Page 103 of We Are All Sinners

I don’t remember even getting in the car.

How am I supposed to just walk back into our home.

I look to the bay window, noticing Jinx going nuts about to take the curtains down. He looks as though he is in pure torment.

I rush out of the car and run to the gate, opening it quickly as I sprint up the stairs and open the door to free him from his torment.

He bolts hopping the fence, taking off towards the city meowing out loudly. Her cat feels it and knows. He knows she is gone. I locked him in today, to make sure he didn’t follow us all over the place. He knows it’s my fault.

I stand at the front door, unable to even look inside, knowing that she will never be in there again.

“Brixon!” I hear Liam call out, rushing over from the house next door.

I stand there, unable to move.

Liam and Noah practically carry me next door, my body only moving on reflex down the stairs, then back upstairs and through the front door to the living room.

Emily and Lily sit on the couch sobbing as they hold onto each other.

“Come on man, let’s take him upstairs. I think we need to call the doctor. Is he in shock.” Noah says like I’m not right here.

I want to respond but nothing comes. I just look at him as the tears continue to fall from my eyes. I can’t turn them off. I can’t bring her back. I can’t do anything.

“Let’s get him in the shower. The girls shouldn’t have seen him like this. Fuck he doesn’t need to see himself like this. Help me get him cleaned up, then we can call the doc to at least give him something to knock him out for a while.” Liam replies.

I feel the hot water before I realize I’m in the shower. I look down watching the crimson turn to pink and then clear as my brothers try to wash what happened away.

It’s in that moment that I break again, “No, she can’t be gone.” I sob as my brothers cry with me. They are her brothers too. They love her as much as I do.

“I know brother, I’m so fucking sorry.” Noah sobs, helping me out of the shower as Liam grabs a towel.

They help me dry off as I try to contain the pain.

There is no containing what I feel. I walk into the bedroom, letting the towel fall, and climb into bed. I pull the blankets over my head and let it all out, screaming into the pillow.

This can’t be real. My perfect little witch can’t be gone.

I lay here in the midst of absolute despair for I honestly don’t know how long, when I hear Alexa softly announce, "Playing Evie's last playlist." A flicker of something, a sliver of hope, or perhaps a cruel joke strikes me.

The first notes of Lady Gaga's voice singing, "Always Remember Us This Way" floats through the room as the air grows cool, almost damp with humidity, wrapping around me like a comforting embrace.

I close my eyes, overwhelmed by the bittersweet ache of the moment. Each lyric feels like a dagger to my heart, a painful reminder of our shared memories. I can almost see her, dancing as I twirl her in the fog coming off of the river, showing off her radiant smile and her unbreakable spirit.

The music swirls around me, and for a fleeting second, it feels as if she is right there, whispering to me, urging me to remember the love we share.

Reality crashes back in, and I am left alone, drowning in grief. The echoes of her laughter fade into silence, and I know I will never be whole again. I whisper her name, “Geneveive,” desperate for a connection that has been so brutally severed.

I crumble to the floor, my heart shattering as I scream and curse at the very thought of Evie. My love, my light, taken from me so violently, sacrificed while trying to protect me from the shooter.

The world around me blurs, colors fading into a dull haze as I gasp for breath, each inhale feeling like a jagged shard of glass in my chest. The emptiness is absolutely suffocating, a heavy weight pressing down, as if the very air has turned against me.

Desperation claws at my throat, tears stream down my face as I struggle to comprehend the loss. How could this be real? I promised to keep her safe, to always be there for her, and now she is gone, leaving a gaping void where joy once thrived. The memory of her laughter echoes painfully in my mind, a haunting reminder of everything I will never hear again.

I look at the clock. Three a.m. My mother always spoke of the witching hour.

I listen to the words of the song and let myself break again as I feel my little witch all around me. I can smell her signature scent. I know she is trying to tell me it’s ok.

“I’m here baby. I hear you. I love you so much.” I let the tears fall as I move to my old desk and pull out a piece of paper as the next song starts.

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