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Cove sat on the poppy hill, staring out at the waves in the distance. It had been months now since Ophelia had lost her breath in the tide. He could almost imagine it, if he tried hard enough. The police had told them all the likely set of events, and if he focused, his mind played him through it, putting him in his soulmate’s shoes.
She had stood in the water for over an hour, simply waiting. For what? Nobody could quite figure it out. Maybe for someone to stop her. He wished he’d stopped her. Still, she had stayed there, gazing out at the sea she had loved so much for so long. Then, she took one final step forward, and dropped the bag of sand gathered from that very beach she had tied to her ankle. She was pulled down, down, down, that beautiful red dress she loved so much fluttering around her as she sank. How long had it felt like? Hours, days, years? It was only a few seconds.
She was gone before anyone had the chance to stop her. She had thrashed and fought as her survival instincts kicked in. Even drawn blood from her own legs as she struggled to untie the rope. It was no use. Waterlogged and thick, it refused to come untied. Ophelia hadn’t gone peaceful like she’d always wanted. It had been a violent affair. Cove could remember that lazy day so clearly.
They had been lying on Ophelia’s bed, scrolling through her phone together, when she said it, unprompted. I want to go in silence. Cove had been confused at first, pushing her as to what, exactly, she meant. Go? Go where? Die. I don’t want it to hurt. It doesn’t matter when or how, as long as it doesn’t hurt. He hadn’t had a response. What do you say to that; to the love of your life predicting their own death? Silence had been both his friend and enemy. By the time he found the words, it was all too late.
The bag had come loose on its own, once she stopped fighting. Her body wanted to float, and it wasn’t quite heavy enough to keep her down. Ophelia’s body drifted for a time. Three days to be exact. Cove could recount in excruciating detail what those days had felt like, as the large search had begun. The police looked inland first, scouring the town over and over again for any sign as to where the missing girl had gone. She had never called into work, never started her car, never packed a bag. Cove tried his best to help, pointing them to all her favorite spots. But not the most important one. No, that one had vanished into the depths of his memories, lost until it was far, far too late.
The note was found in the little cliff-face cave they had frequented as children. Tucked beneath her shoes to keep it from blowing away, and written in that familiar neat script. It was a bit wet from the salty spray when it was found, but still readable. Cove would never forget the words Ophelia had written. He would never forget the little splotches where her tears had fallen, or the places she had scribbled out something she was going to say. What was it, that didn’t make the all important cut?
I’m sorry, it had read, the words fitting perfectly within the lines of the paper. This had been a long time coming, but I never wanted it to go like this. I’ve been so tired. For so long. Everything felt as if it were a burden, something I had to carry. Even the happy moments hurt. Living hurt. Existing hurt. It all hurt. And I didn’t know how to stop the pain. It lessened at times, but it never disappeared. How was I meant to keep on living, when each breath felt like gravel in my lungs? I am sorry, I am, really. I know I’m hurting the people I love by doing this, but I can’t keep moving forward like everyone tells me to. I left my will stuck under my desk. I had help drafting it, it will work. Goodbye. - Ophelia de la Rose
They found her body only hours later, when it washed up on shore. She was still wearing that dress, though her skin was now pallid and waxy. Cove buried his head in his hands as the memories overwhelmed him. There was so much history, and she had done away with it in one fell swoop. Gone were the late nights spent in each others’ rooms. Gone were the water balloon fights and lemonade stands and running aways and dinner mishaps and long car rides and… The list was never ending.
He couldn’t help but think of her family, of all the things they must be thinking behind closed doors, when there were no neighbors to keep up appearances for. Did they ever go into her room and see all the things she left behind? The heart shaped sunglasses and pressed flowers. The filled sketchpads stacked on her shelf and the scented candles in a neat line. The box of old shells that still smelled of the sea and the notes from Cove, all bound in a tidy stack with vintage looking twine. The band tees and colorful posters. The lava lamp that hadn’t worked in four years and the fuzzy slippers she never used. Did they sit on her still made bed and look around, hearing her laughter, her voice, her whatever?
