I hear a knock at my door and feel a warm hand press against my shoulder. The words my parents spoke that morning come flooding back, and I bury my face further into my comforter. I don’t want to wake up and face reality. Will is gone. Gone. My whole body aches and I have zero energy to get out of bed.

“Sophie, please don’t do this to yourself. Let me help you out of bed and into the shower,” Katia says, her words soft and full of concern. Katia is my friend and neighbor that I’ve known since the first day we moved into this house. She came over to greet us with a homemade tresleches cake not knowing it was my favorite, and since then I knew she was a kindred spirit. We’ve been friends ever since sharing our best and worst of each other.

“Please just go, I don’t want to shower right now,” I whisper, turning over and pulling the comforter further over my head.

“I am taking you to see Dr. Duarte. Your mom called me worried sick about you. I was only gone for a week…” Katia says. I hear her go on and on but her voice becomes distant as I think back to last week. I recall my parents coming into my room and trying to get me to eat but I couldn’t. My mom tried to get me to shower but I couldn’t manage to get out of bed. I took advantage of my parent’s kindness and they let me be. Two weeks ago they took me to see Dr. Durate and I did just that, I literally sat in his stinking office with nothing to say to him. There is nothing he can say or do that can make any of this better. Nothing that can make me better. Will is the only one that can bring me back to life, but he’s not here, leaving me lifeless.

Katia pulls the comforter off the bed. “Sophia, get out of bed. You stink, your hair is greasy, and your legs are hairier than a man’s. Don’t make me drag you to the damn shower because you know damn sure I will.” I manage to turn over to the sound of her voice. I don’t remember the last time I showered. I don’t remember the last time I looked at myself in the mirror. I don’t remember the last time I cared. My eyes feel so heavy. I have to force them open and I see Katia’s kind face. I slowly shake my head in defiance, which takes so much energy I want to turn over and go back to sleep.

“Oh no, you don’t,” she says. She pushes my legs off the bed and forces me to sit up; my limbs are so heavy and my head is pounding. I walk over to close the blinds but Katia stops me. I want to get lost in the darkness and blend in like a shadow.

She leads me toward the bathroom and turns on the shower for me; I turn and look at myself in the mirror. I don’t even recognize my reflection. I don’t even know if I can ever be myself, again. A part of me is gone. I never fathomed that my forever wasn’t going to include him. Now I don’t know how to move on. I watch as tears stream down my own cheeks. I stand there staring at myself.

“Sweetie, it’s ready for you. Do you want me to help you?” I hear Katia talking but her words don’t matter. Nothing matters.

“Sophia?” I hear my name and I feel my legs give out from under me. I am on the floor crying and immediately Katia is there, my head against her shoulder. Oh God, how I miss him. I would give anything to have him back. To have him here holding me. How can this emptiness in my soul ever be filled? I cry and sob against her shoulder. I don’t know how long we sit on the floor but suddenly we feel the mist and heat emitting from the shower. I look at Katia and she places her palms on my cheeks and nods her head, yes. I give her a nod. She helps me up and out of my clothes. I reassure her I’ll be okay and she leaves.

I sit on the floor of the shower, I don’t have the effort to stand. I wrap my arms around my legs and let the hot water run down my body. I reach up and turn the knob, bringing the water temperature up as much as I can tolerate. It’s soothing against my skin and for my achy limbs. I close my eyes and take in the water. I rub my legs in hopes the achiness will dissipate. Small prickles tickle my hands, I open my eyes and stare down at my hairy legs. She’s right, my legs are hairier than a man’s. I reach for the soap bar and begin to wash my body. I search for the razor but it’s not in it’s the usual spot. I stand up and look around, opening the shower to check if I have any extras in the drawer. Nothing. I shuffle through the drawer, there deep in the far end of the corner I find Will’s razor. I get back in the shower, lather my legs and position the razor against my skin, I grip the razor and pull it away from my skin. The last time I saw this razor it was gliding against his cheek. I was standing next to him, watching him shave that morning as I brushed my teeth. I remember his blue eyes peeking at me as he lifted his chin to shave. My chest suddenly feels like it’s caving in on me.

