only reason why the people gathered in the stuffy room could hear me was because of the microphone that carried my voice through the room. “I never thought I would have to speak at a funeral any time soon, so I don’t really know what to say,” I paused, letting myself take a second before I jumped into what I had to say. I didn’t even know what to say, though. I knew I had to say something. “Nothing sounds right. I wrote and rewrote a million different things, but nothing sounded right. I guess that makes sense, because this isn’t right. None of this is right…” My voice trailed off, and I shook my head. “I’m sorry, I…” I sighed and then took another pause.

I stirred in my sleep, trying to fight off the nightmare. I should be dreaming about our future wedding; not her death. But unfortunately all I could ever think about was losing her. It was a complex I had developed ever since I almost did. I was deathly afraid that I would have to speak about her and not to her, that I would have to say words of remembrance and not vows.

“I loved Drella to death,” I stated simply. “I love her so much, and I can’t… I just can’t believe she’s not here anymore,” I blinked a few tears away. “I don’t know if this is right or wrong to do, but I’m just going to say something to her real quick,” I said. I looked up at the ceiling, blinking tears out of my eyes and ignoring the cracks in my chest. I needed to talk to her again. “Drella, I love you so much. I put a letter in your casket. It was a letter of all of the things that I was going to say to you when I proposed to you, and it was full of all of the things I was going to say to you when I held your hand at an alter,” I held back tears, unsuccessfully. I flinched, hearing a few soft gasps in the crowd.

“No,” I mumbled in my sleep. Why was I dreaming of this? I haven’t dreamed about losing her this painfully in a few years. I wished that I could go into my head and open that letter and read about all of the things I would say when I asked her to be my wife. I didn’t want to think about this—the negative.

“I wasn’t going to ask her to marry me yet,” I addressed the audience, “but I knew that I would marry her one day. We were so young, and all we had to worry about was the present, not the future. I knew that I was going to marry her when we grew up a little, and I couldn’t wait for that day. I didn’t think that that day would never come. I didn’t think that I’d have to worry about not spending a future with her. I always thought that it was just going to happen, so I never worried.

“I just want you all to know that Drella was the most special, wonderful girl I have ever known. I’m sure you all know this already, though, because, to me, she just radiated love and passion and happiness. I don’t know where I went wrong or what I missed or what happened, but I just hope she’s happy, wherever she is. I love you so much, Drella. You are the sun,” I said. My voice cracked in occasional parts, and, by the end, I was drowning in tears. “I loved her so much,” I repeated. Then, my face hardened slightly. “No, no. I love her so much. I still love her, and I will never stop loving her. I’m sure most of you love her, too. What’s not to love? Drella, Drella,” I sighed. “Even her name was unique…” my voice was now a whisper, and the rest of my words were muffled with cries.

Everything was incoherent and blurry. The images were morphing and twisting. It was just a dream—a nightmare.

When I opened my eyes everything was blurry. I was still pressed up against the sleeping Drella, though. I sighed and buried my face into her hair, blinking a few times.

If that wasn’t my subconscious telling me something, I didn’t know what was.

I knew what I needed; I needed to take the next step.

Take the next step before you lose her permanently, the nasty voice in my head chimed in, reminding me that death was ruthless and could strike again at any moment. But how morbid was it that I dreamed of her dying, instead of her living? I clenched my teeth. What did that say about me?

“Vic,” Drella mumbled quietly and tiredly. She turned so she was facing me, smiling happily at me. She buried her head into my chest and I wrapped my arms around her, our legs tangling together.

“Good morning, Angel,” I said, kissing the top of her head.

She hummed quietly, snuggling more into me. I smiled and rubbed her back. After a few minutes, she lifted her head up and kissed my cheek. Wordlessly, she crawled over me and jumped out of bed, going into the bathroom to freshen up. I sighed, laying flat on my back and staring at the ceiling. I would be perfectly content laying with her all day, just so I could hear her heart beating and her breathing.

But unfortunately you couldn’t do that in life. Maybe a few days out of the year, but we had to work. I was off today, but Drella wasn’t. Out of college, she worked as an editor’s assistance, while writing her own books on the side. She was hoping to be able to pass up a manuscript to the editor she worked for, and maybe even become an editor herself. She was such a hard worker.

As I was getting ready, Drella kissed my cheek and grabbed her keys. “Leaving already?” I called.

“Y-yeah,” she said. Her voice was shaky and I raised an eyebrow, turning to her.

“Everything okay, Drella?” I asked, frowning slightly. She smiled and nodded.

“Yeah! I just tripped a little,” she stuck her tongue out at me, and I laughed, rolling my eyes. “I have a really long day today, though. So I’ll be home by dinner,” she said, stepping closer to me again and kissing my lips lovingly. “You’re off today, right?” she asked. I nodded. The music shop was closed on Mondays. “Write me a song, then,” she grinned. I smiled and nodded, watching in awe as she turned and darted away to work.

