No one’s Somewhere

So just as my fiancé and I began to move into our new home together, excited for all the new memories we plan to create and stories to tell our friends, the unimaginable happened. I arrived at his cozy little bachelor pad, less than thrilled to help him pack up his belongings into boxes. I never bothered to obtain a house key; we were always together anyways, it was never a necessity. A mind numbing feeling fell over me as I heard the complete silence and saw no sign of life from within. I knocked. No answer. My heart sank into my stomach and I walked around the building to the back door, still nothing but silence. I climbed through the only window I could reach, knowing that it wouldn’t be locked by the overall demeanor of the building. I barely managed to get myself up on the ledge and through the window when the smell hit me. That smell you get when you return home from a long trip and realize you left a carton of milk in the fridge with some questionable looking parcels of food you can only assume were fruits or vegetables at some point. It hit me. Pure panic. I ran into the kitchen; that’s where he spent most of his time just pacing back and forth on the phone. Not today though, today it was nothing but my heavy breaths and heart beating so loud I thought my ear drums would bust from the sound of it. Just as I ran around the corner, I was stopped dead in my tracks. BAM! I didn’t even have time to fully hit the ground before I heard the blood curdling scream come from deep within , and no sooner had I fallen to the ground I was back outside screaming for anyone to help. How could this happen!?!? He was hanging in the kitchen just above my line of vision. Just like that, my entire fairytale was over before it ever got to truly began.

It’s been just under a year since my biggest fears came to fruition. After countless hours of crying, wishing it had been my own demise instead, I concluded that I have to go somewhere, anywhere else and see what the world has to offer me. I mean, the world basically just robbed me of everything. From my perspective, it didn’t just rob me but continued to rape me, set me on fire, and then kick me in the face as I lay on the ground crying hysterically. The world owes me something somewhere, I mean it has to right?

I have just recently begun to sort through boxes of our things labeled, “OUR KITCHEN APPLIANCES” and “DRAKE & KARA’s NEW LIFE”. I would have done it sooner to clear up some of the soul crushing clutter laying around the bedroom that I still have designated at mom’s house as my own if it weren’t for the uncontrollable panic attacks that ensue me every time I start. I always manage to get about halfway through a box or bag, just for my nose to get a wiff of “us”, or even worse, a wiff of Drake’s death; it all depends on which box I attempt to tackle. The two smells are nothing short of opposites, oxymoronic if grouped together, contradicting in every way. Needless to say, I never thought I would be preparing to do anything alone again;I was under the impression that it would be Mr. and Mrs. Malloy for the rest of our lives. I guess fate missed the memo.