“Sophia, are you okay?” Katia walks in the bathroom. “Sophia!” She opens the shower door when I don’t answer her.

“You’re bleeding.” She takes the razor from my grip and turns the water off. I didn’t realize I was clenching it tight against my chest. I look up and she is dabbing my chest with the towel.

I don’t even feel the sting of the cut, I look down seeing the blood running down my belly mixing with water. She grabs another towel and holds it over the wound.

“It won’t stop bleeding,” she says worriedly. That’s exactly how I feel.

Nothing will stop the bleeding. It’s like someone cut my carotid artery and it’s only a matter of time until I bleed to death.

THE BRIGHT SKIES are painful to look at today. They seem to be the perfect shade of blue. Like the blue eyes that looked at me for so many years. That loved me when I was at my worst, that were pained when I was hurt, that were concerned through my worry. The sky is a reminder of the blue eyes I will never get to see again. I turn away from the window closing my eyes. I put my sunglasses on in hopes that the dark shades will help mask out all the light in this world and the pain deep in my soul.

I don’t need to go to the hospital, my wound isn’t that deep. Well, my superficial wound isn’t.

“Keep applying pressure.” Katia looks at me and turns her attention back on the road. Her car swerves in and out of traffic; she’s frantic.

“It’s doesn’t hurt,” I say, trying to calm her.

She parks in front of the emergency room entrance and runs around the car, opening the door. She wants me to get of the car but I don’t budge. This is absurd.

“I don’t need to go in there. I’m fine really.” I reach to close the car door but she stops me.

“Sophia, get your ass out of the car.” I turn and glare at her. “I can’t just sit back and watch my friend drown in her misery and sorrow. Do you prefer I have someone come out and get you?”

I get out of the car and we walk into the hospital. Katia rushes to the admissions clerk and I saunter over to next to her. The clerk looks at me with questioning eyes. I see Katia give her all my information and I walk over to sit in the blue chairs in the waiting area.

“Sophia,” I hear a nurse call my name.

I step into a room and I am asked to show where my wound is. I lift up my shirt and remove the hand towel I had exposing the wound. The nurse inspects it and grabs gauze to clean my wound.

“Good news, you don’t need stitches, however, this is going to leave a scar,” he says.

I hear a familiar voice ask for me in the hallway and in the doorway appears Dr.Duarte. The nurse bandages the cut and I stand up from the bed, opting to sit in the chair and cross my arms.

Dr.Duarte moves and sits in the chair next to me; he turns it toward me but I keep my body facing straight ahead.

“I am going to be frank with you, Sophia. There is only one option here for you right now. I don’t know what else to offer you if you refuse to be helped. We need to agree to hospitalize you, to receive medication therapy, and counseling. This will ensure that you have the proper medications and they are taken. Consistently,” he emphasizes. “This is for your safety, of course. Ultimately, we are all trying to avoid death here, Sophia,” he says matter-of-factly. The word ‘death’ reverberates in my head like a ping-pong ball without fear.

“I have spoken with your parents and we decided this is the best scenario for your well-being.” I want to laugh in his face.

“Are my parents here?” I ask.

“Yes,” he answers calmly.

“I am not crazy. I didn’t mean to cut myself I don’t belong in a hospital!”

“It’s more than just that, Sophia. You have refused to take your medication…” I don’t let him finish.

“Why can’t I just mourn him? Have you ever lost someone you loved?!” I want to know his answer. I want to know if he has ever lost the one person who held his heart and who owned his soul.

“Have you?” I demand, my voice cracking as my throat closes and the tears begin to run down my cheeks.

“Sophia, this isn’t about me. What I can say is that your actions aren’t typical of someone in mourning. You’re severely depressed. Medication is the only way to manage the chemical imbalance that someone with depression experiences. Can you mourn? Yes, by all means. But when you stop eating and showering, or begin ignoring your loved ones that’s when it’s beyond typical behavior.”

I think about his option, his words speak truth.

“Ok,” I sigh. I feel defeated. I bury my hands in my palms and let my emotions spill out. I don’t bother to ask how long I will be there because at this point it doesn’t matter. Will was the only thing that mattered and now he’s gone.

Gone.