His eyes clouded with murky drops of rain. It had been a dry summer and the fall was making up for it. The ground was wet and the dry earth was becoming a dark mud. The trees swayed with the harsh torment of the wind. Brady never moved. Even though his hair was soaking and his clothes were no longer dry. The eery chill as the wind whistled down his back did not make him lose focus. There was only one thing he wished to look at and really only one thing he could see.

His vision was blurry and his head was unclear. Everything had happened so fast. One minute he was happy and in love and the next he hurt so bad he could barely move. Why didn't they understand she was his everything? They couldn't know. There were only two people in the entire world that got what they meant to each other and now one of them was gone. Gone from this world, but never from his heart. Love like theirs doesn't come to those who wait. It is a bold, powerful love that holds a person so in the moment that they forget about everyone else; forget that life doesn't go on forever.

The coffin, although standard size, looked small to him. Maybe it was the weight she had lost in the final months or maybe it was because she was so young, but it looked small. He hadn't cried. It seemed strange to him that he hadn't shed a single tear. Maybe it was because he'd been so reluctant to believe the truth and now that he was standing over a freshly covered grave marked with her name, it seemed even more surreal.

He'd asked himself if this was what she would have wanted. They'd talked about everything else, but not this. Never this. He had never let it even sink in as a possibility. Would she want to be stuck in the cold, damp earth while bugs prayed on her in her eternal sleep? No. He shook his head and closed his eyes. She would have wanted something more; something better. Maybe to be cremated and to have her ashes spread over all the places she would never see. He should have done that for her. If he wasn't so goddamn selfish, he would have asked. He would have done anything for her. But he couldn't ask. Opening his eyes, he looked down as drops of rain splashed over her grave. She wouldn't have wanted this. He should have asked.

Sucking in a breath, he ran his fingers through his blonde locks of hair, surprised to find it so long. When was the last time he'd cut his hair? "I'm sorry..." He started, stammering over what to say. "I should have asked..., but I - I didn't want to think about it and I'm a selfish bastard!"

He moved so he was kneeling, touching the black lettering of the marble stone and sure as hell not caring that he got mud on his knees. "I wanted to show you so much Chloe," he said softly, aware that his voice was cracking and the first real tears came to his eyes. Her name from his tongue was a pain worse than physical torture, because from then on when he said it, it would be to other people, never to her. She would never answer him again.

"We could have done anything together. You could have been a star of the Met or we could have run off somewhere, been poor artists singing for change on street corners. We'd 'ave been alone; made love under the stars... It wouldn't have mattered as long as we were together," Brady whispered, wiping at the tears that ran down his cheeks mixing with the rain. "How am I supposed to live without you?"

He needed this. Needed to be alone and let it all out. Because he felt he'd failed her. Somehow, someway, it was his fault in his mind. If he'd loved her more, stayed by her side...

"This isn't what we planned, you weren't supposed to die. You were too goddamn young to die. I need you!" He shouted, burying his face in his large calloused hands.

The rain continued to pour in fat, cool drops against his wet skin. It had started the night she slipped away and hadn't stopped since. In his heart it would never stop, because the tears fell harder than rain; they bleached his soul so that no matter who looked at him they could see the spots that were missing. Those were the parts she took with her when she died. His laughter was hers. His joy. His smile. All gone now. All with her in that shallow grave where maggots and worms would have their play with her. All that he had, all he could thrive on now, was the sorrow. And that tired ache that burned his chest and made his heart clench so tight he'd never be able to remove the vise. Because she was gone and never coming back.

"I need you," he cried as he rocked back and forth realizing he would never love again.

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