And Yet...

By Xasphie

TITLE: And Yet...

AUTHOR: Xasphie

E-MAIL: xasphie1@aol.com

CATEGORY: Angst, death fic

DISCLAIMERS: Not mine, never were, never will be, belong to far richer people than me.

SUMMARY: And then it was all over.

STATUS: Complete

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WARNING: Very much a death fic. If you don't like reading that kinda stuff, then please don't read this. I do have far more cheerful stuff up on the site.

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And Yet...

"Simon, it's all over."

...

"We need to go up there."

...

Why won't he say anything? Why aren't I upset? Why am I so shocked?

Okay, let's go. Come on, Simon. Let's go.

Come on, Simon, stop wasting time.

Why am I hurrying? Why is he stopping for coffee? Why can't we just go? I want to go. I don't know why I'm hurrying but I want to go.

Oh, for fuck's sake, hurry up.

Thank you.

Yes, you drive, Simon. I don't think I could anyway.

Oh God, I'm scared.

Why am I scared?

Joel said I'd be angry when it was all over - when did he mean? Did he mean now or later? When's later? Why don't I feel anything now?

There it is. That building is so ominous now; I didn't use the mind it, but it's cruel - I don't like it. Not now. It's strange. It's dark and all I can see in the distance are the lights. One of those rooms... he's in one of those rooms. Or is he? Where is he?

Is he here?

...

Are you here?

I'm confused.

Can't this journey finish?

The parking lot. Why park here? Why not nearer? I've got to see him.

Why won't you say anything, Simon?

Look at the night porter. He doesn't know. He probably doesn't even care. Why should he know? Why should he care?

I care.

Does Simon?

Why won't he say anything? He was his friend, too.

Hey, there's a turn-up for the books - the goddamn elevators are already here. Makes a change. I should have come at 5:30am every morning.

I'm making jokes. Why?

It's taking so long.

I hate this corridor. It's so long.

There's the smell. I hate that, it's so clinical. It reminds me of him now. Already, I remember him for a smell other than his own, and it's still today. What will it be like soon?

When's soon?

There he is.

He looks just the same.

He'll breathe in again, soon.

He'll breathe in again, soon, just like yesterday.

He will breathe in again soon, won't he?

Simon, he isn't breathing in again.

Why not? Simon, he isn't breathing in. Make him. Please, Simon, make him breathe in again. I can't lose him; it isn't possible. Not to me: oh, please God if you're there, don't take him away.

It is all over, isn't it?

What do I feel?

I feel empty. There's nothing left.

...

What do you mean, 'Touch him and say goodbye'? I can't. Simon, he's dead. How can I touch him?

Someone take me out of here, I'm scared.

Yes, let's have some coffee. We need it. I need to sit down.

No, I can't go back in there. I can't say goodbye; goodbye is too permanent. This can't be permanent; it's only a dream a nightmare. I can't say goodbye. Not to him.

Okay, I'll go back in - you're right. I'd never forgive myself.

I don't want to.

Oh, God, look at him. He's not there; this is only a case, a shell, something that used to be full. It used to be full of something I loved as a dear friend, and want to continue to love - but I can't.

...

"Goodbye. I love you. I'll never forget you. Ever. Goodbye."

...

...

There you go, Simon, I did it.

The doctor? Where? I want to talk to her.

Calm down? What do you mean by that? Calm down? She promised him; he lived for that promise. She told him this was only a setback, and he'd be home in a few weeks, and he believed her. As soon as we knew he was ill, we agreed that it would all be honesty, and we wouldn't lie to one another, not even to me. We agreed. It was our deal. She lied to us. She lied to him. I want to see that bitch.

My stomach feels tight. I feel sick.

I want to kill her.

The bitch promised him and he believed her. When he realized it wasn't true, it destroyed him. I had to watch that.

How the hell would she like to witness that? Where is he? Simon, I've got things to sort out with that bitch. He has no fucking right to lie like that.

I do feel something. I'm fucking furious. Joel was right. I am angry. I'm very angry. I'm damn fucking furious - and I know who with.

My hands are sweating; my mouth is really dry and my throat hurts. My head's throbbing and my eyes sting. I want to stop crying. I hate crying. I want to see things clearly but I don't want to see this picture, this scene. I want everything to be back how it was.

She lied.

That bitch lied.

She can lie to me but not to him. I can't forgive her for that.

There's an odd feeling inside me. I want to scream but I can't. I want to run away but my legs are frozen. I've got to hear what she's saying.

Simon's staying in there with her. I've got to talk to that lying bitch. She knew all along, so why didn't she say? I'll talk to her here/

I wish my stomach would stop. I wish this ringing in my head would stop. I wish that damn doctor could know what we're going through.

What do you mean by saying that - 'I'm sorry but there was nothing anybody could do'? Where did you dig that damn cliché come from? You don't mean it; it's just your way of getting out of this. You're embarrassed, that's what it is. Me? Unreasonable? Are you fucking kidding? I've just lost one of the only people that ever really meant anything to me in this world, after *you* lied to him, and you tell me *I'm* being unreasonable? He lived a lie, a lie that *you* created. I wouldn't blame any of this on you, I don't blame the illness on you, I don't blame the fact that he died on you - believe me, even after all I've just said, I don't blame the fact that he died on you. But you lied to him, and that's what destroyed his spirit in the end. No one could ever destroy that man's spirit, but you managed it. It's a memory I have to live with. Thank you. We told you to be straight with us, you...

...

...

Oh God. I've never felt like that before.

Oh God, don't ever let me feel like that again, please.

I've never known anger run through me like that before. It controlled me. It wasn't me, it was something else.

Dear God - if you exist, why did I just lash out like that? What's more, why don't I regret it?

That feeling in my stomach has gone. My head still hurts, and I'm still crying, but that feeling's gone.

I feel sick.

Jim, I'm sorry. Please forgive me. Be happy now, please.

God bless.

 

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Fin.

copyright Xasphie 13/09/04

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