I Don't Love You
Would you even turn to say...
It was a fucking sham relationship.
She knew it. She was pretty sure he knew it too. So what was she doing here, perching uncomfortably on the edge of the cold, hard, plastic seat, clutching wilted white roses and a brown paper bag full of grapes? She didn't know. She inhaled the unfamiliar, sanitary hospital smell and looked down and the brown paper bag, laughing softly to herself. Grapes were the default gift for a hospital visit, right? Besides, she hadn't known what else to bring. She stared at the mint green hospital ceiling, sighing impatiently. She didn't want to be here. But she felt she had to. She was trapped in a relationship based on guilt and lies, and now there was really no way out. She jumped in shock as one of the doctors, dressed in a crisp white coat, approached her.
"You may see him now."
"How is he?" She asked, concerned.
"Not well, but he's a fighter. This way..."
She followed obediently as the doctor lead her to the ward. She felt bad, turning up this close to the end of visiting hours, but she hadn't wanted to face his frantically worried parents.
"In here..."
She walked into the stark white room. It was silent, and she set the roses and grapes down by his bedside table. Taking a seat next to his bed, she took a closer look at him.
The chemo had stripped him of his jet black hair. His eyes were closed, and the slight movements under his eyelids suggested to her that he was sleeping. It was strange, looking at him without hair, without eyelashes. His once smooth cheeks were sunken and hollow. He looked so deathly pale, so ill.
She bit her lip as she reminisced over the countless times she'd cheated on him, lied to him, caused him pain. She's never taken the relationship seriously, but he had. She DID feel bad about it. They'd had good times too, but it she felt like she'd fucked everything up. She wanted out, but to do it now would be cowardly. She had no choice but to stay on until the end. She didn't want to, and was pretty sure that he didn't want her to either. Now he was on his deathbed, his life slowly being sucked away from him. He was only eighteen. He didn't deserve this. She didn't deserve him.
His eyelids stirred slightly as he heard someone enter the room. He didn't open them, he felt too weak. He heard a chair being pulled up, and soft, feminine breathing.
His heart skipped a beat. It was her. He both hated and loved her at the same time. Hated her for all the shit she had put him through. Loved her because he knew who she really was, and who she could be.
He lay there in silence for an hour, not daring to open his eyes. He was fully aware she was sat beside him, watching his every move. A thousand things he wanted to say to her ran through his head... how she had hurt him... he was fucked up and this relationship was fucked up...
He heard her chair draw back and summoned up the little strength he had left.
She had grown tired of waiting. Picking up her bag, she pushed back her chair and turned to leave.
"Just say it."
She spun around, astonished. His voice sounded weak, and parched, as though he needed a glass of water.
"You're awake!" She gasped. "Do you want something to drink, or-"
"Just say it, Jessica." He muttered, his eyes still closed. "You and I both know. Let me go... just fucking say it."
Adrenaline coursed through her veins. She had known this moment was inevitable. Even though it was true, it was so difficult to say.
"I... I don't love you."
"Thank you." He whispered, exhaling his last breath.
She watched, devasted, as the last few moments of his life slipped away from him.
She knew it. She was pretty sure he knew it too. So what was she doing here, perching uncomfortably on the edge of the cold, hard, plastic seat, clutching wilted white roses and a brown paper bag full of grapes? She didn't know. She inhaled the unfamiliar, sanitary hospital smell and looked down and the brown paper bag, laughing softly to herself. Grapes were the default gift for a hospital visit, right? Besides, she hadn't known what else to bring. She stared at the mint green hospital ceiling, sighing impatiently. She didn't want to be here. But she felt she had to. She was trapped in a relationship based on guilt and lies, and now there was really no way out. She jumped in shock as one of the doctors, dressed in a crisp white coat, approached her.
"You may see him now."
"How is he?" She asked, concerned.
"Not well, but he's a fighter. This way..."
She followed obediently as the doctor lead her to the ward. She felt bad, turning up this close to the end of visiting hours, but she hadn't wanted to face his frantically worried parents.
"In here..."
She walked into the stark white room. It was silent, and she set the roses and grapes down by his bedside table. Taking a seat next to his bed, she took a closer look at him.
The chemo had stripped him of his jet black hair. His eyes were closed, and the slight movements under his eyelids suggested to her that he was sleeping. It was strange, looking at him without hair, without eyelashes. His once smooth cheeks were sunken and hollow. He looked so deathly pale, so ill.
She bit her lip as she reminisced over the countless times she'd cheated on him, lied to him, caused him pain. She's never taken the relationship seriously, but he had. She DID feel bad about it. They'd had good times too, but it she felt like she'd fucked everything up. She wanted out, but to do it now would be cowardly. She had no choice but to stay on until the end. She didn't want to, and was pretty sure that he didn't want her to either. Now he was on his deathbed, his life slowly being sucked away from him. He was only eighteen. He didn't deserve this. She didn't deserve him.
His eyelids stirred slightly as he heard someone enter the room. He didn't open them, he felt too weak. He heard a chair being pulled up, and soft, feminine breathing.
His heart skipped a beat. It was her. He both hated and loved her at the same time. Hated her for all the shit she had put him through. Loved her because he knew who she really was, and who she could be.
He lay there in silence for an hour, not daring to open his eyes. He was fully aware she was sat beside him, watching his every move. A thousand things he wanted to say to her ran through his head... how she had hurt him... he was fucked up and this relationship was fucked up...
He heard her chair draw back and summoned up the little strength he had left.
She had grown tired of waiting. Picking up her bag, she pushed back her chair and turned to leave.
"Just say it."
She spun around, astonished. His voice sounded weak, and parched, as though he needed a glass of water.
"You're awake!" She gasped. "Do you want something to drink, or-"
"Just say it, Jessica." He muttered, his eyes still closed. "You and I both know. Let me go... just fucking say it."
Adrenaline coursed through her veins. She had known this moment was inevitable. Even though it was true, it was so difficult to say.
"I... I don't love you."
"Thank you." He whispered, exhaling his last breath.
She watched, devasted, as the last few moments of his life slipped away from him.