A/N Well I have no excuse for writing this, other than the fact it needed to be.
I hope you take it for what it is, a moment in time when your thoughts and feelings are no-longer your own.
I would like to thank the awesomeness which is prassacut the author of Roads for pre reading, advising and basically holding my damn hand through this process.
A big thanks goes out to Yulliah Meghan author of the new o/s Suitcase her ability to kick my sorry ass into gear during writing circles still amazes me and without her push and determination I would never have made it.
And last but not least, I need to sing the praises of my wonderful Beta Deβra Anne she rocks my world and her dedication sometimes overwhelms me. So a big thank you to her.
With all that said, feel free to read on.
I feel my fingers tremble, sweating slightly as I desperately start unbuttoning my suit jacket, hurriedly making my way down the stark corridor. The clicking of my dress shoes on the tiled white floor is the only noise drowning out the machines and hushed commotion in the background.
Quickening my pace as I pass their work station, I do my best to avoid their stares, determined to keep my eyes averted towards the gleaming, pearly white floor. Cause seriously, their pitiful glances make it worse. Their glaring doesn't make me feel any better. They try to smile - and I know they want to help - doing their best to comfort and console me, but it's small, and it's sad, and it never really reaches their eyes anyway. And if I'm being honest, it doesn't fucking help. Nothing fucking helps anymore, so I stopped returning them a long time ago. Why the hell they still bother is beyond me. I'd rather be left to wallow in my own thoughts, than have their merciful glares and grins forced upon me. So yeah, the stark white, pearly floor and I have become somewhat intimately acquainted over the past several months.
Sighing deeply, releasing my tie and fidgeting with the top button of my shirt, I huff disgustedly to myself. When the fuck did I become this man? When the fuck did I start to change? When the hell did I stop wanting or desiring others' comfort and concern? I listen as a growl rises in my chest, its accompanying pain making me swallow hard as my belly cramps, cause honestly, I God damn remember exactly when it started. Truthfully, how the hell could I ever forget? I let the pain wash over me as I sadly remember, oh too well, every second - every minute - every God damn anguishing hour, knowing deep in my soul that these would be memories I'd rather chose to forget, but regrettably, I never will. And as I agonizingly let myself think back, my eyes involuntarily and painstakingly fall shut, cause in total, it has been exactly four months, two weeks, and three fucking days.
Four and a half months of three times a day, every day, and all day on the weekends, doing the same God damn shit! I go to work now - well I try - I'm there, but I'm not. The others try to understand, yet sometimes, and only because I see it in their sad, pathetic eyes, they don't. But at this moment in time, I really can't find it in me to give a flying fuck about what they think or how much they need to God damn understand.
I'm constantly spinning out of control. Every nerve is on fire, and the smoldering within my clammy skin seems to have no end. Every sense is heightened - maybe even enlightened - enabling me to feel the chilling cold blood rush through my veins and pound frantically in my now dark, numb heart. I know I'm the shell of the man I once was. I'm accepting the fact that some people now see and view me as lost and annihilated, but truthfully I can't find it in me, no matter how hard I try- to give a God damn fuck.
It's hard to get my mind to rest, or for that matter, sit still. And I'd be fucked if anything really made sense to me at this point. It pains me in the knowledge that maybe it never will. Nothing seems worthwhile; nothing seems worth fighting for or concerning myself over. This stark white building consumes me, it has become my life. Raising my shaky fingertips, I press them sternly against my temple, as the thought of When the hell did all that change? crosses my mind. Because God knows HE! has always been my life. God knows WE! would never in our wildest dreams, have asked for this.
I slow my pace as I approach the room, slipping off my jacket and folding it over my arm, coming to a complete stop outside the door. I close my eyes and run my shaky fingers through my hair, inhaling deeply before I wrap my sweaty hand around the handle and take a nervous step across its threshold.
The room is dimly lit. A shaded bulb above his head casts a grayish hue across the bed. My eyes squint as they do their best to adjust to the light quickly. It's evening, so I notice that the shades have already been drawn, and the room, though small and dark, does not come across as cozy or comfortable. It's like all the others we've been in lately, it's like all the others we've revisited over and over these last few months. It's cold and dismal, and to me, it feels unsettling, and at times downright demoralizing.
I sigh deeply as I approach the bed, turning slightly, placing my jacket over the back of the armchair, routinely pulling back the plastic dinner tray that they've so graciously placed in front of him. The untouched food makes my chest hurt more, and a whimper tries to raise its ugly head in the back of my throat. I bite my lip, forbidding it to escape, cursing it for even having to exist. The melting bucket of ice cubes on the nightstand catches my eye, and rattles as I push it aside, reminding me to ring the buzzer and request a new one to get us through the night.
