When I wake up, it’s morning again. As soon as I open my eyes, I can’t breathe again. The world just chokes me up. Tears start flowing and nothing makes sense. How can I continue living without Caroline? How can the world continue spinning without her in it? No, I can’t deal with it. I close my eyes again.

A few hours later, I wake up and this time I can’t make it go away. No matter how much I try to push the whole world away, I can’t. I can’t sleep anymore. And I can’t cry anymore either. No, the only thing I can do is just lose myself in the numbness. I hate it and I hate myself and yet nothing changes despite all of this hate.

“Hi,” I say quietly. Aiden is in the kitchen with his head stuck in his phone.

“Oh my God, you’re up. How are you?”

I look at the clock above the stove. It’s two in the afternoon.

“Wow, I slept late.”

“Yes, but that’s ok. You needed the rest.”

“It doesn’t seem right.”

“What do you mean?”

“To sleep, after your best friend dies.”

“Oh, honey,” Aiden says, putting his arm around me and giving me a squeeze. Even though I feel his touch and his warm body next to mine, it doesn’t seem real. It’s as if I’m watching someone else getting a hug, someone on television. I feel the warmth emanating from him, but it doesn’t reach me, because he’s not real. Or is it me who’s not real? I don’t really know.

“Did I make that statement to the police yesterday?” I ask.

“Yes, last night.”

“Did you go this morning?”

“No,” Aiden says, looking away. “I rescheduled.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to stay here with you. I didn’t want you to wake up to an empty apartment all by yourself.”

I shrug. More tears will start flowing eventually, but for now I don’t have any more left.

“Do you want me to make you some breakfast? Eggs? Or maybe pancakes?”

I shake my head no. My mouth is completely dry, parched. And there’s not one thing that I can do about it.

“Then have this at least,” Aiden says, handing me a granola bar. “I want you to eat something to keep up your strength.”

I stare at him. A minute later, I open the wrapper and take a bite. It tastes so dry that I choke on it. He hands me a glass of water and I let the cold liquid run down my throat. Suddenly, I am keenly aware of every last sensation around me. I take another bite of the granola bar, but much to my surprise, I can’t taste it. It tastes like cardboard. It is completely devoid of flavor.

“I’m going back to bed,” I say. I know that I have to engage more with him. I need to ask him what happened to Caroline, whether anyone told her parents. I need to start making plans or helping her mother and her family make plans for the funeral, but I can’t deal with any of that now. In fact, I kind of doubt that I will ever be able to deal with it.

---

The next few days after Caroline’s death proceed pretty much like the other one. I’m in a daze. I get up just to go to the bathroom, drink some water, eat a granola bar, and go back to bed. I’m so tired that I can’t seem to do anything else. I sleep, and I sleep, and I sleep some more. Every time I get up, I find Aiden in the living room. Sometimes, he’s eating. Other times, he’s just watching television. Most of the time, he’s either on his phone or on his laptop, furiously typing away.

And then, one day, I wake up and I’m no longer that tired. Instead of heading straight out to the living room, I decide to take a shower. I climb in and let the warm water run over my body. I squeeze some shampoo into my palm and lather it into my hair. Then I wash it out and repeat the same thing with the conditioner. When I get out, I wrap myself in a towel and look in the mirror. The girl whose reflection looks back at me seems like a stranger. Is this the same person who only a few days ago walked barefoot on a sandy beach and imagined moving to that island with the love of her life? No, she’s not. That girl was happy. That girl didn’t abandon her best friend in the whole world to run away with her boyfriend.

I walk back to my room and put on a fresh shirt and a pair of pajama pants. I toss the ones that I’ve been living in for days on end into the laundry hamper and go out into the living room. Aiden is sitting at the dining room table with papers strewn all around him. His head is buried in his laptop and he doesn’t even notice me until I walk past him and put on the kettle for some tea.

“Oh, hey!”

“Hey,” I say. I walk over to him and give him a peck on the cheek. “I’m going to make some breakfast. You want some?”

“No, I’m good,” he says. “I actually ordered some pizza for dinner.”

I glance at the clock. Oh, wow, it’s 7:30 in the evening. I shrug and take out the eggs from the refrigerator. I scramble the eggs in a bowl, add some coconut milk, and cut up a piece of provolone cheese. I add some butter to the pan, watch as it sizzles, and pour the eggs. While they cook, I wash the fork and bowl in the sink under cold water.

“What are you working on?” I ask, swirling the eggs with a spatula until they’re creamy.

“Just some work stuff.”

“Okay.”

When the eggs are done, I don’t bother with a plate. Instead, I place the pan on the placemat at the other end of the table across from Aiden and dig in.

“Caroline’s mom called,” Aiden says after a moment. “The funeral is tomorrow.”

“I’ll be there,” I say, nodding.