Our Lady of Sorrows

It's been exactly a year. The doctors said there was little to no chance of you surviving this long. Does this mean I can still hang on to the thought of you coming back to our home? Back to me?

My mind is filled with this hope. All day long, my thoughts of you keep me from actually working. I can't wait to get out of this stupid fucking office and go to you. I wanna be the first to congratulate you on making it a year. The more I think, the more I realize this isn't a celebratory thing. The longer you live, the closer you are to an inevitable death. That's how everyone lives, but for you it's going to be much shorter. And I can't stand it.

I pick a random task to fill my mind with something else. Sometimes thinking is too dauntless and pointless and whatever other negative words with the ending -less.

The day passes so slowly. I have caught myself thinking of you multiple times. I've already concluded that thinking of you and your inevitable fate only makes time pass slower. That means you will live longer to my mind, but it also means less time my body gets to spend with you. I want all the time in the world to spend with you, Gee.

*

After hours of droning on and on, I mechanically leave the building. My mind is only focused on getting to you before visiting hours end. My boss has been pretty flexible about this. I have to thank her one day. I rarely have the chance to talk to her because of you. I work, I leave, I make my way to you. I can't sleep without at least hearing your voice.

I walk towards the bus stop since I can't afford gas anymore. The smart slap of my shoes rings in my ears before I can put my headphones in.

I picked up the habit of people watching from you. You always tell me how beautiful people are. Their natural mannerisms always amuse you because they were so unconsciously adorable. You'd tap me on the shoulder and whisper about the way this one girl pushed her glasses up her nose every time she tucked her hair behind her ear. Or how this one guy would tightly press his lips together each time he started a sentence. I couldn't get mad at you for looking at another's lips because it was just you and I had to learn to accept that you wouldn't only look at me. I wish you would though. I want your heart to beat for me and only me, like mine does for you and only you.

Once I reach the battered bus stop, I take my place on the abandoned bench. The same teenage boy stands stiffly against the frame covering the bench. On the odd times I've actually seen his face, he's attractive in an awkward, sad kind of way. As you would do, I've created a back story for him. It's not as developed and creative as yours though. I can't wait to tell it to you. You would really appreciate his lovely, lackluster life.

The boy's hand limply grasps the leg of the cover, supporting his head as he waits. His left leg moves restlessly, toes digging into the sidewalk. He has a habit of curling his fingers into his palm so tightly his nails leave crescents. I have to tell you this story, Gee. I've been working on it for months. I want you to be proud of me.

I can hear the chug of the bus through my headphones. The boy looks back at me, making sure I see it approaching. He's always done that, and there have been many times when I needed him to do that. This habit only adds to his story.


*

I’m submerged into an ocean of antiseptic smells as I walk through the automatic doors. No matter how many times I’ve been here, I still can’t get used to this. It’d be even more depressing if I did.

The nurse at the front desk smiles at me morbidly. I lean my elbows against the counter. Her condolatory eyes stare more than usual. “Good evening, hun.”

“Hey, Colleen. How was your day?” I ask as she looks for your name and visitor’s pass in a filing cabinet.

“It’s been a lil’ hectic. Is it a full moon tonight?” She asks rhetorically. Her fingers shift nimbly through the names. Each flip ruins me. Why are there so many names?

“Yeah, actually, it is.” I force a laugh. She looks at me understandingly. I wish she would just let me see you already.

“Here.” She says softly, holding out the yellow sticker with my name written in Sharpie on it. Your room number sits on the top right corner, right over top of me, dauntingly dark.

I mumble words of appreciation. I tread the route that’s carved into my mind. I push my way to you. Because I know, once I see you, I’ll be knocked out of this fucking daze. The thought of telling you my finally finished story makes me push harder. The elevator ride’s a little unbearable like always, being confined in my own space and mind, when I’d rather share it with you.

I reach your fake wood door. Number 247. Almost the last one down the hall. I push the weird handle and force the heavy door open. I walk down the short not-even-hallway hallway. I look at the needle disposal box hanging next to the sink. It’s so full. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here to hold your hand while you were stuck with all of those.

I walk a little further, and your thin frame is thrown into view. Your face is pallid, eyes lightly closed, lips slightly open. I pick up the springy chair and gently place it closer to your bed. The slight movements wake you with a start, yet you smile so happily anyway. I return the smile with the same enthusiasm.

“Hey, love.” I murmur, my hand brushing your greasy curls back. Your peridot eyes sparkle up at me. I place a kiss on your cheekbone.

You look away from me, your hair shifting through my fingers. “You shouldn’t kiss me there.”