And as I'm about to sit down, bringing the chair closer to the bed, she quietly enters the room. I don't acknowledge that she's even there, though I watch her swiftly move from the corner of my eye. Her existence means nothing to me, cause for now - in this moment - she is just a means to an end. So lifting the half empty bucket, I somewhat angrily swing it in her direction, shaking it obnoxiously with my outstretched hand.
My eyes close tight and I watch stars dancing behind the lids when I strain too hard against my sockets, letting the feeling of disgust and uselessness for myself wash over me. Cause in my tortured soul, I know she feels bad, she's trying her best to show it. In my hardened heart, I know there's nothing she can do, and she's been trying to tell me otherwise, as I hear her whispered apologies fall upon my ears. But the new me shakes it off quickly, the new, selfish me demands that I recover fast, cause fuck knows I have no time for this, and I definitely have no patience for this stupid everyday bull shit.
Reaching for the newly filled bucket and taking a cube between my shaky, lean fingers, I bring it gently to his dry, chapped lips. I sigh in relief, thankful to be finally left alone in my misery, as I hear the door click closed when she nervously scurries from the room. And as I faintly and somewhat gingerly rub the melting die over his once-beautiful, pouty mouth, my other hand softly slides under his stilled clammy palm, which is face down on the bed, and forcefully entwines our fingers. Needing contact, still yearning for his touch, I wince somewhat when his thin-skinned bones nip my flesh lightly as our hands embrace.
My heart stops momentarily and my breath hitches, as I try quickly and desperately to recover my composure. My hearing strains against the noise of his machines, as the beeps and pumps play havoc within my eardrums. Tilting my head slightly, I lean in, needing, like always, to hear his smooth Texas drawl, just wanting him to accept the fact that I'm here, and acknowledge my presence with our old familiar welcome.
Gently pressing our palms together, doing my utmost to cause him as little pain as possible, I feel my eyes glaze with un-shed tears, as I slowly lean in and place a soft, trembling kiss upon his humid forehead, my nose pushing his blond, thinning hair to one side, enabling my mouth to linger on his dry, taut, cooling skin.
Sucking a deep staggered breath into my lungs, choking back the emotions threaten to overtake and consume me, I let my mind reply to our long lost endearment.
I'm here, Jasper. Can you hear me? I'm always here. Please hear me. There's no other place I'd rather be, sweetie. Cause there's no other place that I belong, but by your side.
But as my chest grows tighter and my weary, aching heart slows its excited pace, his endearing greeting never comes, cause his soft, creamy voice has been silenced and hijacked for a while now, by this deadly diagnosis.
No longer wanting to take my seat, I hover over his weakened, lifeless form, and as his body senses my closeness, his dim, clouded, baby blue eyes flutter open, and he does his best to grant me a small, heartbreaking smile, which I try to return the best I can. Burying my face in his hair, determined to hide my hurt and frustration, I inhale him deeply, softly rubbing the tip of my nose through his dehydrated golden strands. The aroma makes me choke back a strangled complaint, as the unfamiliar scent invades my nostrils - the smell of disinfectant, antiseptic and decay causes my stomach to turn - as foul bile rests on the back of my tongue, making my eyes water when the filthy acid burns the inside of my mouth.
Resting my head gently on his bony shoulder, needing a minute to gather my thoughts, I pray for a second to regain my composure. I let my heavy, tired eyes fall shut, and cringe when the dampened lashes dust my cheeks, cause my brain won't give up. It feels the need to continue this fuckery, helping me afflict more welcomed pain upon myself with its delusional thoughts.
Fuck! I miss him already! Fuck! I don't want him to go. I just want the complete him back in my arms! Just to kiss him in that one spot, the one right behind his left ear- the one I know will drive him crazy! Just to have the pleasure of feeling his warm, supple skin glide against mine as I watch him come undone.
My mind drifts to the last time we made love, the last time I had him wrapped in me. It has decided to torture and torment, it has come to the conclusion that my heartache and pain aren't enough, and does its utmost to push itself to remember his musky, sweet smell in the air, and his salty, honeyed taste on my tongue.
I've become a selfish bastard, I know. I'm greedy fucker. So sue me! And at times I've been told that I'm insensitive. Whatever! I don't care! They all need to get the hell over it.
