Black

Mark Anthony Barker woke at 2:43 PM in his Chicago hospital bed. Nurses bustled around him, checking his vitals and seeing if he was all right. His coma had finally come to an end.

Three days earlier, he had made the decision to end his life. He didn’t want to carry on in depression. All he wanted was to see his friend again. So that night, he swallowed far too many sleeping pills and chased them with some of his favorite wine. Soon after, his mother found his apartment door unlocked and his unmoving form in his bed.

He almost didn’t survive. Almost. He was sure that it was because of the winged girl of his dreams that he was alive.

He didn’t tell anyone about Black. It would only make them test him for more illnesses. They would never believe him. They would think it was some sort of delirium and they would give him more medicine. He just kept the fond memory of her to himself. It gave him a bit of comfort as he lay in the bleach-white hospital room.

Doctors and nurses hardly stopped bothering him during the day. And when they weren’t around, his parents or the therapist they hired would babble to him. There were many times where he faked sleep, just so he didn’t have to talk to them.

He wanted to get out. The food, in his opinion, was terrible, though the old woman in the bed next to him thought her vegetarian option was delicious. Her sunny attitude only added to his foul mood.

Besides that, he was exhausted. Every night until he was discharged, he slept uneasily. He kept expecting Black to be there, to great him once he fell into sleep. He knew it was unlikely and he knew it probably would never happen, but he held onto the hope that she would be there one night. But she never appeared.

Slowly, he began to sink back into unhappiness.

On July 23, he was finally discharged. His mother and father drove him back to his apartment, staying until night to make sure he was okay and comfortable. They had searched over his apartment, taking nearly all of the medications, alcohols, and anything else that could be hazardous. They had reluctantly let him keep certain necessities such as kitchen knives. He felt like while they were at it, they would just strap him into a straight jacket and pad the walls of his home for good measure.

With his mother’s last “Take care, honey!”, his parents left. The only sound in the house was the humming of his air conditioner in the bedroom.

For a while, he managed to occupy his mind. He straightened up the home a bit even though it was already in perfect shape, and watched a program on the television. He even tried eating something to keep himself busy. But he couldn’t keep himself busy forever. His emotions soon caught up with him, and there was no escaping it. He was more upset than ever.

He almost regretted waking up. He could have stayed with her. He could have been ignorant forever. He didn’t want to remember that his friend was dead. He didn’t want to remember anything. He just wanted to go back.

He turned the television off and thought for a while in the quiet darkness. All the people he knew from work would treat him differently now that he had tried to kill himself. He knew they would look at him funny and talk about him. He didn’t want to endure that. Maybe he would quit; find a new place to earn money.

What would his parents think now? Would they be paranoid forever? Maybe his father would treat him worse, or maybe he would be nicer. His mother might spoil him more in an effort to keep him happy. He thought that might be a plus.

This was a slightly positive thought, but it only helped for a brief moment. He had to face his depression again sometime.

Worry sat in his stomach as he finally mulled over his most important thoughts. He wasn’t sure he would ever find a friend like the one he lost again. How would he get by without someone like that by his side? And then there was Black. He didn’t want to think about her, or how much he missed her. He pushed the thought of her further from his mind, shaking his head and clenching his hair in his fists.

He felt so lonely and miserable; he almost wished he hadn’t survived. He thought about the knives still in his kitchen, but didn’t act on those thoughts. He just sighed, and slowly moved to his bedroom.

He collapsed on the bed and draped his arm lazily over his face so that it covered his eyes. A tired and sad sigh made its way out of him. He was lonely, and unhappy, but at that moment, he just made himself focus on his exhaustion. It seemed better to sleep than to feel sorry for himself.

The humming of the air conditioner near to him soothed him a bit, and soon, he found himself drifting into the deepest sleep he had enjoyed since he had woken up from his coma.

***

There was the humming of a familiar tune very close to him. It made the sadness and the loneliness flow out of him, and he let out a sigh.

He knew the voice very well, but he didn’t want to believe it was really there. He figured he was having a very pleasant dream. A dream like that was all he could ask for then.

But it wasn’t a dream.

Someone touched his face, cupping his cheek gently, and then he felt a pair of lips on his own. He opened his eyes as the kiss broke.

“You didn’t think I could really leave you?” Black asked, smiling down at him.

He smiled wide and sat up.

“Yes. I thought you did.”

They inched closer.

“I can’t do that,” she told him softly.

She was right there in front of him, and she wasn’t going to leave. He felt relieved, happy again, if just for that moment he had to spend with her. It was perfect. They were perfect.

“Thank God,” he breathed.

And then their lips met again.