“I’m sorry for your loss.”

People keep saying that to me. Over and over, in the same pitying tone. I wish they wouldn’t. What does being sorry do? It doesn’t help. It doesn’t bring you back.

It doesn’t give me the love of my life back.

The funeral’s tomorrow. I didn’t want to go. Going would be like accepting what happened to you.

And what happened to you was foul, sickening and wrong.

I skim my fingers over your pillow and bury my face in it, breathing in your rapidly fading scent. Harry and Tom have been trying to convince me to move in with one of them, but I can’t leave here. The place where your spirit still resides.

Two weeks. Two weeks since you were taken from me. Two weeks since that awful event occurred.

I had asked Harry to stall you at his house for a couple hours so I could make us a meal. It was going to be perfect. A proper romantic gesture- something we didn’t do enough. Just before it was ready, I called you and told you to head home.

I still remember the curious amusement lilting your voice as we spoke. I replay that last phone call over and over in my head.

“This better be as good as you’re making it sound… If not, you’re making up for it in bed tonight… I’m on my way. Love you, Dougs.”

Then you hung up, after my giggled love declaration. Our last conversation. Neither of us had any clue what was coming.

You were struck a few streets down from our house. Hit and run. Witnesses say the driver hit you head on. You always preferred to walk places. I loved that about you.

The man in the car behind saw you lying there and stopped. You were alive, but too pain-stricken, too weak to move. He called 999 straight away, but you died before the ambulance arrived.

My name was the last word out your lips. A whispered plea into the enclosing darkness heard only by the man knelt beside you.

“Dougie…”

On hearing that, and seeing your eyes flutter closed, along with sensing the ambulance pull up, the man took the liberty of pulling your mobile out your jacket pocket, finding my number in the directory and calling me to inform me what had happened.

I was a little nervous already because you hadn’t arrived home and the food was ready. When my phone rang, I pounced on it:

“Danny? Where are you? Has something happened? Is Harry okay?”

However, instead of hearing your easy laugh and a teasing comment about how I worried too much and you were almost home, I heard a voice I didn’t recognise, telling me what had happened and suggesting I get there as soon as possible.

I didn’t need telling twice. I ran out the house and straight to the street, only pausing to ensure the front door was locked. When I got there you were being loaded into a stretcher. No! My perfect, beautiful Danny. No!

I ran over to where you were laid on the floor and threw myself on top of your motionless body, sobs wracking my body as I stared down at your face.

“You can’t be dead,” I whispered. “You can’t be. Don’t leave me, Danny. Don’t leave me.”

But you are dead. You did leave me. I was pried away from you as you were loaded into the ambulance. The man who had found you restrained me as they took you away. I fought him, crying for you. Screaming in agony.

“Let them do their job, son,” he said soothingly. “He’s gone.”

I allowed myself to go limp in his arms, and he released me. I fell to my knees, sobbing. Screaming your name even louder like that would make you come back to me.

Two sets of arms enclosed me on either side, hugging me tightly, and I felt both of them rest their forehead against mine. Harry was trembling, and Tom’s face was unreadable. You were his best friend for years, Danny. He doesn’t know how to react.

We were huddled like that for a long time, not sure what else to do. Then Harry stood.

“We can’t stay here all night. Come on.”

“I’ll drive us to the hospital,” Tom said. He got to his feet, pulling me with him. I clung to his chest, physically and emotionally drained.

“Do you want to do this tomorrow, Doug?” Harry asked. I shook my head. I couldn’t make you wait. I had to see you.

I sat in the back of the Mini, tears streaming down my face as Tom probably broke every driving room known to man in order to get us to the hospital in record time. Even Harry didn’t flinch over the astonishing speed.

“Where’s Danny Jones?” Tom demanded off the girl behind the desk. I was sobbing into Harry’s chest now. I didn’t seem able to hold it together. The pure reality of the situation hitting me even harder now we were in a hospital.

“Who are you?” she requested.

“We’re his band mates. He’s his boyfriend,” Harry told her, motioning to me. “I know he’s probably the only one allowed in to see him, but we’re not leaving him, and he’s going in there.”

She agreed reluctantly and led us into a small room where you were laid out on a table. My heart broke seeing you there. I let go of Harry and moved towards you, my legs steadier all of a sudden.

Even in death you were gorgeous, and it took my breath away. Your face was pale, but serene, and someone had closed the eyes that had been wide in shocked fear when I had seen you last. I moved the hair out of your face, unable to process what was going on.

I heard an outraged sob behind me, followed by crying, and I turned to see Harry slumped against the wall, one hand over his mouth as he tried to stifle himself. Seeing your body was the harsh truth for them, they’d arrived after you’d gone. Tom was simply staring, silent tears streaming down his cheeks. He moved over, and stood on the other side of you.

“He looks so calm,” he whispered, taking hold of one of your hands tightly. I skimmed my gaze down your body. Your legs were covered with a sheet. I moved it down slowly and heard Tom’s sharp intake of breath.

Your jeans were ripped, showing the leg beneath, which was bloody and mangled. They both looked broken, and were bent at weird angles. Covering them again, I leant over your face and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“I love you so much, Danny. I always will.”

We were asked to leave shortly after that. Your mum let your body be released to us, and Harry said he’d take care of the funeral arrangements. I went back to our house. They tried to talk me out of it, but I refused.

I took in the dining table with a quivering lower lip. The food I’d prepared so lovingly, thinking you were going to arrive home to enjoy it any second was still laid out neatly.

What if I had been quicker?

What if I hadn’t of asked Harry to stall you?

What if he’d given you a lift home?

There are so many what ifs, Danny. And only one truth that matters.

I love you, and this letter’s going to go inside your coffin, your casket, tomorrow as a sign of that love. Where you are buried, a token of my undying adoration will be with you.

You were my life. My light.

I wish I had been there to see the light fade from your eyes. I wish I was there to hold you, to comfort you as you died.

More than anything else, I wish you were still with me.

“We’re sorry for your loss.”

So am I. With every inch of my soul. I’ll never forget you.

I’m not going to stop living. I know that’s not what you’d want. But you’re going to be on my mind always, in everything I do.

Until my mind can function no longer.

I love you, Danny.

Yours forever, Dougs.