Is it wrong that I hate this for happening? I curse whomever will listen for its existence. Is it wrong that I want others to take his place? In my back pocket is a list of names to prove it. Is it wrong for me to be angry at him for having to leave me? Knowing damn well he couldn't stay even if he tried. And is it wrong that all I want him to do is fight, fight harder. Fight, God damn it! For me! Yes me! Knowing he's unable, knowing it's not his choice or his plan, but despising him for it anyway. Well, you tell me, is all that wrong? Yeah! Selfish! Greedy! And insensitive describes me to a T right now!
Pulling back, letting my weary gaze drink him in, I sigh deeply, then once again take up residence to continue my surveillance in the uncomfortable hospital supplied recliner. Resting my elbows on the bed, pushing myself to the edge of the seat, I take his thin, cold hand in both of mine. I tenderly kiss each and every knuckle and fingertip, as my heavy heart and ears listen to him struggle and toil to suck much needed oxygen into his overworked, perishing lungs.
I'm abruptly taken out of my musing when I hear the door click open, and not so silently close again. The sound causes me to draw an angry breath deep into my lungs, and sit a little straighter. I'm unwilling to investigate the identity of our nightly intruder, but their mumbled weak apologies fall unwelcome upon my tired ears, as they scurry towards the bed. The pissed off, furious-for-being-disturbed -me, pays them no mind, nor gives a fuck why they're really even here in the first place.
But this seems to be their new routine, an every fifteen minute check on my now dying man's vitals, as he scrambles to stay in the moment and struggles against every pump of his failing heart, determined not to make it his last.
I listen, frustrated, squeezing my eyes shut tight, as whomever it is grabs the clipboard from the hook located at the foot of his bed. I huff disgustedly as I hear them hem and haw over the information printed upon it. The thought that they think their input will change a God damn thing aggravates me to no end. I watch wearily, under cover of my lashes, as she turns up the dial of his morphine drip and turns down the volume of his heart monitor. It's a slight change, but my ears have become so accustomed to the noise, that they now fill with a high pitched hum when the eerie silence invades them.
Striving to regain control, sucking in damp, humid air, my eyes slowly flutter open, mistakenly coming in contact with our nightly intruder's gaze. She's younger than the rest, and I'm sure someone would view, or even admire, her as attractive. But my ability to deem anything alluring or beautiful no longer exists; my hatred for this breathing-walking-happy-world, is obscured by my loathing and disregard for anything with a strong pulse.
As my eyes meet hers, and I watch her bite nervously down on her tight-lipped small smile, I unwillingly, momentarily, give her insight into my grief-stricken heart, as haunted tears escape the confines of their lidded prison, and take the journey over my cheekbones, slipping saltily between my clenched lips. My acid-filled mouth welcomes the new flavor as my throat swallows hard to savor it. But I don't want or need her pity or concern, so my weary gaze diverts towards the table in the corner, the sight causing me to whimper slightly before giving me the chance to catch my breath, as all the dead, droopy flower arrangements glare mockingly back at me.
The staff has been warned not to dispose of them, I've ordered them never to be touched, cause I've found the need to be taunted by their presence, void of color and life. Their existence reminds me of my failure as a devoted partner and friend. At first they were delivered in droves, happy family friends and florists taking over the room, and the aroma filling the small space, bringing a weary but bright smile to Jasper's pained features. But as the cancer quickly fed upon and digested every God damn inch of my beautiful boy's frame, I turned every person away, scaring them into exile with my greed and selfishness, exhaustingly and angrily damning them all to hell, just wanting and feeling the need to wallow in my own pity and personal hatred.
Her soft cough brings my attention back to her presence. Her eyes squint when she recognizes the annoyance that floods my features, as I'm unable and unwilling to disguise or hide it. I huff disgustedly, reluctantly releasing his frail hand and placing it back on the cover of the bed. Before throwing myself wearily against the chair, and as my fingers find purchase on my thigh, angrily twisting the material of my dress pants, I use my other hand to rub my closed damp eyes, hoping the pressure will relieve some of the pounding in my screaming tornado-filled demented brain.
Then I devilishly smirk, releasing a dark, throaty, humorless chuckle, as I hear her regain a little courage and question me. "Excuse me. Mr Cullen?"
Fuck! Do I look like I need this shit! Right now!
Yet she seems to need to continue. "Mr Cullen, is there anything you need to make you more comfortable? Can I get you anything?"
Jesus H Christ! Can they ever fucking stop? Is it too much to ask for a moment of peace? Is it too selfish to want just a little fucking privacy?
