My dreams lost all meaning after that. They turned into nothing, or into nightmares that haunted me until I started drinking to forget. I thought if I pushed myself just a little harder, I might end up with him somewhere else. But it never helped.
I felt Sophie’s hands on me, pulling me into a tight hug.“Oh, babe,” she whispered. “I know. I know.”
“I hate this feeling,” I murmured into her neck. “I hate being here without him.”
“Don’t say that.” She pulled me closer, her hands cradling my head.
“I hate that sometimes the people we need most are the ones we lose so fast. I hate that the people we want most are the ones we never get. The ones we love the most are always the furthest away. I hate…” My voice broke as I cried.
She said nothing. There was only silence between us until we heard laughter behind us. People were coming from the graveyard, drinking near the cliffs and the old chapel.
Sophie gently pushed me, wiped the tears from my face, and said, “Let’s drink, and make tonight about us. No memories, justus, okay?”
I nodded, wiping my tears with my palm and smearing whatever was left of my makeup.
“I don’t feel like it,” I said, taking a step back and turning to walk home. But she caught my hand and pulled me toward the graveyard entrance.
“You have to,” she said, tugging me further inside.
I inhaled deeply because at this point, I didn’t even have the strength to argue. So I just followed her. The tears came again when I saw all the graves around us. I never knew which one was his. And I never will.
“You know, you’re a terrible friend for bringing me here,” I said, wiping more tears from my cheeks. “Surrounding me withdead people.”
Sophie stopped and turned toward me. “Look,” she said, “the first step is acceptance.”
I raised a brow at her.
“And then you have to grieve, and finally, you have to let all that grief go.”
I exhaled, still watching her.
“I’m just saying,” she shrugged, “you’ve done the first two steps. Now it’s time to let go and have some fun.” She winked. “Maybe get some Italian cock tonight.”
I gasped. “Sophie!”
“What?” she laughed. “I know it sounds terrible, but you know what they say—‘the only way to forget some is to get some.’”
“Never heard that before,” I said.
“Well, me neither,” she laughed. “It just sounded good.”
I gently pushed her. “Whatever, Sophie.”
We kept walking toward the chapel, and the place was getting more crowded. People were sitting on graves with cups in their hands, looking out toward the cliffs. Some were jumping, others were trying to break into the chapel that the local priest had locked. A few were lying on the ground, and some were around the pine trees, kissing.
I noticed Christian was there too, with Amber and Tristan. They were laughing and talking about the people around them. When they saw Sophie and me, they waved for us to come closer.
As I took a step forward, Tristan looked down at the ground.
There was something I hadn’t told Sophie. For the past month, I had been seeing Tristan, trying to do exactly what she always said, to forget by moving on. But it didn’t work. It never does. It just didn’t feel right, and we both knew it. That’s why he couldn’t look me in the eye. And that’s why I couldn’t say aword.
But just as I parted my lips to speak, Christian stepped in front of me.
“What the fuck are those freaks doing here?” he said.
I turned around.
A few clowns were drinking near one of the graves. With them stood a man whose face was painted like a skull. His hair was black as coal, his eyes pale and icy blue. He was tall, wearing black jeans and a black shirt, with a leather jacket thrown over his shoulders. The House of Clowns logo was painted across the back. His hands were tattooed to look like bones.
