FALLEN
My Immortal
*I'm so tired of being here
Suppressed by all my childish fears*
From the hospital window she could see the skyline of the city and all the square and rectangular lights that lit up the night like a pearl. It was a drastic change of scenery, exactly what she'd thought she needed. There were no tall trees or fields for miles and miles. There were no lemonade stands, and it was terror trying to find a place amidst the bustle that sold a Pez dispenser for less then five dollars.
She was good, for a while. It hadn't been so bad in the beginning. She figured that, if it wasn't meant to be then it wasn't meant to be, and there would be no changing that. There was no changing his heart, and she didn't want too. Though she knew little about his life before, she knew that he deserved whatever happiness he could get, and if it wasn't with her then that was just her luck.
*And if you have to leave
I wish that you would just leave
Cause your presence still lingers here
And it won't leave me alone*
But that was just the problem. She didn't want to be a good sport about it. She didn't want to understand why his love went to the person who made his life hell. She didn't want to give him up with a plastic smile on her face and a deadness in her heart. She wanted to be selfish and arrogant. She wanted to barge in on them and take him back as her own.
But she knew she wouldn't. Even if she hadn't been back in the hospital, watching everyone's life go by while she was trapped to a bleached white bed and tumor, she still wouldn't have done it. She would have smiled, glad that at least one of them found happiness.
Sighing, she turned away from the setting sun and picked up the book on the nightstand.
"Firebird" was the name of the novel, written by Jarod Block, and it was the story of a one-week road trip with a woman he'd met a few years back. Some parts were left out, some added in, but essentially it was his point of view, and the greatest gift anyone had ever given her.
*These wounds won't seem to heal
This pain is just too real
There's just too much that time cannot erase*
Three borders away, a woman in a small café gave an older man with a thick European accent a cup of coffee and offered him a pastry, which he politely declined. Maybe the day had been too long and her eyes had been frayed from staring at the sloppy handwriting of her co-worker, but the man who walked glumly away and seated himself in the farthest corner of the room looked as if he might cry.
But he'd cried so much in the past three months that he was sure there were no tears left within him.
He'd watched over her from the time she was an infant, and on Catherine's grave had sworn nothing would happen to her. He'd always been there to offer a shoulder for her to cry on, a sword to defend her with and a hand for her to hold, but even after all of that, guilt remained his most frequent companion.
*And you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears
And you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears
And I held your hand through all of these years
And you still have All of me*
He was visited by sadness in Missouri and remorse in Nevada, anger in California and emptiness in Portland. Everywhere he went she went, stalking him as if for the rest of his life.
"What do you want!" He'd cried, demanding an answer from the empty motel room. He'd received no reply.
In his travels, everything he saw reminded him of them. Expensive heels in the window of Tiffany's or a child's toy in Finnegan's brought back memories in a stream, one after the other. Sometimes happy, sometimes not.
Since the funeral he hadn't seen or heard from Jarod, and figured that was it, for now.
He sighed and stirred his coffee.
*You used to captivate me by your resonating light
But now I'm bound by the life you left behind*
He thought back several years before, when she'd been hospitalized for her ulcer, and the probability of her survival was minimal. He went over his words, the one's he'd only had the guts to say to her when she was unconscious.
Unlike his friends, his mind wasn't wracked with guilt, but with regret, the constant wish that he'd told her how he felt.
In the beginning it was a crush, then a minor infatuation, then devout loyalty and respect. And finally love. No longer in a romantic fashion, he loved her like a sister, and new that short of endangering his daughter, he would have done anything she'd asked. To the end of the world and back.
*Your face it haunts
My once pleasant dreams
Your voice it chased away all the sanity in me*
He'd done the same thing Jarod had done to Sydney. He'd woken up late one morning, hurriedly gotten dressed and woken up his daughter. Searching frantically for his keys, he mumbled how Miss Parker was going to kill him if he didn't hurry up.
It took him a whole minute to figure out why his daughter had burst into tears.
He answered the phone when no one called, and every time he checked his mail heard her half-joking, half-patronizing voice, "Broots have you been downloading porn again?"
He didn't miss the Centre, which he'd abruptly left behind, taking his disgruntled daughter overseas. He didn't miss any of the people, besides the two he worked with. He never really thought about Buzzy or Manny or Rory or Rudy. Sometimes he wondered about Jarod, what he was doing, how well he was coping. He'd never known the extent of their relationship, but based on the few things he'd over heard, he knew their bonds ran pretty deep. He spoke with Sydney on occasion, but it always upset him. The doctor sounded more worn every time, and words became more evasive.
He sighed and hung up the phone. There was nothing left to say.
*These wounds won't seem to heal
This pain is just too real
There's just too much that time cannot erase*
He rose to meet her half way across the room, folding his arms tightly around her. He touched her hair and showered her face in kisses. He brushed the tears from her cheeks with his thumb and held her until her fears subsided.
She was a bigger part of him then he liked to admit, so much in fact that the very prospect of loosing her terrified him. She kissed away the tears that fell down his face.
She said nothing as she pulled him toward the bed; the only communication between them was smiles and glances. She turned around, pulling her hair off to the side and baring her neck. He reached forward and gently unhooked the delicate clasp, setting the angel necklace on the nightstand. He'd barely turned all the way back around when her arms looped around his waist, tugging him down on top of her.
*And you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears
And you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears
And I held your hand through all of these years
And you still have
All of me*
Neither of them cried or screamed, but they held each other closely and talked all night without saying a word.
In the City of Angels, Zoe's doctor told her the cancer was back in remission, and that she could go home in a day or so, and the shy, stuttering clerk asked her if she wanted to go out for coffee sometime.
In Canada, Sydney slept for the first time in months, a long, deep, restful sleep, and when he woke, Guilt had gone away, and he smiled.
Underneath the Eiffel Tower, Broots bought a rose for his daughter Debbie from one of the merchants underneath, and they placed it on top of the railing where they'd carved her initials into the wood.
*I've tried so hard to tell myself that you're gone
But though you're still with me
I've been alone all along*
And in a small motel off a small highway in a small town in a small state, two people released the hold they'd had on one another for years, and granted each other the priceless gift of freedom.
Their tears became their smiles, their screams became their laughter, and their hands, clasped tightly, loosened and they slept peacefully.
*And you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears
And you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears
And I held your hand through all of these years
And you still have all of me*
Sunbeams on his eyelids forced them open, and he sat up slowly and whispered her name. Blinking, he looked around the room, a crease in his brow. He'd fallen asleep at his desk again, sleep deprived and alone.
He sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes, resting his head between his hands and elbows on the table. He stayed like that for a long time, thinking about the night before, how real everything had been.
Rising slowly, he walked to the bed and sat down again, taking another full surveillance of the room. The door was latched, the TV on mute, just like he'd set it. The bed was still made and nothing was out of place.
The slight, unintentional tilt of his head gave him a different perspective as a bright light flashed from the table. Reaching over, he tenderly fingered the wire angel on the silver chain and smiled.
"You still have it, Miss Parker," he whispered. "All of me."
**
Exitus
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