Drella was always so supportive of me, as I was so supportive of her. Sometimes, on Saturday nights, we would sit on our bed with a glass of wine each, reading each other’s writing. I lived for those nights. She was normally shy about sharing her writing—and I was, too, honestly—but we got over it together. She would help me work out lyrics and I would help her work out a certain sentence or word that was missing something. Drella wrote beautiful stories. They didn’t compare to my lyrics, although she always argued the opposite.

After getting freshened up for the day, I sat down in my tiny office space, which was basically a little corner in our living room, a small table, and a fold out chair. I spread out some notes and tried to get to work.

Four years ago, when Drella was graduating high school with my brother, me and him had an opportunity to work with a label. We really had a lot going for us—things almost worked out. Mike and I worked together trying to write music, and we even found two guys to perform live with us. But then those guys screwed us over and we fell apart. I didn’t stop writing, but we just didn’t have the resources to be a touring band anymore. Mike slowly lost hope and so did the label. I was back to square one. But, now, we were working on something new, just me and Mike again, and the lyrics and sheet music were due at the end of the month for studio time consideration. I was determined to get it done—my brother, on the other hand, wasn’t.

With this thought, I reached over to grab my phone. I haven’t talked to Mike in a few days. I really needed to get him over here to help write some stuff. I wondered when was the last time he practiced his drums. I also wondered if he even wanted this anymore.

When I called him, it rang and rang and rang. I called twice but got his voicemail after one ring the second time. Frustrated, I tossed my phone aside. It looked like he didn’t care anymore; now I was on my own.

No, you have Drella, I reminded myself.

I smiled. I stacked up all of my notes for the album we—or, now it seemed to be just me—were working on. I wasn’t in the right state of mind to write for that. I already had most of the lyrics worked out. Now I just had to match them with the music. I needed Mike’s help with that, to test them out.

Now, I was in the mood to write a little. I wasn’t in the mood to work on technical stuff. We’d—I’d—get it done eventually. It was my passion; I wasn’t about to give it up just because I had no one to share it with in this moment. Besides, one of Drella’s college friends knows a guy who’s interested in playing the bass; and that guy who plays the bass apparently knows a guy who plays guitar. Things weren’t completely hopeless. Not yet, at least.

I smiled, feeling a little better after gathering my thoughts. I hummed a little to myself, writing down words that I felt. That was normally how I started songs. I wrote down feelings and events and basically anything that popped into my head; then, I connected them with metaphors or flowery language.

But for some reason, I couldn’t get any words out today. The only one I scribbled into the notebook page was the word “love”—how incredibly cliché of me! Was that really all I had left?

I started writing down other words, some that were bothering me. Money. Fortune. Life. Fuck. I hated it all. I hated that I was sitting here, writing sad songs while my girlfriend worked her ass off. Granted I had today off, but even when I was working it wasn’t as demanding as Drella’s and it certainly didn’t pay as much. But it wasn’t even that that worried me—I wasn’t questioning my manhood, about not being the “breadwinner.” That didn’t bother me; it wasn’t a pride thing at all. What bothered me was that I felt like I had nothing to give Drella besides my heart—and I was afraid that that wouldn’t be enough. She could take care of herself, but I just simply wanted to shower her with everything. I felt like a failure. I felt like I was supposed to be in a successful band three years ago, but, suddenly, I also felt like the dream was silly and pathetic. I was a failure with that and my brother hated me for all I knew. I was just sitting here fucking around with words and little symbols on a five line staff; did it really have a value? Was I just a silly boy with a silly dream? I was sick in love but I had nothing to show for it but little tunes in my head, tunes that would probably remain little for the rest of my life because I was just a failure.

I frowned. My mother would be ashamed of me for thinking like this. I imagined her sitting here, rubbing my back and telling me that it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that I loved Drella with all of my silly heart. I knew she loved me back. That mutual love and adoration was all that mattered.

Mom would tell me about how much she loved dad, even when they were struggling.

“Fuck money,” I muttered, drawing a line between the two words I scribbled on the page. “We want love,” I said softly, writing the two words behind the already written one—love.

I got to thinking. Would Drella still love me if I worked as a painter for the rest of my life, like my dad? My mom loved my dad unconditionally—I had a feeling Drella would be the same. I smiled because my parents loved each other so much despite everything, the cruelties of the world and the heartache and the money—my mother died because of her love for dad.

I smiled. That was what I would write about today. My parents love. I admired them for it. I wanted to show Drella how much I looked up to them; maybe she would feel the same way.

When I finished, I set my pen down in satisfaction. I couldn’t wait to sing it to Drella when she got home.

I checked the time—it was almost the evening. Drella was going to be home soon and I had spent all day writing. I felt good, though. If I had a ring I would propose to her tonight.

