Chapter forty-six – Leave My World So Cold

~~

It seems to take forever for me to actually snap back to reality. In fact, even when I feel as if I've snapped back, I haven't. There's just an empty, painful, numb feeling that's causing my head, and my heart, and my chest to feel completely hollowed out.

Now that I've calmed down a little, it's completely silent. Even with people around me talking, it's silent. They're all talking about me, but I couldn't care less about that right now. I can sense it; the feeling of conspicuousness is almost snapping me back to reality – but it isn't quite doing so.

Perhaps all this is simply a dream. I mean, it's just in my imagination, right? There's no way my father is gone, only a matter of months after my mother. There's simply no way. No way whatsoever.

I'm sat in a trance by my father's chair. All the others are gathered together, still looking out the window for the paramedics. Even Michael is over there, now. He must have gotten the impression that I needed some space. This doesn't feel real to me at all; it feels as if I'm living in a parallel universe. The thought of having no parents ... Now I understand how much it hurts Michael to live this way.

And once again, the death is down to Marco. For what he's done, he's not even going to want to cross me in his life time. Because if I see him, I'll kill him. I'll have to go to jail, let alone him.

... But all this is my fault. If I hadn't have told Marco we were in America, he wouldn't have found us. So in other words ... I caused my father's death.

Me ... I did.

The only thing that brings me back to reality is the sudden movement of various people walking into my line of vision. When my eyes focus, I realise it's the paramedics. For a moment, I don't react to them, because I'm paralysed with grief; but when they start to take father away, I'm extremely quick to react.

"Don't take him!" I cry, my calm state vanishing in the blink of an eye. Standing up, I try to prise the paramedics off my dad, but they remain persistent in sending him to the ambulance.

"Miss Espinosa, we have to take him to the mortuary. There's nothing we can do for him. I'm so sorry for your loss."

In an unplanned, out-of-character outburst, I explode with anger at the paramedics. "And that's your fault! You didn't get here on time! You caused me to lose my father! You guys were too slow! How could you do this to me! How could you take my father away from me!" My anger eventually subsides into devastation, as I feel Michael embrace me from behind once again, bringing me to a kneeling position as I collapse. "How—could—you—do—this—to—me!"

"Angel ... Angel ... " Michael whispers into my ear, stroking my hair to comfort me. "Shh ... shh ... " He kisses my forehead, for a few prolonged seconds, before cradling me in his arms. "It's going to be okay ... I'm here for you ... Shh ... "

His words cause me to turn around so that I face him, and my head falls into his chest, where I sob against him loudly. "He's—gone! ... " I cry, grabbing bunches of his shirt in my hands, and curling my fingers around them. "He—left—me! ... "

"He's with your mother and your brother, sweetheart. He's so much happier there, I promise." Michael rocks me back and forth gently, trying to calm me down. "Marco can't hurt him any more, and he has no more suffering ... "

"I—want—to—kill—him! ... " I plead into his clothing, my voice muffled, and my voice broken from crying.

"I understand that; I really do ... And he will pay for this, I promise ... He'll get what he deserves ... Shh ... " I feel his head move upwards, perhaps looking at Reiss and Clover. "Would you guys like to go to the mortuary? We'll catch you up in a short while ... "

"Of course," Clover answers quietly, her voice sounding broken like mine. "Come on, Reiss ... "

"We'll see you there, kid," Reiss responds, referring to Michael. "And Citria, I'm really sorry ... "

"Me too, Cous ... " Clover's sympathetic voice adds sadly. "Really sorry ... "

With those words being said, they leave the building, so that only Michael and I remain. The paramedics already took dad out the room; they must have done it whilst Michael was calming me down.

"Now ... " Michael carefully separates from me, looking into my teary eyes. "Do you want to go to the mortuary, or do you want to stay here a little while? It's completely your choice, sweetheart."

Tears fill my eyes again; threatening to spill over my lashes at any point. As much as I want to say a final goodbye to father, I'm worried it'll send me over the edge again ...

"I-I don't know ... " I reply dejectedly, with no emphasis in my voice at all.

