Nothing Felt Quite Finished

The world was gray and cold for Vix; no color, no warmth, like a dream where nothing chased you, but nothing held you either. Even the trees, stripped bare by winter’s grasp, stood like skeletons frozen beneath an unyielding sky. The air was cold but not sharp, thick but not smothering, just enough to remind them that the warmth they once knew was gone and would not return anytime soon.

They stood side by side, not together, just there, beside each other. Vix’s arm had been looped through Gabe’s as they walked to the grave, but that was ceremonial, a necessity born of expectation, not closeness or affection. As soon as they reached her place, where the open earth waited, she dropped his arm; he didn’t react, he understood. He stepped back into the crowd, leaning on his cane for balance. He meant nothing to her other than the man in the back room, trying to heal after some mission. “Mom was always caring for broken or wounded men with whom she worked.”

There was no headstone, only the dark abyss of the freshly dug grave, the casket lying just above. Not yet lowered. Not yet covered. Just waiting.

Vix didn’t speak, just lowered her head and stared into the abyss. There was nothing to say.

The funeral unfolded around her, but she didn’t participate. The priest recited empty, hollow verses. Mourners murmured quiet condolences, words spoken without meaning, sounds fill the air but fail to reach her heart. Vix barely heard them, retreating further into herself, barely recognizing the people who once surrounded her mother in life.

She didn’t actually know anyone on an intimate basis; not even her friends from college were there for her. As for her mom’s family, even if they had attended, she wouldn’t know; they were… foreign… distant, she didn’t even know if they existed. “Do they know Mom is dead? Do they know that I’m here? Does anyone know I’m still here?”

Carlos—“I think that’s his name”—spoke to Gabe, low, muted, something she didn’t bother to decipher. “Doesn’t matter. He doesn’t matter. Gabe certainly doesn’t matter.” She repeated it like a fact, but in truth, she was trying to convince herself. Because, despite everything, despite her resentment, despite the emptiness between them, Gabe was there, he may have been the only one who knew she was still there. He was there, “but only until he was ready to go back to wherever he came from.”

Gabe stood back, faded in the crowd, not near her, or in her orbit. He would have tried to comfort her, he knew what it was like to lose. Yana was more than his boss, she was his mentor, he loved Yana, not romantically, but he would have died for her, just the same. But he also knew it wasn’t his place. And, no matter how much he hated it, he knew he wasn’t welcome.

Carlos attempted to talk to her, but she offered nothing in return. He left without further words, also fading into the crowd, vanishing altogether from the site and her life.

Back at the house, the heat was too much. The humidity from so many voices packed in too small a space, was oppressive. Stifling. It clung, making her skin prickle, it made her breath come too fast. She needed out, needed cool air, she needed quiet, space…

But she was trapped.

So instead, she escaped to the only place that still felt like hers, where she could be herself. Slipping upstairs, she closed the door and left the heat and the world behind. The voices muted, but their weight lingered, low murmurs pressed against the wood, thick and inescapable.

She didn’t move; she didn’t turn on a light, just lowered herself to the floor, her back to the door as she stared out the window at the grey afternoon. Pulling an album from beneath the bed, she looked at the pages without seeing them—memories that didn’t remember, faces that didn’t speak, pictures worth no words.

Losing sense of time, she had no idea how long it had been since the voices finally departed, when the presence of others had finally faded.

The house, once suffocating and heavy, was now empty of everything and everyone… except her and Gabe.

She heard him moving around, but knew he wasn’t coming up, he could barely stand.

“Vix,” he called up gently, “Are you hungry? There’s plenty of food and I’ll never be able to eat it all. It’s been a long day; you should probably eat something.” His voice was quiet, restrained, it was warm, but not warming.

He waited for a few seconds, listening for an answer he didn’t expect.

Nothing.

He didn’t try to force his way into her world. He just stood there at the bottom of the steps, leaning on his cane, for a moment longer.

“Goodnight, Vix.”

She sat still, motionless in a room that was hers, but in a house that was no longer home.

