I couldn't believe it. Anya was dead, gone. She'd done it. The whole time I was sitting around, sad about Derick, she was in agony. She was dealing with so much. She'd been dumped by her boyfriend of three years. About a week or so later, her father died. When the nurse finished, I dropped the phone and fell to the ground, sobbing. She needed me and I wasn't there. I was too busy, thinking about Derick. She'd called me, texted me so many times and I hadn't answered. I practicly handed her the rope she hung herself with. Derick hung up the phone and sat beside me. I leaned onto him and started sobbing harder. He held me and I felt a few tears falling down his cheeks, landing onto my bare arm.
The hospitial told us to come down to see her. When we arrived, they took us down to the morgue. There she was, laying on the metal table. Her tan skin looked almost as pale as mine under the harsh white light. She looked peaceful, yet cold. Dead. She was naked other than the white sheet covering her cold lifeless body. I started crying again, thinking of how I wasn't there for her. She'd always helped me, ever since I was a new kid in first grade. She defended me and became my friend. My only friend. Now, when she needed me, I wasn't there. It should be me laying there, looking cold and dead on that table. Not her, not Anya.
A week or so later, we went to her funeral. Her only family was her sister and she left after ten minutes, looking bored. A few coworkers and other friends showed up. Other than that, it was only Derick and I. I was the only one crying. Everyone else, including Derick, sat there emotionless, stone cold. When I went to see her in her coffin, she looked stunning.. Her bright red shoulder length hair was perfectly wavy, as usual. Her blue eyes, blue as the ocean were closed, but I could picture them. Bright and full of life. But now, they'd be dull, dead looking. You could see how small she was, her collarbones sticking out from the V-Neck of her black dress. She'd had an eating disorder. Bulima. She never told me, the mortician was the one to tell me. She never kept secrets, yet she hid the biggest one from me.
About a month later I decided it was time to start planning for my wedding. I poured myself some wine and took a few sips before setting it down. Derick came up behind me and said "Babe, I love you, but you really need to get out of the house sometime." I turned towards him and said "You have no fucking idea what I'm going through, so don't tell me what to do." He rubbed my shoulders and I sighed. I chugged my glass of wine before saying "I'm sorry, I just miss her." He nodded and left the room. I poured the rest of the wine into my glass.
I decided that Derick deserved a nice night. After all he'd put up with, all my drama. I planned a beautiful night and I couldn't wait.
When it was finally the day, I took him out for coffee at the place we met. When we were done, we rented a few movies and popped some popcorn. When it was around six, we went out and got a nice, fancy dinner. When we got back, I put on some nice lingerie and we did it. It was the perfect night and I think it's the first time in awhile we've been truly happy.
About a month later, I got really sick. I was really tired and was vomitting all the time. Derick stayed home for awhile, but eventually he had to go back to work. One day, when he came home for lunch, I walked into the living room. He was settled in, turning on the TV and eating a sandwich. I held up the stick, the pregnancy test and said