"Maybe we should stay here a little while; then, when you're ready, we can go meet Reiss and Clover there ... " he suggests softly, his voice barely louder than a mutter.

"Okay ... " is all I can reply with. Quivering, I attempt to stand myself up, but the weakness in my legs causes me to collapse to my knees again. My hands move to break my fall, but my arms are too weak, too; and instead, I start to fall fully to the ground. Michael catches me just before that happens, which causes him to fall to my level.

"Let me help you ... " he offers, taking my hand in his. He pulls me up from the ground, using his free hand to hold the small of my back. He guides me towards the sofa, sitting me down. "Citria, you're real pale. I think you need a drink, or something."

"No ... " I murmur.

"Sweetheart, it'll do you good." With that, he leaves the room, returning a few moments later with a glass of water. He hands it to me, and I take it hesitantly. "Drink a little; it'll make you feel better."

"Better ... " I repeat, unable to believe the words he says. Giving in, I sigh, before shakily raising the glass to my lips, and sipping. It seems I only just realise how thirsty I am; I end up drinking three quarters of the glass in one go. Once I've finished, I set the glass down by father's glass of water, before bending forward to bury my head in my hands.

"How are you feeling, Angel?" Michael asks me, knowing fully that it's not going to be a positive answer.

"Not good," I reply simply, not even moving my head away from my hands. "I want to know what pills Marco gave to dad. He said he only took a few, so they must have been strong."

"I really don't know," he sighs. Not long after saying this, I feel him rub my back comfortingly, but it doesn't really give me much comfort, in all honesty.

"What if they were powerful drugs? They have to perform an autopsy," I point out, lifting my head at last. "We need to find out what drug it was ... "

"And we will. We will find out." He gives me a reassuring smile, in attempt to earn one in return.

To give him the benefit of the doubt, I return a faint smile, but it vanishes fairly quickly. With the way my head is hurting, and the sick feeling in my stomach, I suddenly feel a burning sensation rising up my throat. The water I just drank comes back up, as I retch, and throw up the very little contents of my stomach from the grief I'm feeling.

"Oh God," Michael gasps, pulling my hair back out of my face so I don't get anything in it. He gently pats my back as I finish throwing up; then, I wipe my mouth with my sleeve, and fall into Michael's arms hopelessly. "I got you, sweetheart. I got you."

"I hate life so much ... " I cry softly, not even having the energy to raise my voice, now. My throat aches so badly.

"I said that when my parents first died, too. Believe me; I know exactly how you're feeling. But ... it may seem hard to believe, but ... it gets a little easier. After the initial numbness, you start to come to terms with it all, and ... you start to focus on the good aspects of life."

Oh, how the roles have reversed in such a short time. I was once the one who gave the advice, and comforted Michael; now, he's the one giving the advice, and comforting me. Michael and I are very similar in terms of how we cope with loss – we both hate life for it; our healths deteriorated thanks to the losses; we gave unnecessary outbursts to those who didn't deserve to be on the receiving end ... We're extremely similar.

"I'll never get over this," I murmur, my head now pressed against Michael's chest – again. "Marco can rot in Hell for what he's done to us ... "

"Us?" Michael repeats my choice of wording. "Cit, you just lost your father. Think of yourself for once, okay? Everyone else can wait. We need to make sure you're okay, first."

"I'm sorry ... " For some reason, my own apology causes me to cry again; it seems I'm getting emotional over every little thing at the moment. "I'm sorry ... "

"Why are you sorry? You don't need to be sorry," Michael assures me, cradling me once again, as if I were a child. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

"Sorry for being—so—ungrateful ... " I elaborate, choking on my own sobs.

"Ungrateful?" His tone indicates he doesn't understand what I mean ... though I know clearly what I mean.

"You've lost everything ... I've only lost my brother and my parents ... " I explain, sniffling loudly to try and contain any other sounds.

Michael furrows his brows at this, and a frown forms on his lips. His brown eyes meet my blue ones, as he carefully runs his fingers through my hair. "Never say you're ungrateful for that, Citria. That's not ungrateful in the slightest. You're allowed to cry; it's human nature. I'd be worried if you didn't cry ... And you're also allowed to grieve over those you've lost. That's human nature, too. Don't ever beat yourself up for having a large heart."

