Take Care, Sara

before she’d found him and now she was lost again. She already felt it happening; the disappearance of her soul. So she clutched him to her; his image, his voice, the smell of him, and yet he was still taken from her.
    She was beginning to splinter in two, she was being torn apart. Sara walked through the house in a daze, haunted by him, longing for him, hurting so much she wondered how she was still alive from all the pain. She felt it in the tightness of her chest; she felt it in the pressure that never left her. No matter how hard she fought or tried to stop, it was winning. The abyss was pulling her down, removing everything that made up Sara, and leaving her empty. Hollow.
    Sara was turning into him; the man she’d thought she’d be with until her last breath was taken; the man that had been her universe, her soul, and was now nothing. He was stolen from her, and with him, she was stolen from herself. He was dead. She was dead. Sara thought maybe she should let it happen. Then they could be nothing together.
    The bottle of prescription painkillers mocked her from its perch on the bathroom counter. One week. It had been one week and two days since he’d been buried. Sometimes Sara pictured him waking up, finally, in the ground, trying to breathe, scratching at the lid of the casket, forever trapped. He screamed for her, using his final breath to shout her name, like he had in reality. She had nightmares of it when she slept, which wasn’t often. It didn’t matter, though, because they followed her, tormented her, even when she was awake. There was no reprieve. 
    It was so much worse than when he’d been in a coma in the hospital. At least then Sara could see him, even if he wasn’t him . Now he was just…gone. It really happened. He really died. Sara fell to her knees and hung her head, weeping into her hands. She screamed her rage and anguish, slamming her palms to the cold, hard floor and shoving herself to her feet.
    Shaking and chilled all the way to her marrow, Sara looked up and stared at the bottle with longing. She could end it. The pain, the nightmares, the memories; all of it . Weak people give up; strong people keep going. She was weak; she didn’t care. If being strong meant suffering, then she’d rather be weak.
    “You don’t mean that.”
    “I do,” she moaned, covering her face with her hands and leaning her back against the bathroom counter.
    “Lincoln needs you.”
    “No, he doesn’t. He’s stronger than me.”
    “Not strong enough to survive the loss of your life. It would crush him.”
    “And your death didn’t?”
    “Suicide is a sin.”
    “In whose eyes?” she demanded.
    “In all eyes.”
    “Just go away,” Sara whispered, tucking her legs close to her chest and resting her head on her knees. If she closed her eyes, maybe the voice would go away.
    “I can’t. Not yet. I need you to live for me, Sara.”
    Sara growled, jumping to her feet and whirling around. Grabbing fistfuls of her hair, she shrieked, “ Stop fucking with my head! ” Heart pounding, her whole body a quivering mass of agony, Sara searched the house for her aggravator, storming through the rooms with closed doors, swinging each one open, mindless with devastation, intent on finding him, anything, something , to let her know she wasn’t crazy.
    “You wouldn’t wake up when you could have. You wouldn’t come back to me, but you’re going to fucking haunt me?” Sara’s voice was shrill, unnatural. She was losing it, control was completely slipping away. Sara didn’t care. Let it.
    She tore into the bedroom, slamming the closet doors open. “Where are you?” Sara shoved clothes around on the hangers, knocking shirts and dresses to the floor. Some hit her in the face, landing on her, and Sara retaliated by yanking the clothes from the hangers and tossing them behind her. On and on, her breath leaving her in gasping sobs, she destroyed the perfectly ordered closet.
    When Sara spun around to see what she could upheave next, sunlight streamed through the window, landing on the hope chest, making it glow. She dropped to her knees, resting her head on the hard wood, and let the wretched tears take over. “How could you leave me?” she moaned to the vacant room.
    “Sara?”
    She froze, wiping her eyes, thinking she was hearing things again.
    “Oh, Sara, what are you doing?” Warm hands grabbed her, turned her around. Lincoln’s sad eyes slammed into her. “Did you decide to