She'd been dead already. I hadn't even been able to say good-bye, not properly. I knew she'd haunt me. And you know why you motherfucker? Because I fucking hadn't felt that she'd died. I'd thought she was still alive, I'd taken her life for granted, I'd taken it for fucking granted that i could go home and there she'd be, waiting for me as if I was some sort of crude version of prince fucking charming. Now that I knew she was dead I was angry at myself for coming all the way here; I would have anyway, but I would have liked to know that I'd be burying her body and not kissing her telling her about my new fucking rolls royce.
I was furious at myself. But never at Joline. I didn't have it in me to be mad at her. It was my fault, not hers. My fault but her decision.
It took me the rest of the morning and a bit of the afternoon to finish digging the grave. I raided her house for food and found a last can of something. I ate it. I can't remember what it was. She had a lot of bottled water which was fine too.
I made a doctorate of carrying her outside carefully. Even though she was dead I would have found it disrespectful to drag her down the stairs. So I took her in my arms and walked all the way down; making sure her head didn't once hit the wall. She might have looked peacefull if she wasn't already decaying a little bit. She looked unhealthy and well, dead.
My arms were tired. She'd gotten heavy, I'd also been carrying her for ten minutes. I made sure to gently place her in the make-shift grave which was harder than it looked. I had to kind of curl her up like a cat because I hadn't had the time or engery to make a big enough hole for her to lie down. I kissed her on the forehead.
I gazed down at her for a little bit before I finally got up out of the grave and started to push the dirt over her.
I don't remember doing it. I know I must have because all of a sudden there was just a little heap of dirt on an uneven floor. And I knew that somewhere down there she was buried. Soon to be eaten by maggots and worms. I made a cross over my chest and bowed my head a little.
"I love you, Joline." I whispered. I thought about carving her resting place into the wooden oak, but I thought it better to leave a love-note. What's more promising that such a thing?
I slowly walked back to the apartement. I lost my way four times.
I realized that I was sick; mentally. I was grieving. I coudn't leave, not yet. I knew the people at the farm needed me, but they weren't important.
I sat myself down on the couch and closed my eyes. I realized I was trembling.
Anxiety took a hold of me. I felt like I was dying too. My lungs ached and there was a burning feeling in my heart. My legs felt heavy and my arm threatened to cramp up. I started to cry but the tears only came slowly and irregularly.
I tried to comfort myself by whispering that it'd be alright.
What I did next saved my sanity if not my life. I went upstairs and lay down on her couch. To my surprise and delight Jack and Jamie came up to me. Jack curled up on my feet and Jamie sat on my chest, purring. I gently stroked his little furry head. The cats sobered me up. They were still alive and so was I.
I fell asleep with my little companions. I briefly woke up a few hours later and I had one single thought before I fell asleep; I can't go home tomorrow.
And I listened to myself. I let myself take my time. Let me grieve in peace and quiet. I didn't care if I woudn't be back when I'd promised.
I needed time to myself.