This one I worked very hard on. One shot. The título and some of the lines are lyrics por Jason Robert Brown. enjoy!
______
PROLOGUE:
I feel pressure on my cheek where she stroked it. I check my bottle.
There’s the ring
"And I could never rescue you"
this she whispers.
"Goodbye"
she gently kisses my forehead and strokes my hair
Goodbye, my love.
* * *
How did we get here?
When we fought
When I threw the vase, out of anger, out of love. Out of pain.
When I yelled. She yelled.
When she told me get out, this is the final straw. She just couldn't take it anymore.
When I drove away...
When I OD'd, the vicodin finally did what it had been threatening to do since dia one...
Yeah. That’s how.
* * *
Anyone who knew me, even those who didn't, knew my views on God, the afterlife. I never believed anything happened after death. Just blackness, I always said. Nothingness. Well that’s just one mais thing I've found I was wrong about.
When you die, you are lifted up, up farther than you could ever fathom was possible.
With every pill I took, I could feel myself sliding away from my body. It was like my personality and soul were fighting their very hardest finally to escape the burden of life on earth.
I closed my eyes and allowed myself be lifted.
"I’m done." I thought
"I'm done fighting"
* * *
Now I sit, on a chair I can't quite see, in a world I can't quite make out, surrounded por forces I can't quite explain.
Seven days ago, when I was still alive, this would have drove me crazy. A constant itch, a burning desire to get to the bottom of things and understand every detail.
But not anymore. I'm beginning to realize that sometimes its OK not to understand everything.
This "heaven", this world, realm, whatever you call it, was nothing but wispy white clouds and blinding sun. There was no God, no dead celebrities, none of my ancestors. No one.
Not even my dad.
I'm alone, yet I don't feel lonely. My leg doesn't hurt.
I'm wearing the same clothes I was wearing when I died. In my pocket, I discover my empty vicodin bottle.
In the center of this wispy white domain, there is an elegant weeping willow tree. Surrounding this árvore is a crop of soft grass, almost as wispy as the nuvem itself. seguinte to the árvore is a rosebush, adorned with marvelously scarlet blooms.
seguinte to the rosebush, there is a small opening, a window, about the size of a microwave oven. If one were to look through the opening, they would see a glittering, birds-eye view of the planet earth.
Under this árvore is where I sit.
Under this árvore is where I watch my own funeral.
***
It's strange, my funeral. It seems as though everyone in the hospital had turned out for the occasion.
I see my old team, my new colleagues.
Foreman and 13 are standing together, looking at the floor. He reaches for her hand, she sniffles.
She twitches. Sniffles harder. The Huntington’s was finally taking its toll on her, just like they had all pretended it wouldn't for so long. Foreman drapes his arm around her shaking shoulders.
Chase sits alone, at a tiny mesa, tabela in the corner. Cameron does the same, on the other side of the room.
Taub and his wife sit and talk in hushed tones.
Wilson stands at the foot of the open casket, with his eyes closed.
I know what he's doing. He's trying to block everything out. No wonder, he lost his girlfriend, his best friend. How could I do this to him?
Lisa enters.
She looks pale as a ghost. Paler than the body in the casket. She twists and turns the gold ring on her thin finger.
She's stunning, pale as she is. Her ebony hair is free flowing and loose, the way he always said loved it. She stands out from the mourning crowd in a dress of scarlet, of purest silk.
His favorito color.
I blink and sigh.
"You look beautiful, my love."
She can't hear. No one can.
"I miss you"
She holds her head high, in an attitude of bravery and strength.
Her hollow eyes tell a very different story.
She is surrounded por tears. But she does not cry. No tears would come.
She's sure her beating coração will burst through her chest and tear her dress to pieces. Her steps are shaky, her fingers trembling.
"Someone, please help her. Comfort her"
Wilson. Cameron. Anyone.
The entrance is at the opposite side of the room of the casket. Lisa is about halfway there when she is intercepted por Blythe House.
Blythe is standing in a defensive position, angled away from Lisa. Why does she feel as though this has become some kind of confrontation?
"You" whispers Blythe. She looks relatively calm. Lisa lets her shoulders relax a little.
"You were Gregory's..girlfriend, when it...happened?"
Lisa nods.
Blythe is silent for a moment.
"How could you not see this coming?"
What?
