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It is a funeral, but the casket stands empty, with just some of her belongings.
Her smile stayed frozen in the picture behind the casket, the church filled to the brim, neighbors, teachers, classmates, her friends, people who loved her, people who cared for her, people who admired her, people who just knew her, everybody was here today.
Anastasia is sitting next to me, bawling her eyes out, as if she cared a damn what happened to Maya. I am sitting here, numbness spreading all over my being, grief choking me, as if I am not responsible for her death.
She called me.
Not once, but three times. What would've happened if I picked it up? Would she still be alive?
She would've been. She was ten minutes away from the fucking apartment. I could've called the damn cops, I could've gone there with a fucking gun to save her.
But I didn't. I ignored her calls for help. I slept when she was fighting for every single breath of hers, not knowing which one would be the last one.
The cops are saying that this killer raped her before taking the picture, the picture where she was dead.
I was sleeping in my lavish fucking apartment when she was getting her head plummeted by a hammer before getting violated. The self loathing is unbearable.
I want to fucking kill myself to escape this, the self hatred, the onslaught of gut wrenching guilt, the knowledge of not being able to see her ever again and this fucking numbness, I want run away from all this.
I tried to end it all, I did. Slashing my wrists open. But was it punishment enough for what I did?
Dying in my bathroom, unlike her, who faced the most excruciating torture before taking her last breaths. I didn't deserve to die like this.
