Spoiler! :
What Sarah Said
"Hey, Ben. I think I'm sick."
I clenched my fists in my lap and squeezed my eyes shut. That damn "No Smoking Please" sign was giving me a headache--literally. It was the "please" part that made me nauseous, though. As if I needed any more nauseating things--the smell of this place was bad enough. It reeked of piss and chlorine and day-old vomit. Hardly sanitary, if you asked me.
My hands shook as I fingered the lighter in my pocket. I couldn't tell if this was helping or hurting me, the feeling of the smooth metal beneath my fingers. Not that it mattered. I tried to picture the lighter in my head--just a plain solid red, nothing special. Except, it was the one I was using when she told me--
"Goddammit," I said, standing up. After scanning the room, I noticed that nearly everyone was staring at their shoes, either pacing or sitting, as if they were afraid to look up for some reason. It was too damn quiet and the tension was driving me mad.
When I ran out the door, I wasn't surprised that no one noticed; they were all locked in their heads until someone called their name, probably. As soon as I was out of the building, I lit up, savoring the sweet taste of six-hundred toxic chemicals. The thrill rushed in as I breathed the fresh air, tainted by the smoke in my lungs.
I heard Claire's voice in my head, drenched in sarcasm: "Hey, Ben, does that taste good? I always wanted to try some cyanide. And let's not forget ammonia! You haven't lived until you’ve tasted that." And then I saw her--those big brown eyes rolling at me as I said something stupid, hands on her hips, a smile tugging at her lips even as she yelled at me--
I took a long drag, exhaling sharply. The tension that had soaked into my skin in that--that room--floated out of me. My hands stopped shaking, and I pressed by thumb against the metal grinder. Stared at the flame. Watched it flicker. I couldn't look at anything else. I watched the orange and the yellow and the shades in between blend together, trembling in the wind.
It got me thinking about time. When my finger got tired, the flame would go out. Or if someone bumped into me. Or if a strong wind blew by. Or if the lighter broke. Anything. It was so easy for the flame to go out at a moment's notice. So fragile, even though it could burn cities to the ground.
Claire and I were supposed to go to a keg party tomorrow. And eventually, I was supposed to stop being a douchebag to her, treat her right, tell her that it wasn't just her goddess tits that kept me around… But plans are just that, I guess--plans.
I played with my lighter for at least five minutes, hoping they hadn't called me while I was out here getting my fix. Tossed the cigarette to the ground and ground it under my heel. As I made my way back into the room, no one bothered to look up.
The smoke had cleared my head, so I took everything in again as I sat down. I could still smell the smoke on my clothes, like an old friend. Inhaling, I looked to my left. According to the magazine cover on the desk next to me, some big-name celebrity was adopting some African kid. Over a year ago. The TV was on mute, and it was so far away that I couldn't even try to read the captions. I figured all this was just scenery--no one actually read the magazines or tried to watch the TV. At least, even if they were looking at them, their mind was somewhere else entirely. When my name was called, for example, I was remembering something Claire had told nothing in particular one night, when she thought I was asleep.
"Love is watching someone die."
I stood up immediately and walked to the door, nearly tripping over my own feet. The nurse gave me a kind smile. I wondered how many times a day she had to force a smile, and came to the sudden realization that everything was too white.
The nurse guided me to Room 207, and told me something important, but all I could hear was, "Love is watching someone die," in an endless loop. I wondered if that was all I'd have--memories, I mean. Fucking at every party in whatever empty room we could find. Holding her hand in that maze because she was afraid we'd get lost. Looking out at the view of suburbia from a local fair ferris wheel, somehow feeling like it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen just because she was next to me. All these things--I couldn't touch them anymore. They weren't Claire, and they would disappear a bit every day. Eventually, I'd have nothing left.
I walked inside the room and sat down in the chair beside the bed. Looked at all those machines and the four white walls and listened to the constant beeps and smelled the chemicals in the air. Then I looked at Claire, and I wondered if she regretted meeting me--or if I regretted meeting her. I used to breeze through life without giving a damn. It was just easier that way. After all, if you had nothing, nothing could be taken away. But now I had something--whatever it was--and it was leaving me.
"You ditching me, Claire?" I asked, in an abnormally high-pitched voice. "Well, took you long enough." My voice cracked. I felt like I was going through a second puberty.
I didn't want her to go. God, I didn't want her to go. I really, really, really didn't want her to go. I hadn't told her that I-- She couldn't go. She just couldn't.
I put my hand on top of hers and squeezed. Thought that if I could touch her, she wouldn't just float up into the ceiling or something. I knew people left even if you were holding onto them as tightly as you could, but--it didn't hurt to try.
I watched her chest rise and fall like the tide for what seemed like years, my hand still squeezing hers. And then the water was still as the EKG flatlined.
Claire's hands were cold.
hahaha i just went to their concert...
I don't know you, but I love you. *hug*
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