"How could you just let this happen? You were supposed to be there for him. You let him down, you let me down." She is hissing like a snake, her eyes are slits.
Lisa is speechless. Her cereja mouth is open in shock.
Wilson is watching out of the corner of his eye.
"My husband is dead. My son is dead. I can barely afford to keep my house, let alone support myself and pay for all this" She gestured around the room."
Blythe steps closer to Lisa. Lisa doesn't move.
"You're young. Your accomplished. You have a little girl, don't you?"
Lisa nods slowly. Rachel is with her grandmother tonight.
"I have nothing. It's all been taken from me. You still have so much in your life. Don't feel any shame? Guilt?"
"That’s enough"
Wilson cuts in to their conversation. They realize they had quite forgotten all of their surroundings.
Thank you, Wilson.
"It's not your fault, Lisa. It's no one except my own. I'm the one whose ashamed"
Lisa hasn't shed a tear since she heard of his death days ago. Maybe she's in denial, maybe she's in shock.
Wilson wraps her arms around her and plants a kiss on her head.
And finally, the tears come.
***
Watching them there, crying together, I feel mais detached than ever.
The wake service is over. Lisa never got a chance to approach the casket. Maybe she never even wanted to.
I thought I could handle this. That just watching would be enough.
Another thing wrong.
This was hard. Harder than anything I conquered in life.
I missed the smell of her hair, the smooth feeling of her skin. I missed her insecurities, her strengths. I missed the way her eyes sparkled in the sun. I wanted to feel her seguinte to me, in my arms. I was resigned to gazing upon her like a glittering work of art in a museum, there for eternity to be appreciated from afar.
I wonder if she misses me. The way I miss her.
I wonder if, like me, she wishes there were a way to relive the last five years we spent together as one. We had a future, a future set in stone. Now all she had were memories.
And memories fade.
One day, she may get over me. Or at least find a way to mover on.
I hope she does.
But not me. Never me. I could never mover on. Not here, alone in this room.
All I can do watch.
***
Lisa slowly makes her way back into the darkened, empty room. The only light is the moonlight filtering through the windows.
Hello, my love.
This is her last chance to say goodbye, once and for all.
She tries to forget the encounter earlier in the evening. She tries to forget everything.
There he is, lying there in his leather jacket. His violão, guitarra is seguinte to him, the one he's had since the eighth grade. His cane is there, scratched and dented.
Lisa smiles to herself, reveling in his glory.
A white flash catches he eye. She picks up and envelope lying facedown on his guitar.
"To House.
Love,
Chase, Cameron, 13, Foreman, and Taub."
It appears to be a letter, written por all of them.
I can't wait to read it...
She smiled gently.
"You had a good life"
His face was peaceful, eyelids closed over his ice-blue eyes.
"You had people that loved you. As much as you denied it, you had friends that cared about you. You saved lives.."
Solved puzzles.
She sniffled, a single tear rolled down her cheek.
Dont't you cry.
"You were blind. To everything you had..."
Tears are rolling down her cheeks
"But so was I. I never saw...how far the crack had opened. I never saw you had run out of rope..."
No.
It was never your fault.
I said I was the most screwed up person in the world.
And you stayed.
Tears keep falling. With a trembling hand she places a translucent laranja pill bottle in his folded hands. Inside the bottle is hr golden ring.
She takes a shaking breath. "I could never rescue you."
All you ever wanted...
"No matter how I tried...all I could do was amor you."
She sniffs. Another tear
"God, I loved you so.."
She strokes his cheek again and again. Tears are falling on his face and neck.
I feel pressure on my cheek where she stroked it. I check my bottle.
There’s the ring
"But I could never rescue you"
this she whispers.
"Goodbye"
she gently kisses my forehead and strokes my hair
Goodbye, my love.
______
PROLOGUE:
I feel pressure on my cheek where she stroked it. I check my bottle.
There’s the ring
"And I could never rescue you"
this she whispers.
"Goodbye"
she gently kisses my forehead and strokes my hair
Goodbye, my love.
* * *
How did we get here?
When we fought
When I threw the vase, out of anger, out of love. Out of pain.
When I yelled. She yelled.
When she told me get out, this is the final straw. She just couldn't take it anymore.
When I drove away...
When I OD'd, the vicodin finally did what it had been threatening to do since dia one...
Yeah. That’s how.