Just wanting her to go the fuck away, I answer her sternly. "No!"
But the naive bitch doesn't listen, and still continues with her fucking comforting tone. "Are you sure? Maybe a cup of hot coffee or tea? Just something to help you relax. Does that sound good? What do you think?"
And as my gaze makes its way to the ice bucket on the nightstand, the now melting chips floating on a bed of water, rage and anger consume me, and I can't help myself but lash out through gritted teeth at my unexpected victim. "Really! Seriously! Nurse..." My crazed stare darts to her name-tag, as she steps back horrified at my outburst. "Nurse Pam - or whatever the fuck your name is - do you seriously fucking think I need to relax? Whatever would have given you that fucking idea? And no! Thank you. But no! I do not need or want a hot cup of coffee or tea to relax me right now. The moment you can bring my boyfriend a hot cup of whatever, and a meal that his now diminished stomach can handle, is the day you can bring me anything you fucking want or desire. Until then..."
I'm cut short when a small, painful groan from the direction of the bed distracts me. Shocked, as I now find myself on my feet wondering how the hell I even got there in the first place, not remembering ever having moved from the chair, I race to his side, taking his hand in mine. And as I brush his thin hair from his forehead, I quietly and nervously shush him, doing my utmost to ease his worries and distress, sighing deeply and kicking myself mentally for being such a hateful fucker, as once again I hear her small, hurt sobs and the muffled click of the room door as it shuts behind her.
Rubbing two small chips across his lips, groaning wearily to myself as I watch his tongue dart between them, trying desperately to quench his thirst. I angrily dip my fingers into the ice cold water bucket, urgently wanting to give him what he yearns for. I slip them into his mouth, hungrily sliding them around the contours his cavity. His weakened sucks and slurps, and his eagerness to be satisfied tears at my heart, greedily wanting him to hold on, needing him desperately to fight harder, promising to all that would listen that I could spend the rest of my dreary life tending and serving his every whim, if I was only given the chance to do so. But I know in my soul he would be better off just leaving, know in my core, that it will be the only true rest and peace he will ever achieve.
Brushing the straw-stiff strands of hair from his sunken, tortured face, I find myself needing a minute to breathe fresh air - just a second to center and pull whatever is left of me together, before I finally fall over the edge, before I let myself tumble into the abyss. Making sure he is as comfortable as possible, I roughly grab my jacket from the back of the chair, and let the heavy pounding in my tight chest carry me from his grief-stricken room, pulling me in the direction of the elevators.
I exit the building, urgently wanting to get away. My brain needs a moment - just a second - to be free and at peace. The abyss is in my sights; I sense it wanting to overtake and consume me. The urge to drown and be suffocated by it makes my skin tingle in relief, as I think darkly to myself. Fuck! I've finally reached my limit. I am now a broken man. I have nothing left to give. There is nothing more to salvage.
But as the surge of adrenaline rolls through every vein, my body starts to tremble and vibrate under the pressure. My head starts to spin slightly, and I listen excitedly as my shoes click heavily and fast against the paved sidewalk. They're trying to tell me to escape, pushing me forward and away. My dark, numb heart leaps in my chest as the thought of finally being free washes over me. But then I'm stopped abruptly as I'm pulled up short, letting my memories take over drowning in disgust, realizing my mind had just been stuck on pause. Now it's feeling the need to jolt me back to reality, determined to keep me in this moment.
Ashamed of myself for entertaining such notion, I listen, terrified, as profound hiccup sobs growl deep in my now bottomless chest. Letting my head and shoulders hang heavy between my blades, I find a quiet shadow-filled hiding place located at the side of the building. Leaning back against the brick facade, stretching my weary, stressed limbs, I let the cool night air surround and blanket me as I desperately suck it hungrily into my lungs, savoring the string it creates in the back of my nostrils and throat. My skin dances with goose bumps as the cool wind dusts it, the sensation painstakingly reminding me that I am - for now - still alive.
"Fuck!"I angrily scream into the night air.
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! cries desperately in my head, as I let it fall repeatedly against the wall behind me.
Selfishness dominates my thoughts, letting my mind drift and weigh all options, cause I really don't know how much more I can God damn take. I really don't fucking know how much longer I can hold on. The remorse-filled and heartbroken me needs for him to fight and fight harder, longing for him to stay, wanting him to be forever by my side. But the narcissistic and self-centered me needs and craves for this to be over, eager for it to end and put me out of my God damn misery, so my mind, body and soul, for the first time in months, can finally be at peace.
