i ain’t missin you at all

I haven’t spent a single night in my own bed since he died. I’ve tried to lie down to nap, but I can smell him on the pillows and in the comforter. Such a subtle scent that only I would know…
It’s been four months, and then some. Yet, since last I tried to lie down in our bed, I haven’t been able to walk through the door. I can’t cross the threshhold, not even to get my things. I have three basic outfits that were in the clothes bin when he died. I ordered new clothes several times, as well. All to avoid entering a room. It’s to the point of insanity. I get sick just standing in front of the door. I don’t want t13051668_612795012203474_66534944976172481_no do the obvious and wash everything, or burn it all. I just want…something. I don’t even know. I want to stop seeing him dead in that fucking hospital with them saying he was alive when I knew he wasn’t. Why did they do that? Why? I’ve never seen such cruel people. Do they think we’re all born stupid? I know dead when I see and touch it. He was dead. And that nurse who made me feel so bad, like it was my fault he wasn’t coming back because I wasn’t holding his hand and talking to him more. Fuck her. How dare she. I touched him. I held his dead, green frozen hand. There was nothing there. Nobody. And I talked to him. To the shell that he was in. Nothing. And I can’t forget it. I feel his hand every day, in my own. It wasn’t the hand of the man I knew. It was the hand of a corpse. And nothing I could’ve done or said to him that day was going to bring him back.
And what did they want him to come back for? So they could claim success on their experiment? Those motherfuckers. Ghoulish bastards, one and all. They were willing to send hom a meat sack. That would have amounted to sucess for them. Except his heart didn’t pump like they told me. That’s what the HEART PUMP was for. Nothing worked. Nothing worked. Nothing worked. And he died. And I miss him.
I know he and I had bad blood. But I never wished him that sort of death, though I had wished him dead a million times. That death was not one he deserved, though. That was a freakish experiment gone wrong. He wasn’t at cliff’s edge when they killed him. He’d already fallen off the cliff and they were right behind him, scalpels in hand. Filthy pigs. I just hate them for that. I believe in Karma. I do. And I hope I get to see it seek every one of those sonsofbitches out. What they did that day was wrong. And I won’t soon forget it.

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