* * *
Anyone who knew me, even those who didn't, knew my views on God, the afterlife. I never believed anything happened after death. Just blackness, I always said. Nothingness. Well that’s just one mais thing I've found I was wrong about.
When you die, you are lifted up, up farther than you could ever fathom was possible.
With every pill I took, I could feel myself sliding away from my body. It was like my personality and soul were fighting their very hardest finally to escape the burden of life on earth.
I closed my eyes and allowed myself be lifted.
"I’m done." I thought
"I'm done fighting"
* * *
Now I sit, on a chair I can't quite see, in a world I can't quite make out, surrounded por forces I can't quite explain.
Seven days ago, when I was still alive, this would have drove me crazy. A constant itch, a burning desire to get to the bottom of things and understand every detail.
But not anymore. I'm beginning to realize that sometimes its OK not to understand everything.
This "heaven", this world, realm, whatever you call it, was nothing but wispy white clouds and blinding sun. There was no God, no dead celebrities, none of my ancestors. No one.
Not even my dad.
I'm alone, yet I don't feel lonely. My leg doesn't hurt.
I'm wearing the same clothes I was wearing when I died. In my pocket, I discover my empty vicodin bottle.
In the center of this wispy white domain, there is an elegant weeping willow tree. Surrounding this árvore is a crop of soft grass, almost as wispy as the nuvem itself. seguinte to the árvore is a rosebush, adorned with marvelously scarlet blooms.
seguinte to the rosebush, there is a small opening, a window, about the size of a microwave oven. If one were to look through the opening, they would see a glittering, birds-eye view of the planet earth.
Under this árvore is where I sit.
Under this árvore is where I watch my own funeral.
***
It's strange, my funeral. It seems as though everyone in the hospital had turned out for the occasion.
I see my old team, my new colleagues.
Foreman and 13 are standing together, looking at the floor. He reaches for her hand, she sniffles.
She twitches. Sniffles harder. The Huntington’s was finally taking its toll on her, just like they had all pretended it wouldn't for so long. Foreman drapes his arm around her shaking shoulders.
Chase sits alone, at a tiny mesa, tabela in the corner. Cameron does the same, on the other side of the room.
Taub and his wife sit and talk in hushed tones.
Wilson stands at the foot of the open casket, with his eyes closed.
I know what he's doing. He's trying to block everything out. No wonder, he lost his girlfriend, his best friend. How could I do this to him?
Lisa enters.
She looks pale as a ghost. Paler than the body in the casket. She twists and turns the gold ring on her thin finger.
She's stunning, pale as she is. Her ebony hair is free flowing and loose, the way he always said loved it. She stands out from the mourning crowd in a dress of scarlet, of purest silk.
His favorito color.
I blink and sigh.
"You look beautiful, my love."
She can't hear. No one can.
"I miss you"
She holds her head high, in an attitude of bravery and strength.
Her hollow eyes tell a very different story.
She is surrounded por tears. But she does not cry. No tears would come.
She's sure her beating coração will burst through her chest and tear her dress to pieces. Her steps are shaky, her fingers trembling.
"Someone, please help her. Comfort her"
Wilson. Cameron. Anyone.
The entrance is at the opposite side of the room of the casket. Lisa is about halfway there when she is intercepted por Blythe House.
Blythe is standing in a defensive position, angled away from Lisa. Why does she feel as though this has become some kind of confrontation?
"You" whispers Blythe. She looks relatively calm. Lisa lets her shoulders relax a little.
"You were Gregory's..girlfriend, when it...happened?"
Lisa nods.
Blythe is silent for a moment.
"How could you not see this coming?"
What?
"How could you just let this happen? You were supposed to be there for him. You let him down, you let me down." She is hissing like a snake, her eyes are slits.
Lisa is speechless. Her cereja mouth is open in shock.
Wilson is watching out of the corner of his eye.
"My husband is dead. My son is dead. I can barely afford to keep my house, let alone support myself and pay for all this" She gestured around the room."
Blythe steps closer to Lisa. Lisa doesn't move.
"You're young. Your accomplished. You have a little girl, don't you?"
Lisa nods slowly. Rachel is with her grandmother tonight.
"I have nothing. It's all been taken from me. You still have so much in your life. Don't feel any shame? Guilt?"
"That’s enough"
Wilson cuts in to their conversation. They realize they had quite forgotten all of their surroundings.
