Work Text:
How many times have I told you to lock the door? You know I can't even hold a pen with my trembling hands.
How many times did you sneak out of school to check on me, though? You better keep track of your absences. You have a future, unlike me.
How many times have we sat next to each other in silence, just looking into each other's eyes? I can't tell you how grateful I am.
And I can't even do anything for you.
Not even the slightest sketch.
The pencil falls out of my hand as soon as I put it to paper.
Than what about the sculptures? You haven't seen my works in... Four? Six months? I don't even know how long it's been.
***
You looked at me so funny... So amusingly frightened; so foolishly rushed to the phone to call an ambulance...
And here I am, lying in a hospital bed, with nothing but white walls, white window frames, white curtains, white ceiling. Even my hands are pale, like the color of the plaster.
And you're sitting in the same white chair, in your laundered shirt with almost faded roses embroidered on the cuffs. I think I made that, didn't I? For your birthday, when we were fresh out of high school. When my father didn't see me as anything worthwhile, when your mother had a good prognosis.
And now I'm lying here in her place. And I feel good. So good that I don't even think about what's gonna happen to you.
Maybe I don't need to.
But you take my hand, intertwine our fingers, and lower your head. Your white hair looks like peppermint gum. I wonder if you'd give me one if I asked?
You whisper something, but all I can make out is the word "sorry."
I'm starting to feel like I hear him all the time. It's annoying. Really.
You gently move my hair away from my face, kissing my forehead. In your eyes, I see... I'm not gonna lie, I don't see anything.
I don't see your eyes.
I can't see your face.
I can't hear your voice, my love.