Julianna

Isat in the one of the pews and stared up at the man on the cross. He died for me. Just like Roman had died to save me. The ultimate act of love.

Inside me was just…nothing. Empty space between the nothing.

I closed my eyes and pressed my fingers into my face. This is where I stayed. Long after Roman's funeral ended. Long after everyone had left and the church had grown silent again.

I didn't move even as I heard the patter of soft footsteps coming up the aisle. He or she stopped beside me.

"Miss?"

A boy. Young. I didn't lift my head.

"This is for you, miss."

I said nothing. I didn't care enough to open my eyes.

"I'll just leave it here."

There was a rustle as something was placed beside me. The soft patter of his shoes, slower now, as he left.

I rubbed my eyes, blinking into the dim church. The sun had long since gone down. The candles had dwindled to their last inch. I should…go home.

What is home without Roman?

I glanced down. Beside me was a single red rose.

I started, spun around. But the boy who left this for me was long gone.

A single red rose.

Was this someone's idea of a sick joke?

Roman was dead.

Anger swelled up, burning away the numbness that had wrapped around me until now. I grabbed the rose by the stem in my fist, ignoring the thorns that cut me open. "Fuck you!" I screamed and flung it. It smacked against the altar, petals flying off in a shower of red.

I was a cliff whose roots had been ripped away. It would not hold. I would not hold.

The earth opened up under my feet and I fell into the abyss, a bottomless pit I could not escape from.

Fuck you, God. Fuck you, heaven. You don't deserve him. He was supposed to stay with me.

We were supposed to run away to Paris. To live out a long life of love and laughter and glorious heart-stopping sex and…babies. Oh God, our babies. My heart cried for the future we would never have, the home we would never get to make, the children we would never get to know.

I cried because he was stolen from me. He was stolen from this city that would never know him. They deserved to know him like I did. Roman turned on his family, singlehandedly ending the Tyrells' reign of terror in this city.

My father repaid him by taking his life. My father was a murderer, no better than Giovanni Tyrell. Worse, because he hid behind a badge and a good name. My father—my father—had selfishly stolen Roman away from his world, this city, from me. My own father. The man who gave me life thought he had the right to take it away.

In my darkness, the storm raged around me. I shivered, naked, in the center of it. Anger and grief choked me, crushing my lungs. My insides ripped apart, as if my very soul was trying to tear itself from my body, to follow Roman into the afterlife. It hurt so much I doubled over, heaving in breath.

I can't breathe.

I can't breathe.

I can't breathe.

"Julianna, my child." A soft hand slid on my shoulder. Through my universe of pain, I heard Father Laurence's voice. I reached for it like he was my lifeline. Father Laurence would help me.

I inhaled, loud and hoarse like a drowning woman. I had managed to find a sliver of air. A sliver of hope. I exposed my face to the Father, in all its broken rawness. "Please," I begged.

He had to help me. He had to.

He gazed at me with such worry. "Please, what?"

"A gun."

"What?" He drew back, a look of horror replacing his pity.

"They took mine from me."

"Julianna—"

"Or a knife. I'm not fussy. A knife would hurt more and it would take longer to die than a bullet but…"

The Father made a wheezing sound and grasped at the pew in front of us. "You can't be serious…"

I trained my eyes on him, my grief solidifying with purpose. "As serious as death."

"Don't be too hasty. You are young?—"

"I am young," I spat out, my words bitter. "Which means I have to spend every minute of every hour of every day for the next sixty or seventy years waiting. Waiting until I can join him."

"You… You will get over him."

That was what my father said. He lied. He'd had never gotten over the death of my mother, his love, his soulmate. Look at him now, an old lonely, hateful, bitter shell of the man he used to be.

I would not become him.

I could not live with what he'd become.

I'd rather die.

"You do not know true love if you think I can go on without Roman. I won't live as a ghost. Let me die like I should. Let me join him."

Father Laurence shook his head. "I can't. I w?—"

I grabbed the front of his shirt, my fingers twisting into his robes. "If you do not help me," my voice was as hard as bullets, "I will find someone who will."

He stared at me as I held his gaze, willing him to comprehend how determined I was.

Slowly, his shaking hands slid over mine, his eyes growing resigned. "Okay, Julianna. Okay."

* * *

Late that night,I held the tiny vial in my hand. The thick dark liquid inside looked black, but held up to the light, the edges revealed its true nature. Blood red, like wine.

The Father's words came back to me as if he were standing right next to me.

"Drink the whole bottle on an empty stomach. All of it, don't miss one drop. You'll begin to get sleepy in a few minutes. You'll sink into what feels like a sleep, then you should feel…nothing."

I had prepared for my death in a steady, logical motion. I'd cancelled my electricity, my home phone and internet account. I donated the groceries left in my pantry and fridge to the local soup kitchen down the street. I wrote out a will, a suicide note, signed them both and left them on my dining room table.

I went over to Nora's place and gave her one last hug. I threatened to give myself away when I squeezed her for too long. She just thought I was still upset about Roman. She didn't realize my veiled attempt at goodbye.

Just one last goodbye to make. My stomach tumbled around as the phone rang. It didn't matter how much I blamed him, he was still my father. He would hurt enough as punishment when he realized I was dead.

My heart fluttered with relief when my father's phone went to voice mail. His gruff voice came on over the speaker, telling me to leave a message. The same voice that rumbled "I love you" against my forehead when I was a child and he thought I was asleep. It would be the last time I would hear it. He might have killed Roman, but he was still my father and he would mourn me. I knew he would mourn me.

Beep.

"Dad? It's me… I just wanted to tell you that I know what you did to Roman. I know you shot him. I wish…" my voice cracked, "I just wish you'd gotten to know him, the real Roman. He is…was…my air. Just like Mom was yours. I can't live without him. I hope you understand. Goodbye, Dad." I hung up before I broke down.

I lay myself in bed, dressed in a long nightgown. The vial watched me from the bedside table as I played the audio recording of my mother's voice one last time, letting her voice infuse me with strength. When the recording ended, the silence was swollen.

It was time.

I picked up the vial. My future felt weightless and so delicate in my hands. A river of fear ran up my arms. What if Father Laurence had been lying? What if it was painful? Or worse, what if it didn't work?

I pushed down these thoughts. If I wanted to see Roman again, I would have the courage to drink every last drop. I focused on his face, clear in my mind. My chest filled with resolve. I unscrewed the top and dropped the tiny cork stopper. It bounced off my bed cover and rolled around on the floor somewhere.

I remembered Roman's last words to me. "My life began with you. It will end with you."

I lifted the vial up in a toast. "To endings, that are really just beginnings."

I knocked back the vial and the cool liquid hit the back of my throat. It tasted like bitter almonds and grass. I forced myself to swallow it all down.

I dropped the empty vial. I lay back on the covers, staring at my ceiling, waiting.

First, my toes and my fingers began to tingle. Then a tightness, like a frost, closed around on me. My heart thudded as a shot of fear went through me. What had I done? It wasn't too late. I could run to the bathroom and make myself throw it all up.

"Be brave," I heard Roman whisper.

The frost swept over my vision, making all my edges blurry. I embraced it. I began to float. It wasn't long before the blackness took me.