Thank you, Wilson.
"It's not your fault, Lisa. It's no one except my own. I'm the one whose ashamed"
Lisa hasn't shed a tear since she heard of his death days ago. Maybe she's in denial, maybe she's in shock.
Wilson wraps her arms around her and plants a kiss on her head.
And finally, the tears come.
***
Watching them there, crying together, I feel mais detached than ever.
The wake service is over. Lisa never got a chance to approach the casket. Maybe she never even wanted to.
I thought I could handle this. That just watching would be enough.
Another thing wrong.
This was hard. Harder than anything I conquered in life.
I missed the smell of her hair, the smooth feeling of her skin. I missed her insecurities, her strengths. I missed the way her eyes sparkled in the sun. I wanted to feel her seguinte to me, in my arms. I was resigned to gazing upon her like a glittering work of art in a museum, there for eternity to be appreciated from afar.
I wonder if she misses me. The way I miss her.
I wonder if, like me, she wishes there were a way to relive the last five years we spent together as one. We had a future, a future set in stone. Now all she had were memories.
And memories fade.
One day, she may get over me. Or at least find a way to mover on.
I hope she does.
But not me. Never me. I could never mover on. Not here, alone in this room.
All I can do watch.
***
Lisa slowly makes her way back into the darkened, empty room. The only light is the moonlight filtering through the windows.
Hello, my love.
This is her last chance to say goodbye, once and for all.
She tries to forget the encounter earlier in the evening. She tries to forget everything.
There he is, lying there in his leather jacket. His violão, guitarra is seguinte to him, the one he's had since the eighth grade. His cane is there, scratched and dented.
Lisa smiles to herself, reveling in his glory.
A white flash catches he eye. She picks up and envelope lying facedown on his guitar.
"To House.
Love,
Chase, Cameron, 13, Foreman, and Taub."
It appears to be a letter, written por all of them.
I can't wait to read it...
She smiled gently.
"You had a good life"
His face was peaceful, eyelids closed over his ice-blue eyes.
"You had people that loved you. As much as you denied it, you had friends that cared about you. You saved lives.."
Solved puzzles.
She sniffled, a single tear rolled down her cheek.
Dont't you cry.
"You were blind. To everything you had..."
Tears are rolling down her cheeks
"But so was I. I never saw...how far the crack had opened. I never saw you had run out of rope..."
No.
It was never your fault.
I said I was the most screwed up person in the world.
And you stayed.
Tears keep falling. With a trembling hand she places a translucent laranja pill bottle in his folded hands. Inside the bottle is hr golden ring.
She takes a shaking breath. "I could never rescue you."
All you ever wanted...
"No matter how I tried...all I could do was amor you."
She sniffs. Another tear
"God, I loved you so.."
She strokes his cheek again and again. Tears are falling on his face and neck.
I feel pressure on my cheek where she stroked it. I check my bottle.
There’s the ring
"But I could never rescue you"
this she whispers.
"Goodbye"
she gently kisses my forehead and strokes my hair
Goodbye, my love.
So I roubou this game from the "House M.D." fã page because it is a lot of fun and I thought all the Huddiers might enjoy playing :) It's also a fun game to pass the time between now and Jan 11th (sooo long!)
So the game goes like this: A player will make a hunch about the seguinte person (has to do with huddy of course). The player who respostas will either say true (they agree with the statement) or false (they disagree with the statement). then they will make a hunch about the seguinte person and so on. You use TPBM (the person below me) _____.
For example:
User123: The perso below me hates Huddy
HuddyJoy0524: False!!! I amor Huddy!
TPBM thinks the Huddy scene with Rachel in season 5 was adorable
Etc, etc.
I'll start:
TPBM's favorito Huddy scene is the kiss in "Joy."
So the game goes like this: A player will make a hunch about the seguinte person (has to do with huddy of course). The player who respostas will either say true (they agree with the statement) or false (they disagree with the statement). then they will make a hunch about the seguinte person and so on. You use TPBM (the person below me) _____.
For example:
User123: The perso below me hates Huddy
HuddyJoy0524: False!!! I amor Huddy!
TPBM thinks the Huddy scene with Rachel in season 5 was adorable
Etc, etc.
I'll start:
TPBM's favorito Huddy scene is the kiss in "Joy."