After a heartbeat or two, she heard him shuffling down the hallway to the spare bedroom, closing the door, and… silence. She still didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t cry. She felt nothing.

The dark night approached. The grief remained. The moment stretched.

Vix lay in bed, sheets clenched tightly in her hands, as if they might be ripped from her hands and clinging onto them was the only thing keeping her together. Sleep eluded her. She barely breathed. She stayed still, awake, suspended in the moment, aware of the void seeping into her soul.

Downstairs, in his room, Gabe lay quietly, staring at the ceiling. He didn’t sleep immediately; the pain in his side came in waves as it tried to heal. Yana had done well in stitching him; this wasn’t on her, it was on him. Patience was a strength, he had to be doing something, but moving meant stretching, and stretching meant pulling which only delayed the healing. He couldn’t help but blame himself, “If I had been on there, Yana would be here.” He didn’t cry, but a single tear welled. “I’m sorry, Yana… I’m sorry, Vix.” He finally slept, but not well.

Two souls in the same house, separated by more than distance. Neither seeking nor offering comfort. Just existing. Just enduring.

Finally, the cold morning came. Gabe drank his coffee while Vix packed her car… if you can call it that. “There’s no way that thing lasts much longer,” he thought to himself. It looked like a stiff breeze would blow it off the road. He’d seen more reliable-looking cars on the back streets of San Salvador. “I wonder if she’d let me take her back? Doubt it. Why would she?” He walked out onto the front porch.

“Do you want me to take you back? The roads are pretty nasty, and I’m not sure there’s much life left in that car,” he offered half-heartedly, expecting her rejection.

Poor choice of words, Gabe.

She froze half a second, “No, I’m good. I’ll be fine.” The heat rose as her cheeks turned red. “Mom said it was good,” Vix continued, half genuine, the other part a mix of “hell no I don’t want your help. I don’t need your help. I don’t want anything from you. Just leave me alone,” and “who are you say anything about my car, which my mom got me?”

Vix’s mom, Yana, had learned to value quiet discipline. She had money, more than Vix had ever known, but she never lived like it. Necessity required humility, not flash. The house was modest, the car functional, or it was supposed to be. And she was trying to teach Vix that strength didn’t require spectacle or indulgence. It wasn’t about scarcity, it was about control and security. Keeping a low profile drew fewer questions. Gabe saw it. Vix was her mother’s daughter, even if she didn’t understand the depth of it yet.

Vix knew her mental outbursts weren’t justified. “It isn’t his fault. He wasn’t even there when Mom died.” If she were honest with herself, he had tried to be nice and stay out of sight in the house, whether she liked it or not.

“Got it,” Gabe replied, a little relieved, because he was worn out after yesterday.

But still, things weighed heavy on him, maybe even guilt for her. “I’m sorry, kid. Wish I could make it go away, wish I could bring her back,” he thought. “Well, be careful, let me know if you have any trouble.”

Something stopped Vix. Maybe Yana was trying to tell her, “Don’t leave it like this. He’s hurting too, you know, just not the same as you.” Vix relented, “Fine, Mom.”

She walked back up onto the porch, “Are you going to be ok, here by yourself?”

Startled by this unexpected and uncharacteristic interest, he just nodded, “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Carlos will be by later to check on me.”

“Ok, well, I’m only 25 minutes away. if you need something, I can be here pretty quick. My number is by the phone.”

“Appreciate it, but don’t worry, I’ll be fine.” He noticed for the first time she wasn’t wearing her typical goth makeup. “Pretty girl, looks like her mom a little. But those eyes… green, those are different.”

“Well, okay. I’d better get on the road. Take care of yourself,” she said with a blank, but not indifferent tone.

“Yeah. You too, Vix. Good luck.”

As she drove away, he hobbled back into the house and poured himself another cup of coffee before sitting down on the couch, the energy drained out of him from standing too long.

“Well, that’s that,” he tried to convince himself, but nothing felt quite finished.