He just needs to fucking die already! Get this over with and be done. He just needs to give the fuck up already! Stop hanging on and pretending to be brave. What the hell is he waiting for anyways? What the fuck is keeping him here for so long? It's not like he knows what's going on, or, for that matter, even understands what the fuck is happening. Cause seriously! If he did, he wouldn't make me suffer like this!
Lighting my cigarette, I suck the well-deserved nicotine into my strangled lungs, needing it to relax and comfort me. I run my shaking fingers through my hair, urging the depressing and malaise-stricken thoughts to wreck and overwhelm me some more, as I welcome the pain.
Edward Anthony Cullen! When the hell did you become such a hard-hearted, selfish son of a bitch? When the fuck did Jasper start meaning so little that you would just let him fucking go?
Dragging deep on my smoke, watching uninterestedly as the cloud releases itself from my lips and freely dances on the night air, I continue my dark, meaningless musing.
I'll tell you when! Edward Anthony Fucking Cullen. It was the second you stepped out of that doctor's office. No! No! Hold on! Wait! Or was it the minute that doctor opened his big fat fucking mouth, and dared to use the word cancer? No, that wasn't it, hold on! I got it! I got it this time. It was the second the smug bastard tried his best to act all worried and concerned, knowing rightly what he was doing, as he pushed his hateful fucking diagnosis upon you. Or wait, maybe it was… Oh fuck! There're so many, I can't keep up. But I'm sure it was the God damn day this disease intruded and trespassed upon my life, raping me of any dreams, hopes and fantasies for any type of future.
Pushing myself angrily off the wall, throwing my smoke to the ground, I make my way back around the building. My form trembles in rage as I slip off my jacket and enter the Plexiglas doors. Without making eye contact or daring to utter a single word, I heavy-footedly make my way back to his room.
Once again inside, I'm washed and consumed in guilt. My personality seems to take on the atmosphere of my surroundings, these four dismal walls sucking me in and draining me of any hope I could ever wish to regain.
Painstakingly and slowly making my way to the side of his bed, I let my angry, tired eyes fall upon him. His breathing is more labored now, and the raspy rattle echoes in my ears as he fights and strains to release and suck air back into his withered lungs. My gaze wanders his bony frame as the skeleton of the man that he once was now lays before me. His nimble, lean fingers grip for dear life to the covers, trying their utmost to ward off the pain that has now taken his body hostage, causing the whites of his knuckles to push achingly against his taut, yellow, dead skin.
Taking my seat and pushing myself forward, leaning my elbows on the bed, I once again take his fragile hand in mine. Having to pry each digit loose from the sheets, I wrap it tenderly around my own, feeling the need to steal and bear his pain, if only for a second. Rubbing his fingers and knuckles as I kiss them tenderly, sighing deeply as his soft chilled hold wraps around my palm. Lying my forehead on our adjoining embrace, I try to calm my over-nervous heart and slow down my pounding pulse, letting my thoughts wander to their dark place once again.
Take him. Please take him. Just fucking take him if you must - no need to prolong this .Why can't you just get this the fuck over and be done with it. If you need him so badly, and you want him so much, why the hell are you torturing me? Just fucking come get him, and put us both out of our misery and let us rest.
I'm taken out of my dreaded musing as his grip tightens firmly around my fingers. Raising my head slowly, having to wipe away the tears that have now, without warning, gathered on my lashes and cheeks. My breath catches in my throat and my nervous heart skips a beat as I get to gaze into his bright baby blues once more. He looks bewildered and taken aback. His eyes, alert and eager, dart frantically around the room. My chest tightens, clamping down on my numb, cold heart, when his beautiful stare finally rests upon mine, and a small smile dawns on his dry, chapped lips as he gravely whispers, "Edward, love! You're here, you finally made it. What took you so long?"
Sucking oxygen through my nose, my lips unable or unwilling to leave our fingers' embrace, I answer him with a small, nervous nod. His brow frowns with confusion as he once again questions me.
"Will I be going home soon, babe? Have the doctors given us the all clear?"
Swallowing back the thick, hard lump in my throat that threatens to suffocate me, I slowly shake my head, and hear my voice echo in my ears, not even knowing if it's actually audible. "Not yet, sweetheart, but I'm sure they will, real soon."
I think to myself, How the hell can I be wrong?
As his tender touch entwines with mine, and I let his velvet creamy drawl wash over me, I excitedly gaze upon my smoothed-skinned bright-eyed boy, unable to help my grin from widening as I feel the rough pad of his thumb rub soothing and comforting circles onto the back of my hand.
