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9th August, 2014
Dear diary,
I bought you ages ago and you probably know the inside of my drawer better than the guy who built the fucking thing. I guess I should apologise about that… the thing is: I never thought journalling was super useful (despite the insistence from my shrink). But today, I kinda need you.
So, yeah… this is probably the only entry I’m ever going to do. Seriously. I don’t even know why I’m doing it. Maybe because I have no one else to turn to, except you. Pretty sad, huh? Well, I guess I am. Pretty sad, that is.
So, I have this flatmate, Leopold (this name…) Fitz. Kid’s a genius, goes to M.I.T. in a full scholarship for his nth PhD. Yep, that’s how cool he is. Not only that, he knows a thing or two about hacking, so we kinda clicked in our very first day. Not that I was that close to him in the first year… the reason has a name and a SSN: Jemma Simmons. Prodigy at Harvard Med, spoke as fast as I can fucking think. Basically, Fitz’s soulmate – brain soulmate, I mean; didn’t think those two were fucking. Anyway, they were attached to the hip. They’d do this thing where they completed each other’s sentences, like, all the time. It creeped me out a bit, in the beginning. A lot.
Notice how I’m talking about her in past tense? Yeah… it’s on purpose.
Yesterday, Simmons had an accident. A big car accident during the night. No witnesses, no survivors. And no body. I know what you’re thinking – “ha! No body! She’s alive!”. Well, if this was a T.V. show, she’d probably be. Miraculously alive, with maybe a cool scar (or an eyepatch). Real life doesn’t work that way. Real life punches you in the fucking guts, and there’s no retcon to say “just kidding! That character you love is alive, and back!”.
Real life’s cruel like that.
Fuck, sorry, didn’t want to stain your page. Well, damn it.
I knew Simmons well, she was a cool girl. Weird sense of humour, sure. I remember when she cracked a joke about not being able to create instant paralysis like Hermione Granger. Using a fucking deadly toxin. Actually, she spoke funny, in general. She described this boy she presumably fucked as ‘low percentage body fat’, which I’m guessing is Simmons-speak for ripped.
Weirder taste in extra curricular activities – check. I remember when Fitz’s hamster died. They spent a while arguing because Simmons wanted to dissect the dead thing. And Fitz, over attached as he is, wanted to bury ‘Paws’, or whatever the name was. It was a ridiculous name. Thinking now, Simmons wasn’t big on the empathy thing… lucky for her, Fitz wasn’t an ace himself. They kind of got over it, like they got over pretty much everything.
She had a great taste for beer, though. And she was a great listener – looked like, at least. Fitz used to talk her ears off during bad days. She’d always make him better. Like, laughing and shit. Today, when Fitz opened the door in tears, red-faced and completely desperate, I wish she was here. Then I kinda remembered – she was the whole reason for this. He kept on sobbing, and despite myself, I held my tears. Fitz didn’t deserve to have to take care of me as well, especially when he has the right to be hurting worse. (I know it’s a stupid concept, but it makes sense in my head.) I think Simmons would’ve been proud of me.
Maybe, just maybe, we’d be good friends if we tried.
Kinda too late for this thought, though.
15th August, 2014
Dear diary,
I know what I said – ‘this will be the only entry’. Well, apparently not. Apparently it wasn’t, since I’m writing here. Don’t judge me. I don’t know what to do, or who to reach out for. He’s been talking to himself when he thinks I’m not home. Himself meaning Simmons. He’s talking like she’s there all the time. When he realises she isn’t, he just starts crying again. It’s unbearable to watch, and it’s only been a week.
But today, man, today I had this great idea.
I came into the apartment, he was alone, muttering to himself. I said “Hi Fitz! And Simmons, good to see you.” and I smiled to the point he was looking earlier. He didn’t know how to react at first. He kept looking at Simmons for guidance.
Then he finally said “I thought it was only me, that could see her.”
“Of course not.” I smiled at Simmons, and imagined what would be her reply smile. “Can I grab a beer for us?” I asked, and Fitz smiled at me, for the first time in a week. It was weak and tentative. Clearly we both have a long way to go. But it’s a first step, and I’m happy that he took it.
It was weird to sit there with an extra beer bottle at the table. At least at first. But Fitz seemed so much better, with me sharing ghost Simmons with him, that I forgave the fact that perfectly good beer was going to waste at the end of the night.
23rd August, 2014
Dear diary,
I’m still getting used to ghost Simmons. I mean, Fitz’s infinitely better with me and Simmons hanging out for beers most nights, but sometimes it’s hard to imagine her words, and her reactions. And failing this almost cost me a friend. Fitz was pretty pissed when he realised I heard something different from Simmons than he did. Ghost Simmons must’ve interfered in my favour, which I’m eternally glad.
11th September, 2014
Dear diary,
Today’s Simmons birthday. Or at least, it would be, if she was alive. Fitz and I spent the entire morning baking a cake for her. Then we had the Harvard Med homage thingy – which was truly awful, because I can’t keep up with imaginary Simmons when there are literally hundreds of people who know for a fact that she’s dead, and are talking about her in past tense and all. Fitz couldn’t react, most of the time. People would sympathetically approach him and say kind words about the girl. He’d just smile uncomfortably and glance to the side, where Simmons was standing in his mind. She’d reply his smile encouragingly. There were times she’d reach for his shoulder, and he’d cover her hand with his.
It was like he was battling the reality with his imagination. Desperately.
I’d also approach him, and reach for his shoulder too. I’d smile just like Simmons did, and sometimes, I’d smile at her. And I was spooked to know when she said “Don’t worry, Fitz, this will be over soon.”
I reached for his hand and said “It will.”
He alternated his glances at us, and said we were the best friends he could possibly have.