The loft was like a black hole – #fridayfiction
Speaking of Edward’s death brings back memories I thought were dead and buried. Those were terrible times; times so bad there’s not even a way of describing them. Although the smell of death was all over that loft, I called Doctor Kelly and told him to come quick because Edward had stopped breathing.
I suppose I was hoping that by some miracle they could breathe life back into him, but of course such a thing wasn’t possible. After I called the doctor, I went back to the loft and sat beside Edward. I kept thinking maybe there was something I could do for him. Maybe he’d wake up and ask for a glass of water or an aspirin. Now I can see how foolish such thoughts were, but back then I didn’t have the ability to think rational. When the person you love more than life itself is gone, your heart and mind are filled with sorrow and bitterness.
I blamed myself for not being here, and I blamed Edward for building that damned loft. No matter what anybody said, I knew if he wasn’t up there he would have called for help and he’d still be alive. For almost two years, I didn’t even step foot on the staircase. I left everything exactly as it was. The sheets crumpled and laying half on the floor, the imprint of Edward’s head still on the pillow and the lamp beside the bed still turned on. Eventually the bulb burned out and the loft was like a black hole that had swallowed up my reason for living.