“Why not?”

“I have a blotch there.” Your voice is watery, and it kills me to hear what it says and how it sounds.

“You really think I care?” I ask as I pull your frail face back towards me. I place kisses on both cheekbones while mumbling, “I waited” Another kiss. “All day” Another. “To see you” I stop to look at you, your gorgeous face. “And you’re gonna tell me that I can’t kiss you anywhere I want?”

You feign shock, green eyes wide with wonder, a secret smile seeping through. “All day?” I wish you could understand how hard it is for me. I don’t want to waste a single second of your time, and my life demands at least 61,200 each day.

“All day.” I declare.

You push my left hand to your chapped lips, kissing the knuckles. “Can you put on some music on? I’ve been in a quiet room all fucking day too.” Your vulgar language hasn’t changed.

As I walk across the room to your speakers, I quietly whisper, “I love you.” I press shuffle and “Where Is My Mind?” plays softly. “On you.” I laugh to myself even quieter than the words.

“Stop mumbling sweet things, I’m gonna cry.” You laugh weakly. A coughing fit emerges. I scurry and sit on the side of your bed, rubbing your back soothingly. I unconsciously sing along with the song, mumbling the words into your ear. You calm down and nudge me to get on the bed fully. I wrap my arms around your bony shoulders. You’re so cold.

“You’re so warm.” You pull me closer, tucking your face into the nape of my neck.

We lie for a while. I wish we could stay like this forever.

*

The drum roll of “Something” by The Beatles travels through the speakers. I sit us up slowly. “C’mon. Let’s dance.”

“I can’t.” You say dejectedly, your green eyes dull and shiny at the same time.

“You can. You have me.” I assure, walking to your side of the bed. I grasp each hand lightly.

“I’m too tired.” A tear escapes and runs down your pixie nose. “I want to, but I can’t.”

“I’ll hold you, just put your feet on mine.” I pull you up delicately. You help as much as you can. You wrap your thin arms around my shoulders, and I wrap my arms around your thin waist, clutching for your dear life. I feel your feet place themselves on mine. I know this must be killing you, but I want to hold you, sway with you.

“You’re asking me will my love grow.” I whisper into your ear.

“I don’t know. I don’t know.” You answer back, smiling your smile, the smile I love so much, the smile I’ll miss so much. I feel your body shake. I know you want to give up. I can feel your disappointment against my chest, against the side of my neck.

I carry you back to the bed. You sit down on the edge, each hand gripping it, emphasizing the gauntness of your shoulders. You look up at me with a tear-stained face, the green of your irises emphasized by the bloodshot surrounding. You look absolutely gorgeous, Gee. You won’t believe me if I tell you now.

“I don’t want to leave you now.” You quote the song beautifully. I blink away tears. I don’t want to cry now. I’ll have plenty of time with you. Plenty.

“You won’t leave me now. You won’t be leaving me for a while.” I assure, more so for my own sanity. You shake your head miserably, tears streaming now. You watch me with those emerald eyes, sparkling with tears. I kneel between your knees, hands loosely gripping your hips. “You look gorgeous. I don’t believe it. You’re coming home soon.” I speak every sentence that comes to mind, releasing words and tears. Your small hand reaches for my cheek. You thumb over my cheekbone and let your eyes wander over my face. You shush me with each laborious breath you take. You listen to every word I say, knowing these are all the words I’ve wanted to say.

You lie back against the pillows, tugging my hand along weakly. I climb onto the bed and lay my head against your chest. You tolerate the pain for me. You know how much pain I’m in too; although, it doesn’t measure up to yours. My fingers intertwine with yours, clutching the hardest I have in months. You don’t complain. I wish you would. I want to hear your voice.

The only voice I do hear is the hushed voice of a doctor calling my name.

*

“You knew.” I whisper as the heart monitor shatters my quiet world.

“You knew.” I murmur as they try to resuscitate you.

“You knew.” I mumble as they push so hard they might break you.

“You knew.” I say as they all look at each other.

“You knew.” I scream as they announce the time of death.

You knew. I didn’t even get to tell you my story. I didn’t get to tell you about his lovely, lackluster life.

Notes

Shit fuck um I listened to Something on repeat the whole time I was writing this one so I'm a little mentally compromised at the moment. I've also listened to my Bleh Bleh(all my angsty songs) and Cheerless playlists, so I mean it was a prime time to write for this story.

I didn't really mean for it to be exactly 365 days. It kinda just happened(just like death does). Sorry for killing him.

From now on, the days will be more dispersed instead of one by one.

You all have beautiful minds.
-Alex:)