Or did they keep the door firmly closed, allowing the things within to gather dust? Did they set out three plates for dinner, only to call for the daughter that would never come? First Liz, leaving for college and a life beyond Sunset Bird. And then Ophelia, walking into the water and letting it cover her head, steal her breath, still her heart. Oh, how it must have hurt for her to go. There was no child left to say good morning to. No fourth member to fill the frame. Gone was the gentle grace of the second daughter. Gone was the soft laughter of a girl gone too soon. She could never come back, not this time.
Cove got to his feet, turning away from the hill she had claimed so long ago. Ophelia was no longer there. There was nowhere he could go to find her that wasn’t haunted now. The roar of the sea was forever tainted. Part of him wanted to blame her, to get angry and scream that if she had just held on a little longer he could have saved her. But maybe he couldn’t. Maybe this was always going to happen. He would be lying if he said he’d been surprised when he heard. Shocked, of course. But it made sense, looking back. He couldn’t remember her ever speaking of a life beyond eighteen. Life ended with graduation in Ophelia’s mind.
She was gone now, he had to remember that. Gone to the water, just like her namesake had in turn. History always found a way to repeat itself.
Cove kept walking away from the memories, away from the ghost of her. He couldn’t help but wonder why. Why, why, why? Why had she given up? Why had she stopped fighting? He knew that wasn’t fair, knew that he could never truly understand what she had been going through. These were selfish thoughts. But Cove Holden had never been afraid of being selfish.
His own house was silent. Everything had been so quiet since she had gone. It was as if the whole town was holding its breath, waiting for her to come back from wherever she had gone. She couldn’t come back, he reminded himself once more. She was never coming back. Cove retreated to his bedroom, closing the door behind him. He collapsed down onto his bed, looking over at the wall, where a set of photos hung. Him and Ophelia. Ophelia and him.
She was smiling in them, in that special way of hers. Quiet, a bit reserved, but so beautiful. She’d always been like that. As if afraid to laugh too loud, as if scared she would be told she could not smile. Cove couldn’t count the times she’d stopped herself before laughter escaped her, the times she’d looked pained when she began to smile, burying it down. Always so quiet. Always so in pain.
He should have seen it coming, he thought. There were signs, ones that were so glaringly obvious looking back. She hadn’t bothered to apply to colleges, even though her grades were incredible. She had never even spoken to where she wanted to go, what she wanted to do. Cove floundered through his plans, and she simply listened. Ophelia did a lot of that. Listening. Nodding along. Humming in agreement. Nothing more, nothing more. God, how had he missed it?!
She had vanished so completely so often. Cove had asked where she went, why she never answered his phone. She simply shrugged and never answered. The police had told them she must have spent a lot of time in that little cave. Surrounded by forgotten things… did she begin to think of herself as one too? He had been allowed to look through all the things they’d found there. The orange shell he had been so enamored with as a child. A bag of chocolate chip cookies so stale they made noise when tapped against the table. A couple of notes from childhood, misspelled and messily written, barely readable from all the time and salty air. A pair of old flashlights with corroded batteries. And, of course, the note. The fucking note.
Cove still couldn’t fully understand why. She had seemed happy enough, with him. Fine. Business of usual. And then one day she was gone, and the town descended into chaos. It was like when they’d run away at eight years old, except this time the worst thing happened. She had called him, that day. Probably before she even left her house. Just to chat, not about anything in particular. He’d listened to her tell a story about finding a hurt bird. He’d wondered why she sounded like she wanted to cry. But he hadn’t said anything about it. If he had, would she have survived? Would she have shredded the note and stayed inside? He couldn’t know, but that didn’t stop him from hating himself.
Suicide. It was such an ugly word. It didn’t fit his beautiful Ophelia. Yet it was what she had done. It was what she had chosen. He realized then that hot tears were flowing from his eyes. Crybaby, she would have teased softly, wiping his tears away delicately. Cove sat up, hunching over and gripping his hair in his hands. He wanted to tear it out, tear everything apart, go back to a time when he didn’t feel so empty. But he couldn’t. It was too late. There was nothing to be done.
How was he meant to survive the world without her? He didn’t know. He didn’t understand. Why, why, why? No answers came. Cove curled in on himself.
World gone. Girl gone. Oh, Ophelia…