TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of sexual assault and suicide

*Landon’s POV*

I can't do this.

I can't...

But I have to.

"If you need anything," the nurse says softly, "I'll be right out here."

I give her a single nod before turning back to the door. Drawing in a shaky breath, I slide the door open and step into the cold room.

My eyes scan everything in the room except for the bed. As I walk further into the room, I try to will myself to look at the bed, but I can't. Instead, I look at the machines and monitors that had been turned off long ago. The room is spotlessly clean, meaning someone was recently in here cleaning up the mess before allowing visitors back. There are flowers set up by the hospital staff in a feeble attempt to brighten the room, but really? How can they possibly be trying to make this situation not as dark and shitty as it is?

I reach the side of the bed, keeping my eyes down at the beige linens. The sound of my blood pumping is roaring in my ears.

Look up.

Fuck, just—

Just look at him.

Look at your mate, Landon.

I tear my gaze away from the dull-colored hospital linens. My breath is knocked out of me when I see him laying there lifelessly on the bed.

"Hi," I whisper almost inaudibly.

They cleaned him up really well. I could barely see where the bullet hit his temple. If I didn't witness his body on the ground a few mere minutes after he pulled the trigger, I probably wouldn't even have noticed the mark left on his head.

His red hair is damp, making the color appear darker than it is. They probably bathed him as part of their protocol to prepare him for family.

His eyes are closed. Which sounds stupid because of course his eyes are closed. But fuck, what I wouldn't give to see him open his eyes one more time. To give myself a chance to memorize every aspect of those emerald green eyes just one last time. One last moment to breathe him in.

There's still stubble on his face. The light red whiskers decorating his cheeks and jawline in a way I always secretly loved. My body works on auto-pilot as my hand reaches forward and brushes the short beard.

"I should've told you this before, but I really love your beard," I murmur, brushing my hand over the stubble. "You always said you didn't want to shave it and look like the clean-shaven robots that worked for your dad, and I loved you for that. Plus, it looks sexy as hell. I can't even tell you how many mornings I would wake up before you and run my fingers over your beard. But fuck, I should've told you. I should've told you everything. I should've said I love you every morning, afternoon, evening, and night. I should've said it until you got tired of it."

"I-I should have reminded you more often h-how loved you are," my voice begins to tremble and my hands start shaking. "I s-should've been t-there for you. I mean, I-I was, I t-tried, b-but I should've done m-more. I'm so s-sorry, Easton. I'm s-so sorry this h-happened to y-you. All of it. Y-you deserved b-better."

My watery gaze falls on his shoulder, and the dam — the only I had been trying so hard to keep intact — breaks apart. Hot tears roll freely down my cheeks, and my legs give out. I fall on an empty part of the bed and try to hold myself upright with the weak support of my arms.

My mark on his skin is already fading. It looks less like a mark, and more like a disfiguring scar with dark purple bruising beneath it.

I brush the mark with my fingertips, and a broken sob escapes my lips.

"I'm s-sorry, Easton," I sob, caressing my once beautiful mark on the space between his shoulder and his throat, in that delicate curve that always made him squeal when I kissed it. "I-I'm sorry I f-failed you. I s-should've done b-better as your L-Luna. I... I p-promise I'll do b-better. Just... just w-wake up. Tell me this w-was all one big stupid p-prank. I'll f-forgive you, because I l-love you. J-Just... please. Open y-your eyes."

Nothing happens. Easton lays in the bed, silent and unmoving. A frantic desperation rises up in me and I clutch his arms.

"Easton!" I wail. "P-Please don't do this! Please d-don't leave me! It's supposed to be you and me! F-Forever! You p-promised! I fucking love you! Y-You can't do this, y-you asshole! You c-can't make me f-fall in love with you a-and just leave me! It's not f-fair!"

My cries are rapidly becoming more like screams, and I lean down and bury my face in his chest. The tears relentlessly fall as I sob and cling to my once beautiful mate. I lay in bed next to him, holding on and trying to pretend that this isn't real, and that I'm going to wake up in his arms, in our home, just like we did every morning.

Just go to sleep...

This is all one big nightmare...

Go to sleep, and when you wake up, you can shower him with all the kisses and love you should've been showering him in.

Just... sleep.

My eyes grow heavy from the exhausting of sobbing. I will myself to imagine that we're snuggled up in our bed, and that everything will be fine.

Everything is fine.

This isn't real.