16Title : A short stay in Switzerland (the title doesn't belong to me. It belongs to a BBC show that I didn't watch. But the name was inspired :):)
Synposis: The last weeks of a girl about to die.
Length:- This story is going to have six/seven chapters. I've already pre-written five of them, including this one. This is a first for me xd
Inconsistencies: I'm not a doctor (but maybe, if I'm clever enough, I can be one day) so there may be a few medical inconsistencies. This is purely a work of fiction. No characters depicted in this story are based on real people.
Rated : T
My eyes are dead. I sigh and then yawn, covering my mouth. I feel dead.
A poke. "What?!" I snap. And then go back to being dead.
"The remote," he reminds me, expecting me to hand it over but I hear nothing-I'm dead to the world.
"Cassie!" he snaps-just like a terrier and I see that he's annoyed, but strangely I don't care.
Next time, it's a pinch. Deep into my thigh, fingernails gouging. It breaks skin, brings blood (in my mind at least)... but I continue staring blankly at the screen.
The TV was off.
He doesn't bother to ask me another time. Instead he leans over and snatches it from my hand, unresponsive but yet twitching.
He switches the TV on and then off.
"What do you want to watch?" he asks and I can tell he is curious to what I will say.
I say nothing.
A sigh. "Cassie, what do you want to watch?"
The TV still remains off. I continue staring as if my entire life plan was etched on the screen, blank and gray.
My life. Blank and gray. Just like the screen.
A hot desperate kiss against my hand and I shudder, pulling my hand away.
And keep staring.
"Cassie," he sounds desperate. As if he wants me to let him in, but I can't- It would kill him for certainty.
Another sigh and then the couch dips as he gets off. Muttering. Grabbing his car keys. He chucks the remote to the far side of the wall.
It shatters and falls to the ground. He expects me to jump, say something, anything. Yell at him forever and ever with time I do not have.
Eyes scorch into the side of my head as he drags his hand angrily through his hair in a way that I used to love, but now resent. A frustrated groan. And then he turns around and leaves.
I hope he doesn't come back.
The kitchen is cold as I stand. Staring blankly into the back yard. A droplet of condensation on the window.
The tap is on, gushing and gushing. I hold my plate loosely and listen to the gushing.
The plate falls to the floor. Shatters. My feet are unprotected but I step on the shards anyway.
I feel nothing. I want to, oh lord, I want to. But the pain at my feet is pale to the pain in my bowels. My reflection stares back at me, gaunt and ill. Eyes red but no tears.
My death staring back at me unashamedly. I kneel, not wanting to see it any longer and instead start sweeping. The shards nick my gloveless fingers but I continue anyways.
A door slams somewhere in the house.
"Cassie?"
Oh god, he's back. Bile rises in my throat but I hold back and instead start sweeping harder.
"Cassie?"
Worry laces his voice. Footsteps draw closer but I don't look towards the door.
Why won't he just go away? It's all I want. Then he would never have to stare death in the face every morning and all night.
Tears start running down my face, feeble at first but then a torrent. I feel pathetic, weak. But yet I want strong arms to comfort and hold me.
He enters the kitchen and sees the mess I made. His face pales. He thinks I can do nothing right. But I'm surprised when he kneels in front of me and catches my chin.
Lithe hands holding me firm as I close my eyes. "Jesus, Cassie," he sounds annoyed. But concerned too. Hot breath fanning across my cheeks as I try not to inhale.
"What's the matter with you?" Tears start pouring harder and for the first time in ages, I take a gasping breath. "Jack..."
"Sssh, I'm here..." He draws me to him and hugs me fiercely. Like he never wants to let go. I bury my nose into the crook of his neck and breathe deeply.
I feel happy that he's not repulsed by my body. But then I feel apprehensive that he's still here. For a while, I let myself be comforted but then push him away.
Jack looks hurt. Worried. Exhausted. Dark circles under his otherwise handsome green eyes. I look up at the ceiling and smile bitterly. God has the darkest sense of irony.
Just as when it looks like my perfect man has been given to me- it turns out I won't be able to have him. Most of the time, I'm barely coherent enough to recognise his face.
My punishment before entering hell.
I look at him as he looks at me.
"I want to die," I say and watch his shoulders stiffen.