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Rosy cheeks from being outside in the cold and tired eyes from her third all-nighter were the basic foundations of Mio Hudson as she stared at the crumpled papers thrown about the room. Not to mention the half empty cups of coffee that stared back at her almost as aggressively as the paper, reminding her that — no — she was not doing well right now.
Rubbing her eyes, cold hands snapped her mostly awake before rubbing them together. She'd been outside shoveling snow for what felt like three hours but in reality had only been about one and a half; her back aching and her mind numb because of what today was.
The anniversary.
With each passing year it got easier and easier, at least that's what she kept telling herself.
Her fingers trailed over the nearest bookshelf, over the very first copy of 'Split Fiction', eyes twinging with sadness as she let out a small sigh.
"Fuck. Today is gonna suck."
*****
Within a few hours, Mio found herself sitting in her therapist's office, scarf wrapped around her neck and gloves laying strewn about on the table. Her leg was shaking and her foot was tapping and she knew that her therapist would pick up on it immediately but she didn't care. She knew what day it was.
"So, Mio. How are we doing today?"
"Honestly, doc. I feel kind of like shit. I thought it would get easier? You know, time heals all wounds and that bullshit but I think they lied." Mio winced, staring down at the floor.
"Still not a doctor, Mio. And, well, maybe they did lie. Would it help if they had?"
Mio mulled the words over, trying to come up with something biting and sarcastic but instead all she could do was feel tears well up in her eyes. "I think I've forgotten how their laugh sounded. I can see.." A slight hiccup as she wrapped her arms around her own midsection. "I can see their smile sometimes when I dream. But I can't remember it when I'm awake. I've completely forgotten their smell unless someone has a familiar scent and then it's like I'm getting assaulted by memories."
The darker haired woman was thankful that her therapist kept quiet, always thankful she knew when to just listen and let her get the words out rather than try to interject with ideas of her own on how to help. "They would have loved 'Split Fiction'. I just wish they had gotten the chance to see it, ya know?"
The rest of the session was filled with small conversation, Mio's therapist allowing her to have the floor to get out any ramblings she needed to. By the end of it, she did have one final question for Mio that always made her feel raw when asked.
"You know what I'm going to ask Mio before we end the session. Are you wanting to or thinking of hurting yourself? I don't have an appointment after this so if you need to safety plan tod—"
"No doc." Mio quickly interjected, shaking her head as she stood up to grab her gloves off the couch. "As much as I miss them, I don't plan on joining them. Not yet at least." The writer shrugged, giving a half-baked attempt at a smile. "Besides, I'm not finished writing my story."
With a click, the door closed behind her and Mio made her way out into the cold once more. It was snowing, with grey skies overhead and no hint of the sun.
'Fitting', she thought as her boots crunched through the newly fallen snow, leading her to the cemetery that was far too close to her therapist's office for her liking. On the way there she found herself stopping by a flower shop, only to look for a moment before deciding that what she had in her pocket was enough.
Continuing her journey, Mio finally made it through the outrageously large gates of the cemetery, pace getting slower and slower as she neared the all too familiar bench and tree that were located near the grave that housed someone who had deserved so much more time.
"Hey you," Her voice cracked as she knelt down, placing the trinket on top of the headstone. "It's been three years now. It's almost Christmas and.. I think that's really hard for me. Everyone is happy this time of year, it seems. But I'm not, not anymore. Not without you here."
Mio's voice wavered, hand clutching her chest as shaky gasps escaped her throat. Her lungs felt like they burned and she knew she had to act quickly to breathe through this onset panic. In through her nose for five, hold for five, and exhale through pursed lips for 5. Slowly but surely, her heartrate slowed but the tears didn't. She was okay with that.
"I think about you every day. Honestly, it feels like a piece of me is missing. But, I'm not here to just talk about the sad." Another deep breath. "The damn book is still selling like hot cakes. People love it and Rader? He fucking hates it. Brings me joy, honestly." A hand ran over the rough edges of the grave, squeezing the stone as if that were a shoulder. "Can you believe he tried to send me flowers when he woke up from his coma and found out you died? The fucking prick."
Mio let out another deep breath, choosing to close her eyes as she rested her forehead against the gravestone. "I wish we had had more time."
Soon enough, the crunching of another set of snow boots graced her ears and she pulled back to look up at the figure that had approached, greeting them with a sad smile. "Worried about me?"
"Always. Easier this year?" The voice was warm, soothing, like a beam of sunlight that could break through this cold day before they offered a hug to the woman in front of them.
Mio stood up, accepting the hug quickly before turning back to look at the grave. "No. Not even close." Memories flitted through her mind, of time long gone and buried. As she stared at the grave, she realized that she could remember the sound of their laugh. At least right here, right now, she could. God. She'd loved that laugh.
If only she'd had more time.
"C'mon Mio. Let's get going. I've still got Christmas presents to wrap and I don't want my fingers freezing off."
Mio turned to face her father, nodding with a somber smile as she took one last look at the grave before turning away with ideas of a new book title coming to mind. And when her next book came out, just like before with 'Split Fiction', she dedicated the book to a person she wished had made it out of that machine with her. She was her inspiration for the new book, who knew 'Conversations with a Ghost' would be Mio's very first fantasy hit.
That was for later, however. Now, Mio stole one last quick glance at the grave before interlinking her arms with her father. Resting her head against his shoulder as they walked, she could finally remember that laugh once again and she felt some sad form of happiness sink into her bones while those words written into stone watched her leave.
Zoe Foster
1994 - 2022
'Forever Freeing the Fantasy in All our Lives'
On top of the gravestone lay the trinket; a curled up and sleeping blue dragon.