Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Tori
It wasn’t a bad dream, not the type you can wake up from anyway.
No, I was now living a nightmare. My boyfriend was dead, and I’d never see him again.
My baby would never meet their dad, we’d never get to ride horses through the Montana mountains, we’d never go cliff diving and traveling around Europe, and I’d never hear him tell me he loved me.
Trent often joked he was here for a good time, not a long time, and boy, how right he was.
I think it’s been a few days, maybe it’s been one, maybe it’s been hours since my entire world was shattered by two words.
Trent died.
My parents flew in; Noah, Jack, and Brad flew home with Trent’s coffin, and I have yet to see Trent’s mom and family. I can’t face them. I can’t face anyone or anything. I keep hoping and praying that if I stay under this cream blanket, I’ll wake up and this will all be a lie.
The mattress dips beside me, and a firm hand presses against my back. “You need to try and eat something, Tor. It’s been days.”
I don’t answer, I just stare blankly at the wall. Eat? How can I think about eating when the love of my life is lying in a box, and tomorrow, we bury him? I clutch my aching stomach, knowing I need to eat, but I can’t bring myself to.
“You need to eat something. Think of the baby,” Harry says softly, his voice breaking on the last word, and then the sobs escape me once again. The baby, the baby that Trent will never meet, will never hold, or never know.
When my parents arrived and saw the state I was in, they called a doctor to give me something to help me sleep, so I had to admit to the pregnancy.
I was met with shocked expressions that quickly turned into love and support.
But I didn’t want to hear any of it or accept it.
The only thing I want is Trent, and it’s the one thing I can’t have.
“Scotty wouldn’t want to see you like this,” Harry says so quietly, I almost miss it. I pull the comfort tighter, covering my face, wishing it would block him and the world out.
“Victoria, please. You need to try.” Harry only calls me Victoria when he’s mad or to tease me, and I don’t get the sense he’s in a playful mood.
Anger flares inside me, and I sit up to glare at him.
“Don’t tell me to try, Harry, it’s all I’m fucking doing. I am trying,” I yell.
“Then try harder. I lost Scotty; I can’t lose you too,” he barks back.
“It’s been nearly a week, and you’ve barely moved or said a word, and nothing but water and those pills have passed your lips.
I’m begging you, Tori, please.” He points to my bedside cabinet, where an empty glass and an orange pot of sleeping pills sit beside a photo of me and Scotty from a trip we took to Vegas.
Guilt slaps me, and I wilt under my brother’s harsh words.
He’s right, but those pills are the only thing stopping the pain.
The only thing that gives my mind and body a rest from this all-consuming grief.
I know I need to try, but trying feels like climbing a mountain without a compass, running in a race I haven’t trained for.
How do I navigate this new path I’ve found myself on? This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.
I know I need to try, but trying feels like the hardest battle of my life, and I don’t know when or if I’ll ever be ready for it.