Someone sits at the bedside of someone they love.
Title: The Last Breath
Archive: Tallific, KliqzCamelot
Disclaimers: This is a work of fiction. I do not own these people, nor have any way of knowing what it is they actually do. This is a work of my own imagination. Fiction = not real.
Notes: Ok, so this isn't what I was looking for when I opened the word document, but it's what came out. This isn't one of my best works, and it's heavily influenced by what's going on in my personal life right now. Angsty and futuristic, and though it could actually be anyone, I wrote it with Lars talking about James in mind..
Summary: Someone sitting at the bedside of someone they love.
I sit here, watching, waiting. I know the last breath is coming soon. In part I'm ready for it, I'm waiting for it, I'm expecting it, I'm prepared. On the other hand, I don't know what comes next.
This has been my entire life, caring for him, doing for him, loving him. That is being taken away from me now, and I wonder. What is left for me? What am I now, who am I now? How will I go on? I know I have to, I'm not sure I want to, though.
I look over and my heart stops along with his. Long moments later, maybe twenty seconds it starts back up as he begins breathing again. I don't know how much longer I can take this. Our friends or family, either, because they take their shifts with him, as well.
It was hard to give up that time, those precious hours where I sleep, and let someone else sit with him then. I had to, for my own sanity, but I didn't like it. I still don't. I'm so fucking terrified that he'll pass on when I'm not there with him.
Some people may believe that it would be best that way, to not be there for it. Not me, though. I think I deserve that much, and so does he. He doesn't deserve this, though. This slow downhill crawl his body is doing. This pain that he is in, and in his coma-like state he can't tell anyone how bad it is. I know, though. He may not be able to speak to me, but I see the signs. I see the way he shivers almost constantly even though it's hot as hell in his hospital room. I see the way his legs twitch and jump restlessly. I see the way his hands absently scratch at himself, like his skin itches him.
I lean forward and take his hand, gently squeezing it before telling him that it's okay. They say he can hear me, even now. I tell him over and over again it's okay to let go, that I love him, and always will, but he needs to move on now. I don't know what it is he's waiting for before passing. I wish I did, so I could give it to him. I can't give him what I don't know, however.
Instead, I sit here, watching, waiting. I know the last breath is coming soon.