Chapter 9 – Calliope (Epic Poetry)
His fingers trail over my arm
The last remnant of someone only I know, and then he's gone
Who will hold his hand when he leaves the world?
I had started to leave the camera at home for these visits. Roger waved weakly with an IV laced hand when I came into the room.
I took the oxygen mask off of his face and sat on the side of his bed. He reached for my hand and I let him take it.
"I'm sorry." He said.
"You're always sorry, Rog." I told him.
"I didn't want it to be too late this time."
I sighed. It had gotten to be too late for me to tell him he was being stupid about his condition.
"Take me home, Mark." He said. "I don't want to die here."
"I can't die here." And then he'd started to cough.
You were so beautiful
You've done it all and wish you hadn't
And you won't always be here
But I will
I had touched his face with the same sort of fear and horror that he'd touched April's hands with. His eyes were closed and he looked like he was sleeping, but he didn't look nearly as beautiful as April did when she died. I had never seen Mimi or Collins buried. I had stayed home with Roger who couldn't bear to go.
Roger's eyes were sunken and bruised. He was thinner than I've ever seen him and his skin was gray and starting to wrinkle. He was only 29 and looked about 45.
I leaned over the casket and kissed his forehead.
"I'll miss you, Rog." I told him. "Maybe we should have fallen in love. We might have found a place together."
I sighed. "But then what would this mean?"
I touched his thinning hair gently and kissed him again.
"I think I'm supposed to die of a broken heart now." I told him. "But it just feels empty."
Notes: Thanks for reading! I'm not sure of the point of this story or if it's actually M/R or not. But I hope you've enjoyed it anyway. :D