An then my breath hitches as I feel my weary dark heart start to gallop wildly in my painful chest, and I watch his soft baby blues search my worried, worn face for answers. And then my mind takes charge and starts scrambling and backpedaling, searching and chasing each and every corner of my brain, desperately capturing every old memory it can find, and frantically starts begging and pleading to anything that will listen not to take him from me.
I swear I didn't mean a word of it. I swear it was all said out of anger and frustration. I promise if you let him stay, I'll love him forever. He will never doubt how I feel, or even have to wonder what I'm thinking. I'll make sure of it, I promise. I will strive every day to make his a happy life. if only you'll grant me this one wish and let him stay,'
And as the onslaught of tears overtake me and the heavy sobs growl and grow in my chest, I grip his hand a little tighter in mine and he smiles at me - that soft, beautiful smile of his, before breathlessly whispering, "I love you, Edward, so very much. The last seven years have been the best ever, and I'm so glad I got to spend them with you."
Smiling widely, my bottom lip forsakes me, quivering. Desperately choking back my tears, I lean into his weary grin and place a soft, tender kiss upon his parched mouth. And as I watch his eyes cloud and flutter gently closed, I feel his smile grow wider, then weaken on my lips.
I whisper softly, "Jasper, I love you too. I always have and always will. It has been an honor to share your life," onto his last breath.
And as I pull away and his lifeless hand falls towards the bed, I catch it mid-air and gently place it on the covers. My eyes squint from the pressure in my head as the continuous beep from his heart monitor screams in my ears.
And for the first time in what feels like forever, I give myself permission to cry out loud and breathe freely. For the first time in what feels like forever, I allow the relief for his passing to wash over me and seep into my pores. The cold, tight vice surrounding my numb heart uncoils out of control, and my chest heaves as the pressure pushes up and out, needing to break free, wanting to escape.
My senses heighten as a welcomed pins and needles sensation creeps within my veins, starting at the soles of my feet then running rampant deep within my core. The tension building enables me to take a deep, well-deserved, unhindered exhalation. And within seconds, I'm unable to hold back any longer, and it erupts.
My body fiercely trembles and shakes as heavy sobs and childlike whines free themselves from my darkened depths. I reach for his nightstand and stumble towards his bed, light headed and dazed, needing their support, finding myself trying desperately to scramble for control. I bring my quivering fingers to my mouth as bile and acid claw and crawl their way from the pit of my empty, churning stomach.
Time passes without warning. Seconds and minutes fly without cause. Weakened and drained, I sit, head in hands. My knees nervously bounce as my body shivers uncontrollably, and my head pounds and spins, listening as the hushed commotion and eerie silence engulf the dismal, demoralizing room. Taking a deep, needed breath, as remorse and regret blanket me, I lay my back heavily against my no-longer-necessary hospital-supplied uncomfortable recliner. Running my hands roughly over my face, sticky and moist from my grieving, I sense him approach.
"Is there anyone you want me to call? Is there anyone you need to come get you?"
Running my trembling, nervous fingers through my hair, unable to swallow the dry heavy lump in my parched throat, I'm incapable of finding my voice. So as I stare, bewildered and lost, my sad, lonely eyes and a small shake of my head are his only reply as I let my mind wander.
No! I have no one. The person I would have wanted or needed you to contact is no longer here.
And as I watch, pain and pity dance across his features. I let mine divert and fall upon the lone silhouette beneath the bed covers. My mind floods with lost emotions, and my heart aches with unanswered prayers. Searching my depths, inspecting my conscience, I do my best to release my fear and feeling of guilt as my soul crumbles into that now ever welcoming abyss.
Angry and frustrated, I grab my jacket. Needing a minute to breathe and a moment to think, I rush urgently from the room. My quickened steps on the pearly white floors echo in my ears, and as the Plexiglas doors swoosh open and the chilling night air dusts my face and catches my breath, my weary eyes turn to the sky.
Well, this is it. This is what it all comes down to. Four months, two weeks and three fucking days of being here, day in, and day fucking out; and what am I left with? Loneliness, emptiness, nothing. Everything I have ever wanted, needed or loved has been taken. Everything that I was and I am is now gone. After all these months, it only took five and half hours. Fuck! Five and a half fucking hours. In total, it all came down to 20,000 God damn seconds, and it only took one of those for his body to give up - his heart to give in - and his life to let go. And for me to be left with nothing…
Feel free to let me know what you think.