Humming to myself, I started to make dinner for us. I made her favorite, guilty pleasure meal—fettuccine alfredo with asparagus. We always teased her because her favorite meal was Italian and not Mexican. I decided to make it because not only was I feeling extra lovey-dovey today, but I also knew today had been stressful for her. She needed some Italian comfort, next to some Vic-comfort, too. I set the plates down on our small kitchen table, along with two glasses of red wine to go with the meal. I knew she wasn’t going to get the wrong idea about the fancy set up because Drella just wasn’t that type of girl. She knew we were going to get married eventually; it was just a matter of when.

“Hey Vic, I’m home!” Drella called. I grinned at the doorway, seeing her set her bags down and brush her hair out of her face. She locked the door and smiled at me. “Yes!” she exclaimed, lifting her arms up in excitement as she spotted the table. “I knew tonight was going to be one of those nights!” she cheered. I chuckled and walked up to her, kissing her on the lips.

“How was work, sweetie?” I asked, kissing her cheek.

“It was a drag. Good, but a drag.”

“Aw,” I said softly, tracing my lips up her jaw.

“I feel better now that I’m here,” she said, wrapping her arms around my neck tightly. I kissed her skin harder and moved my lips down to her neck. I knew how much she loved it when I kissed the spot right above her right collarbone.

“I’m glad,” I mumbled.

“Mm, Vic,” she gasped, tightening her fists that were twisted in my hair.

I grinned and pulled away before things escalated, leaving her breathless. “I wrote you a song today,” I murmured. Her face brightened up.

“Really?” she asked excitedly, jumping up a little and securing her arms around my neck. I laughed and steadied her, my hands on her hips.

“Yes,” I laughed. “I’ll show you after dinner?” I offered. She nodded, jumping up excitedly again. She kissed my cheek and then wandered over to the kitchen, me in tow behind her.

As we ate, Drella told me all about her day at work. I listened intently, not wanting to miss a thing. It sounded like things were going well for her, she seemed so happy and enthusiastic. Apparently the editor she worked for liked her a lot, and was going to take a look at a sample of her own writing. I was so proud of her.

When we were about finished. Drella jumped out of her chair. She darted over to my writing corned and delicately picked up my acoustic. I shook my head and laughed, standing up to walk over to her, leaving the mess of dinner to deal with later.

She held out the guitar for me and I sat down on the couch, turned so I was facing her next to me. “Um, it’s a little shaky, but—”

Drella hushed me. “Don’t make excuses before you even start, Vic. Confidence, remember?” She reminded me. I smiled and nodded. Another thing I loved about Drella was how much she believed in me, and how she always tried to push me into being the best I could be. I smiled again and strummed the guitar. I closed my eyes as I sang.

“So what if I was just a painter
painting houses on the rich blue coast?
Would you ever try to leave me
for somebody who deserves you most?
'Cause darling I am just a painter.
I'm painting houses for the rich old folks.
I'm gonna make a million dollars,
'cause nobody's gonna steal you, no,
For diamonds and gold.
For diamonds and gold.

'Cause I've broken bones for you, and for you only.
I make money but we just can't keep this home.
Give me your heart and your hand and we can run!
We can run, we can run baby, run now.
We can run baby, run.

She's like a bullet through an ocean,
I still remember how you moved so slow.
You tried to kill me with a shotgun.
Bang! Now we're even
We don't stop till someone's bleeding.

'Cause I've broken bones for you, and for you only.
I make money but we just can't keep this home.
Give me your heart and your hand and we can run!
We can run, we can run baby, run now.
We can run baby, run baby, you're my hope.

Permanently yours.
Sometimes the moon looks brighter than the sun.
As times like this run up my wrist,
she hates all of the guts and blood.
Splash around with me while we move like flames on burning sheets.
And your doctor won't stop calling me her medication.

But baby no, sometimes things don't work out the way we planned.
To live is just to fall asleep,
to die is to awake.
Maybe we're meant to lose the ones we love,
but I'll fight for you till then.
And if they stole you from me,
on my arm there's a tattoo of your name.

I've broken bones for you, and for you only.
I make money, but fuck money we want love.
Give me your heart and your hand and we can run!”

Drella stared at me for a few moments once the strings of my guitar stopped vibrating. I bit my lip and looked down. A lot of those lyrics in there were personal to us. A lot of them related to my parents but even more of it was us I. How many times have we learned that things didn’t work out the way we planned? How many times have we lost—or almost lost—ones we’ve loved? How many bones have we broken for each other?

Drella lifted her arm and wrapped her fingers around my hand that was still hovering over the strings. “You’re all I want and all I’ll ever need, Vic,” she said softly, squeezing my hand. “Even in chaotic times, if we just remember that, we’ll be okay,” she murmured. Tears brimmed in her eyes and I leaned forward. She did, too, and our lips connected sensitively. “I love you so damn much, Victor,” she mumbled against my lips. And that was all I needed to know.

Notes

I really enjoyed writing this chapter :)

Thanks for reading, as always! Leave me your thoughts below, if you want!

xoxo