If you love her, let her go.

None of us even knew what was happening. I was too wrapped up in my own stupid problems to even realize the danger we were all in.

I guess I should start at the beginning. Well, the beginning of the end I guess would be more appropriate. It had been a rough couple of months, and the night before the outbreak had been a night of drinking with my friends and trying to forget. Which, admittedly, was not the best way to start out the hellish waking nightmare the next day brought to us. My girlfriend had broken up with me two months before; I had been with her since we met in art school five years ago. It came out of no where, so I thought. In her mind, I should have given her a ring years ago. To me, I didn't think it was a big deal. I suppose, to me, she was completely overreacting. I loved her, that should be enough. I'd seen enough marriages fail that I didn't see the point. Her reaction? If I loved her, I would make her happy and ask her to marry me. If we loved each other as much as we said we did, our marriage wouldn't fail. She made a valid point, but being the hard-headed man that I was, I still couldn't see why it mattered. It was at that point that she gave up. On me, on  us. She made it clear that if I wasn't ready to grow up enough to take the next step, then she didn't think she could wait for me. She gave me the choice; either I could at least entertain the thought of proposing, or I could let her go. And when I told her I didn't want to make that choice, she made it for me, and that was that. The next two months were empty. I went to work. I came home. And in the in between times, I either drank or slept. I lived with my sister (another reason Emily was upset with me, but I guess that part doesn't matter as much as now), and she, and along with my best friend Grayson, staged an intervention.  I honestly don't remember much from that conversation. I just remember being angry; we had dated for five years, and after two months they wanted me to be over it? Absurd, and unlikely. Looking back, I realize it was more about the fact that I was slowly drifting towards a bitter life of alcoholism and loneliness. The plan was this: My behavior, being hateful and argumentative, and my general unpleasantness needed to stop. We were going to invite some friends over, throw one hell of a party to get it out of my system, and after recovering from the debauchery that was sure to ensue, I was to start over. We weren't sure if this would work or not, but I knew that they were right, and this seemed the best way to end my current state with a bang. If you ask any of us about that night now, none of us can remember. Ruby, my sister, is the only one that seems to have any memories from that last night. However, no matter what we say or how we ask, she refuses to talk about it. It could be because that's the last happy memory she has to hold onto and if she shares it, it won't be hers anymore, and there's a huge chance she's remembering things wrong. So she holds onto that memory, and she doesn't talk about it. I think, in the end, it's better that way. Because after that night, the world went to hell.