I’m not comfortable with death. Some people are so at ease with death and the whole fucking “circle of life” bullshit, but not me. Death robs us of those we love. Death leaves behind a trail of pain and suffering.
I kiss Murphy and tell him how much I love him as the vet inserts a syringe into the line that was placed in his right paw. My entire body shakes, but I hold him tightly as he takes his last breath. With a long and final sigh, he’s gone.
I hold him for another half hour after that—clinging to the two things I’m not ready to let go of: Murphy and my dad. The vet is long gone, and my mom and Brent are sitting on the couch, watching me. I don’t cry. I don’t do anything other than hold Murphy in my lap and run my fingers through his coarse hair. I rub him behind his ears just like he used to beg me to do.
Suddenly, I feel the walls collapsing around me. I need air. Brent sees the change in me and quickly pulls Murphy from my arms. With a gasp, I jump up and run outside, trying to pull the brisk autumn air into my lungs, only I can’t breathe. I struggle for air and find myself on all fours, heaving outside the back door. My fingers press into the leaves that have fallen to the ground, and I close my eyes.
My stomach lurches; I feel the bile rising. I try to swallow it down, but it’s stronger than me and I expel the contents of my stomach into the grass. My stomach continues to twist and turn as it tries to purge what’s left inside me, except there’s nothing there. My stomach is hollow, much like my heart.
“Hey.” I hear his voice this time before I sense him. I don’t answer him, as I just don’t have the energy. “Saige,” he says, attempting to help me sit up. I pull my arm out of his hand.
“Goddamn, can you just go away?” I yell at him, tears falling. “I thought you left.” I angrily narrow my eyes at him.
“Brent stopped me yesterday and mentioned that he thought you could use a friend today, so he asked me if I could stick around for another day.”
Wiping my cheeks with the sleeve of my shirt, I snarl at him, “You’re not my friend, Holt. I hate you.” But I feel sick the moment those words leave my mouth. Hate is such a disgusting word, and I used it carelessly.
He winces, but he doesn’t respond.
I pull myself up from the ground and begin to wander down the large yard and head toward the creek—my place. “And don’t follow me,” I yell over my shoulder.
I take my place on top of my boulder, where I used to feel like I was on top of the world. Now I feel like my entire world is collapsing around me. I feel so small atop this rock as everything I loved, everyone I believed in is now a part of my past.
I sit on the boulder for hours and watch Brent across the creek, digging a hole for Murphy under the large oak tree where my dad rests. As I suspected, Holt didn’t listen to me. I heard him wander up behind me about ten minutes after I perched myself on the rock. He’s been patiently sitting in the grass behind the boulder, just watching me.
I’ve spent these hours pondering what my life will be like now that I’m home in North Dakota. Will I stay here? If not, where will I go? What will I do? I make plans to call and check in with Evelyn, and I make a promise to myself to finally start answering the endless text messages from Rowan, Emery, Zay, and Kinsley. But mostly, I think about Holt.
I think about the first time he kissed me. The first time he made love to me, and all the times after that. I remember every time he touched me. There’s no forgetting Holt Hamilton.
“I don’t hate you,” I say quietly, finally breaking the hours of silence. He doesn’t respond, probably giving me a dose of my own medicine. I glance over my shoulder at him as he sits with his arms propped on top of his knees and his head down. “I shouldn’t have said that, and I’m sorry.”
Minutes pass and I’ve turned my attention back across the creek as Brent places a rock atop the freshly covered grave.
“You have every right to,” he finally says.
“Well, I don’t.” I twist my body around to look at him, and he finally raises his head, our eyes meeting. I sigh loudly in aggravation.
“I will fight for you, Saige. I’m not just going to let you walk away.” His voice is weak, maybe even timid. Not the confident Holt that I know.
“There’s nothing to fight for,” I say faintly.
“There’s everything to fight for, Saige,” he disagrees, sounding stronger. “Except you’re so stuck in the past that you won’t open yourself up to the present. Let go, and let me love you.” His eyes are stained pink, and I wonder to myself if he’s been crying.
My words are weak, but I get them out with a whisper, “I can’t.”
“That’s not true. You are the strongest person I know. It’s not that you can’t, Saige. You won’t.” He speaks passionately.
I digest his words and do my best to contain my anger when he suddenly stands up and walks toward me.
“Do you love me, Saige?” My heart sinks as he searches for answers. My entire being begins to shake when he asks me this. Because I do. I always will.