Six Feet From The Edge
A/N: This is like nothing I've ever written. It's very angsty. But enjoy anyways. And press the pretty blue button to review.
Lying here in this bed, I know my end is coming. My road stops here. I am alone; I never married, had kids. My family has already passed. No company except for the nurses, doctors, surgeons, medical journalists who keep themselves going with too much coffee.
I was a surgeon once. I kept myself going with too much coffee. I was once an intern who would have stared, bewildered at a case such as this.
I am a medical record. No one has ever lived so long with the disease I'm dying of. So they study me. Poke me. Prod me. To them, I am nothing but something for the books.
I can't say I never loved. There was one. Not so long ago. And he was my everything. And I loved him.
He was going to propose, I've heard through the grapevine. He was going to take me to dinner that night, and get down on his knee, and propose to me.
But… he never did. He was shot. That night, right before he came to pick me up from our apartment. He was walking out of work, and someone was cruel enough to take his life.
I never looked back. I pretended like it was nothing. I kept my strong, tireless exterior up to its usual standards when really, my world was gone. He was my world, and he was gone.
As I lay here, now, do I regret my life? No. I know that he loved me. For everything I am, and for everything that I was then, and for everything I was going to be.
My life is dwindling. Sucked away by a disease too deadly to be saved from.
But I know he's waiting for me at that edge.
My name is Cristina Yang, and I loved Preston Burke with everything that I had.