FicWad

Disenchanted

As promised, Aria arrives a few minutes later. I’m lying in bed and I truly can’t get up. My legs won’t work at all. I open my eyes slowly and feel something wet on my lips. I touch my mouth only to realize I had thrown up on myself in my sleep. I look around for a box of tissues or something, but I can’t see any within my reach. I close my eyes to get up the energy to roll over and look for my phone, but not a moment after have I fallen asleep. The lights seem to have been turned off in my room. I see one little flicker of light planted across my wall, and it grows and stretches out into a full sized screen. I don’t understand how it works that my eyes are closed but I can still see the screen, but when you’re dying I suppose it’s possible. Although the ending of our relationship is pretty awful, we started with an alright scene. I see Aria and I running from the cops after decorating an ugly gas station wall with graffiti. We laughed so hard it stung. I wake up to the same face. A sweet, concerned face. Aria stands over me, smiling when I open my eyes. My mom, also, is in the room, the look on her face apparent with worry. It takes me a second to put all the pieces together. Even if my body is dying, unfortunately, my brain is fine. I passed out. My mom let Aria in, who probably found me laying on top of my bed, holding the poem book, covered in puke. I don’t care to imagine what happened after that. But I know, and they know, I’m nearing the end. They know it’s bad to the point where they don’t know what to do but fake a smile when I wake up. I don’t know why Aria has stayed. Although, I’m guessing that watching me in agony is making her feel better about all I did to her.
“Hey, Aria…” I mutter, when I finally remember how to work my voice.
“Yes?” She replies.
I close my eyes, and offer a fake smile of my own. “It was a lie when they smiled and said you won’t feel a thing.”
I feel terrible.
“Can I pray for you?” She asks, taking my hand.
I open my mouth to tell her no, but the word that comes out of my mouth, to my surprise, is yes.
Aria prays for me to have comfort as a die. Okay, she says it much kinder and religiously than that. But as she’s praying, my eyes wonder around the room, around her beautiful face. I notice my mother has left, giving us time alone.
“Amen.”
“Aria?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
I don’t know what I excepted from her, but her reply wasn’t at all it.
“I love you too.” She says, with no hesitation.
“Do you really believe in this God stuff?”
Again, without hesitation, she nods.
“Do you think that if I don’t die, like, if I…” I take a deep breath, gathering all the air I can get. It still isn’t enough, and just comes out as a cough.
“Do I think that you’ll be able to re-build your life?”
Even nodding is too hard, so I tell her ‘yeah, that’s what I meant’ with my eyes.
“Yes. I do. I think…” She squeezes my hand. “I think you can give your life to God and go back to teaching and get off antidepressants and learn to be happy…”
I wonder if she includes herself in this. I’d ask, but I have the energy for just a few more words, and I have something more important to say.
“Can you call 911?”
“Why?”
“Because, I think I’m dying, and I’d like to see if someone can stop it.”
A small smile turns into a wide grin that spreads across her face. And I’ve never seen someone so happy to call an ambulance to take a dying man to the hospital. She smiles with a slight glimmer of hope. The disenchanted look in her eyes fades away. It makes my heart itself smile. I blink, and when I do, I’m face to face with the devil himself.
“Well,” I sigh. “This isn’t a good sign.”