"It's my fault ... " A tear rolls down my cheek as I say these words.

"What's your fault?"

"Dad died ... because of me." My heart flips when I make this statement; as much as I wish it wasn't true, it is. I'm not even saying it to get a reaction ...

"How so? Of course it's not because of you," Michael corrects me, looking at me in confusion.

"It is ... I told Marco we were in America and he found us. He found dad and killed him ... because of me."

"Don't blame yourself, Citria. I don't know how it happened, but he can't have known the precise part of America we lived in without help from someone. Perhaps it was Astrix that told him, before he died ... Just someone. I don't know ... But I don't believe it's your fault."

"It is, though ... " My eyes close, as I try to clear my head of all the agonising thoughts it has been forced to bear today. However, the more I try to do this, the more horrible images of earlier enter my head.

"It isn't. I promise it's not your fault. Anyway ... " Michael checks the clock on the mantelpiece, before looking down on me again. "It's already 2:00pm. Maybe we should go down to the mortuary."

"2:00pm ... The time I was meant to come see dad ... " A forlorn expression takes over my face as I stand up from my place on the sofa. I'm able to walk without falling now, but my legs still feel weak. "And now I'm seeing him for all the wrong reasons ... "

"I'll be there with you. And I'm here right now. And I'll never, ever leave." He takes my hand, leading me towards the front door, before leading me out of it.

*  *  *

"Mr Espinosa is just inside this room. You may need to brace yourself a little," the nurse or ... whoever she is, tells me. I've not really been paying attention to who anyone is in this place.

Nodding in understanding, I squeeze Michael's hand tighter, feeling slightly nervous about what I'm going to see.

"Remember I'm right here," he reminds me, squeezing my hand in return.

So together, we enter the room. And when I enter the room, the horrifying view of my father almost causes me to regret coming here in the first place. Clover and Reiss are in the room, too; as soon as they see me, they flock around me, to make sure I'm okay.

"How are you feeling now, Cous?" Clover asks calmly, taking my hand in hers.

"She's not feeling the best, you could say," Michael answers on my behalf. Clover lets go of my hand, walking to Michael to talk to him about my progress instead. It's probably the wiser choice in all honesty; I'm not really that easy to talk to right now.

Reiss gives me a sympathetic smile, gently rubbing my arm as a brief sign of comfort. Then, he joins Clover and Michael to talk about what's happened today. Slowly, I make my way over to my father; he's lying completely lifeless and frozen. His eyes are closed, which puts my mind at rest a little; but his skin is pale, and ghost-like. It's also cold to touch, which causes me to shiver when my fingers rest against his face.

"Look at you ... " I breathe, feeling myself start to tear up again. "So cold ... like snow ... So pale ... like frost ... So frozen ... like ice. What did you do to deserve this? ... What did I do to deserve this? ... What did any of us do to deserve this? ... "

My thumb reaches down to lightly caress the caved-in skin of his cheek, as I scan my eyes over his entire body. This isn't how I planned for him to leave me ... He was supposed to last so much longer; forever and a half, even. He was meant to be my rock until I was as old as him, at least.

Twenty-five and parentless. Only this morning I was looking at our family picture, finding it hard to believe that half the people in the photo were gone. Now, three quarters of the people in the photo are gone. And I'm the only one that remains ...

Behind me, I hear Michael telling Clover and Reiss about how I threw up from the grief, earlier. It's embarrassing that my health got to that stage, but I don't blame myself for reacting that way. Losing people makes you react in ways you didn't realise you could react. I've reacted totally different to father's death than I did with mother's death earlier in the year.

Once again, my hand reaches over to father's hand, and I take it gently. My other hand clasps around them both, as I bring them closer to me. Kneeling down close to where he lies, I kiss his knuckles, knowing it'll be the final time I touch him forever.

This has to be one of the worst days of my entire life ...

~~

This chapter got me emotional! I'm sorry if this whole death part is boring to you; but I didn't want to make it all about Michael, y'know? Gotta have stories involving the other characters, too. :(
I hope you enjoyed this chapter! :)