Death is a bitch. But the worst part about it is that you have to fucking live, after somebody you love dies, and you’re surrounded by people who have no damn clue about what it’s like to be you. To feel what you feel. To want what you want. To shut your eyes and have your mind flooded with bullshit ass memories that hurt so much you can’t keep them closed because if you do, you’ll go crazy as hell. I’m tired of this! All of it.
Tamara Blanden didn’t have to do anything she didn’t want to do. Nevertheless, it seemed like everybody around her kept trying to tell her what to do. They say enough time has passed. What the hell does that mean? Who can tell me when enough of anything has occurred? Her sister and everyone in her life wanted her to move on and start dating. Even her damn neighbor told her that she was too pretty to sit at home every day. Why? I don’t want to fucking date. What’s the purpose? I don’t plan on marrying again. I can’t take that kind of pain. Never! And besides, he was still with her. This is my life!
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Tamara bumped into hard wooden furniture as she stormed through her sister’s house blinded by tears. “Every time I come here to talk to you about Jerome, about my dreams, you act as if I’m bat-shit.” She stopped and stared back into Samantha’s mirror-image eyes, which were filled with sadness as she shed tears. “I am not losing my mind. Jerome is still here. He talks to me.” What would it take to make my sister believe me? She slumped against the closed door behind her. “Everything I feel is real. It can’t be just a dream. This can’t be all in my head.” It can’t be.