HI, this is more angsty thean most of yoru toher fics, but please consider it... this is just a one-shot, angst, lovely. I just want to try my hand at this, and I hope it is good.
Sometimes, I wonder. I wonder about how you make me feel. Sometimes, I often look at you, and I lose all wondering of how I got there, or what I was doing before. I know I shouldn't, but I just, I just….I don't know. I don't know how I feel, or what I'm supposed to feel. Or at least that was before. But now, I know how I feel.
I despise you.
I despise you, a word, feeling more powerful than dislike. Stronger than hate, even though hate is such a powerful effect. But I don't feel either towards you, but I despise you. I feel so much of this of you that it hurts. It swells in my heart, like the flames of hell licking at the nape of my neck, moving down towards my chest. Spreading like a cancer through my organs, causing me pain.
But you know who the cause of this is? You, you, you are the cause of this pain I am suffering from. You are the cause of my eternal hell. You know what I despise about you? I despise the way that you think you are the friends of everyone, giving everyone attention but me. I despise the way you help everyone, how you act like you are a fool, yet deep down, I know you have wisdom well beyond your years. I despise your foolishness, stupidity, naïveté, innocence.
I despise the way that I know we are meant for each other, the way that we are the same. How we are hope and light, always included in the same sentence, never in different ones. But you know what I hate most above all else? I hate your eyes.
Yes, your eyes that peer into my soul and retract my most hidden feelings and display them for the world to see. I hate how your eyes show what you are feeling, all the time, how they are like pages of a book laying wide opening on a sidewalk on a hot summer's day. I despise how your eyes always display innocence, and happiness. Why, why must you always be happy? Why do you never weep, why do you never look at the glass and think 'Oh, it's only half empty?!"? Why don't your eyebrows just move an inch lower and I can see that yes, you are frowning. Why must they always be cocked up, giving away your dazzling smile, your smile that melts my heart? My deep, cold, icy heart.
But why do I despise you? I have my reasons. How many those hundreds of reasons that I have already spoken my mind of. How many those hundreds of answers to all those questions that you always ask me. I still despise you, no matter what you do. Because you can't do anything now, you're too late.
But most of all, I despise you for leaving. I despise you for dying. I despise you for making me cry over you. Because crying is a sign of weakness, and you always told me to be strong.
I despise you now.
I despise you because I love you.
I love you because I need you, miss you.
I despise you because over all else, you broke your promise to me, my selfish, selfish promise.
Many still see her inside, in the hospital room, holding a batch of flowers. It had been three days, and she had rarely left that room. No one saw her away from that room. Only the nurses working the late shift ever saw her leave the room. Either for a bite of food, or just the toilet in the room just looked too unappealing. How long? They all wondered how long she could stay in that room. How long before she looked fate in the eyes and realized that it was his time. Many thought that she would just stay there. Perhaps hoping, hoping against hope that he would miraculously wake up, and give her a hug and a kiss before they all departed home.
She heard them. She heard their speculations, their wonders, their worries. She knew that they all cared for her, and him. But, they didn't understand. They just couldn't understand why she was there. If they tried to take her away, they just didn't know her well enough then. The flowers that she brought were on the table, growing each day, a little wearier. Her hands were clasped in his, his cold, unmoving hands. The hands that would no longer run up her sides, causing her spine to tingle. She looked at his lips, the lips that would no longer plant themselves on her own, her neck, and her cheeks. But then, she looked at those eyes, the eyes that would never look at her again, giving her a small confidence booster, even when she didn't need one.
She would cry, cry for herself? Some of them thought, or cry for him? Cry because she loved him? Or cry out of spite?
They saw her let go of his hand, and drop her own to the sides, then flail them around her and thump his chest, hoping against hope that the pain would awaken the man. Her flailing caused the flowers to fall to the floor, the petals strewing everywhere, making a mess below her chair where she sat. She laid her head on his chest, a chest that still moved, but only shallowly.
It was only a coma, she thought, but she knew. She knew that it was his time, and that sooner or later, he would leave her. But that was why she hated him. She hated him for leaving. Hated him for making her break her promise to him to be strong. But moreover, she hated him for breaking the promise he made to her.
"I promise," he said, and gently raised her head with his finger underneath her chin. "I promise that I'll never leave you."
It was a selfish promise, she knew. He could never keep that promise, never. But it was a promise nonetheless, and she kept that to his word. But promises were hard to keep, even easy ones. So that was why whenever he was near, she was nervous. Promises could be easily broken, thus, frail. Maybe it was retribution, she had broken her promise to him, and he had broken his promise to her. But that just wasn't a fair trade off! It wasn't! She didn't mean to break the promise. It was all because of him anyways! He had made her like this.
A long beep and she looked over at the monitor. 'A flat line,' she thought, 'but it couldn't be.'
Doctors came in and she was pushed out of the room. The others looked at her, but she didn't look at them. She could feel their gaze on her face. But she was strong; she wouldn't break her eye contact with him. She wouldn't, she couldn't.
"No," they heard her whisper, "You…can't…please, don't leave…come back." Her voice was hoarse, in much need of a drink of water. One of them moved towards her.
"Don't touch me!" she yelled. He sheepishly looked back at his friends, he tried.
"Come back…you promised you would…you promised you would always come back," she whispered again. She was talking to him now? Surely she didn't think that he could hear her.
She was wishing, hoping, dreaming. It was only a moment of time, a moment of time before he would push the doctors away, announce that it was all a big joke and laugh and tease her. She would be angry, then embarrassed. He would try and hit him, and fail. He would end up catching her around the waist and twirling her in the air like he always used to do.
When would he do it? Now? How about now?
The doctors pulled the blanket over his head.
No, this was wrong. This was no longer a game, she thought. He was…gone? Just like that? Faster than a snap of the fingers and the threads of his lifeline had been cut, severed just before the peak of his existence. It wasn't fair, why wasn't he still here. Why wasn't he still here with her?
She didn't want to be here now, not here, with them. But she wanted to be where he was, with him. Was it worth staying here? What did she even have here? She had nothing here. But they would try and keep her here, just for themselves. Those selfish fools, she didn't want to be here, just let her let go. Because to her, this certainly wasn't life among the living. She no longer had that glow to her, that sparkle in her eye. He had taken it along with him. He was the selfish one, they thought, taking all of those qualities with him, and stealing them away from her.
A tear fell from her, and she laughed.
This wasn't a tear out of sadness, but more of despair. How could she live now? How? Just how could she live when she knew that the one, the one most important thing to her was gone? Could they still live? She thought. If they felt what she was feeling, could they still live?
She was scared. Scared of dying alone. Scared of living without him.
She looked back at his head, now covered in the blanket. Would he pull it over his head and pop up now? She knew that he had to, he just couldn't, couldn't break a promise that he had kept. Right? Right? If he loved her, then he would be back right? He would never keep someone that loved him so much in pain for so long. He would never leave someone he loved so much alone. So if he truly loved her, then he would come back. After all, that was his promise.
She looked once again at the flowers on the ground. Once they were so innocent, so pure. Now they were all crinkled and stepped over. Broken.
She started crying again.
The others could tell. She despised him.
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