A/N: The concept may seem repeated, and some of the lines have been used from my own previous stories. But I so wanted to post this one!
WARNING: One-sided Rockstar. ONE. SIDED.
Trigger-warning by the end of the story. I do not, in any case, support suicide. For this theme, it only sounded fair though.
:: White Lies ::
..
Twisting uncomfortably in his chair, he silently wished to have been dead on the first encounter where he had gotten himself shot. Getting treated under her presence in the hospital was a pain that hit him with intensity much sharper than a thousand bullets tearing through his chest. With deeds as gruesome as his, he knew only hell would accept him with open arms. But at that moment, hell seemed more heavenly than being alive. Living to see her. Or even think of her.
She knew his background, his ruthlessness well, ever since he was initially admitted to the hospital to be treated by her. Yet, she seemed to show no disgrace, no resentment whatsoever whenever she tended to him. Many-a-times, she had smiled! Smiled that million bucks smile. And that killed him. If she would have loathed him for his criminal record, it would have been easier for him, at least for his mind to stay sane in front of her.
Not that they had talked many conversations for him to fall for her. No, that was never the cause. They had hardly ever exchanged words beyond the schedule of medicine consumption and some random follow up rounds. If getting nursed by her wasn't bad enough, what was worse was getting healed. And to see her face during each follow up session was utterly tormenting.
"You don't need any more check-ups, Rocky. You're doing fine now." She had said during their supposedly last session, giving him a satisfactory smile. How wrong she was! 'Fine my foot!,' he thought in his mind.
She had given him an illness much more grievous than his physical injuries, never knowing that she and that smile were the reason behind it. She never had to know, of course, he had determined. He never even cared to understand why exactly did he consume the prescribed medicines he had not intended to. Maybe because that would disappoint her. And he was shocked to realize that he would never ever like to see her sunken face upon realizing his health is not improving under her supervision. No, that would have certainly broken him from within.
To hell with all, many such incidents occurred where he was left wondering why did they have to occur. Why did she have to ask 'How are you feeling today?' flashing that heart-shattering smile each time she came on a round? Why did he have to utter a 'Thank you, Dr. Tarika!' each time after her diagnosis was done. And why did he feel the need to walk her to her car- for a mere ten minutes which seemed a hundred years to him- after one random follow up session?
Why and since when did he feel the need to care so deeply about her- about just a random doctor who happened to be nursing his injuries in a random goddamned hospital? That too, despite knowing the heart-crunching fact that she was engaged to someone else? Yes, he could still recall the wincing pain he had experienced when she had casually mentioned about her fiancé.
In spite of the dark world surrounding him, never once did she seem to come across as being reluctant in tending to him, or hesitating in giving him the required treatment. Or maybe she was apt in hiding her true feelings, he pondered over. Which is why, for exact reasons unbeknonwst to him, he casually decided to show up at her clinic one random night when she was about to wrap up her work.
..
"Rocky?" She exclaimed, her voice barely a whisper and face devoid of any fathomable expression. For a moment before responding, he couldn't help admiring her from the door of her cabin. The way her pretty face glowed even through the tiredness of the day. The way her eyes twinkled even in the dim light of the semi-dark cabin. The way her curls teased her face when-
Thankfully, he crashed back to reality before she could doubt and responded rather hesitatingly. "I.. umm.. thought of.. of seeing how you're doing." No response, again. "Have a seat," she gestured to the chair across her table and he obliged.
The cabin was filled with a dead, awkward silence for a few minutes, during which he decided to scan every unimportant thing his eyes and his neck permitted, each time carefully avoiding her eyes. He didn't want his heart to do a roller-coaster again!
"How are you doing?," she finally asked in a low yet deep tone. He still failed to understand what she actually thought. "Good," he managed, looking down and fiddling with the paper-weight. He was sure she smiled on that, but he was determined not to look at her.
The times when ordinary civilians are terrified of their name being linked with a criminal, he was amazed how she had always agreed to treat him and never complained whenever he visited her, let alone create a wild uproar about it.
"You should leave now. I'm getting late," she said and when he raised his head to have one look at her, he saw that she was sitting in the same position as his- head staring at the floor and hands fidgeting with a pen. And then, still looking at the floor, she abruptly rose from her chair and fetched her purse, heading toward the door.
"It's not safe for you to go alone so late. Can I accompany you till your house?," he let out in one breath and regretted it the next instant, for it sounded close to a desperation rather than a request, despite knowing perfectly well she left alone at the same time every other day. Therefore, when she didn't reply for a long time, he quietly turned around to leave. "Alright," she finally responded walking past him out of the cabin and he followed in silence.
The first ten minutes of the journey to her house that night were probably the most silent minutes her car must have witnessed, during which she kept driving whilst staring at nothingness and he shifted uncomfortably in the passenger seat occasionally glancing out of the window. After some time, he broke the ice. "I.. I have given up all my wrongdoings," he whispered, not knowing why he needed to tell her the latest development in his damned life. For a split second, she looked at him before continuing driving.
"Where do you live?," she asked and he told her about his hiding place without any delay. Somehow he was certain she wouldn't disclose the details to the police. After some casual talks, he ultimately decided to ask her that one thing he always wanted to know. "In all these days, why didn't you.. I mean.. how come you never surrendered me to the cops? You.. you had that chance knowing of my background."
"I always believe in giving a second chance," she responded in a faint voice and took a long pause before continuing. "And you.. looked like worth getting a second chance." She smiled ruefully looking at him, probably for the first time that night. He merely managed to smile back.
"Why have you allowed a devil like me to sit in your car?," he asked, somewhat annoyed. It happens when you are desperately trying to figure what runs in somebody's mind but the attempt turns futile. "I feel safe with you, I don't know why. Sometimes you feel secure with devils," she answered, chuckling slightly in spite of herself.
Somewhere he knew it was true.
"Thanks! I'll walk home from here," he said getting off her car. "Good night, Rocky," she said, before continuing with a moment of hesitation. "Take care. Take care of your health… and… and be happy. Always! Search for some good ethical work, work hard and lead a simple, happy life," she smiled. "Hope we meet again!," she finished with a hint of concern.
"I will! I will take efforts and try to find a decent job… and I will come and meet you again." Lies. Every word he said was a lie. A white lie. He wouldn't dare to tell her the truth. Because he knew she didn't deserve any of it. Like she didn't deserve to come in contact with him again. Or even see his face ever again. She deserved only pure love and happiness. And she would get it only if he deletes himself permanently from her life.
And thus, white lies were all he could tell her that night. The night he'd get to see her face and smell her fragrance for the last time. Because the truth would only disappoint her. And he had never been so courageous as to see that on her face without his heart crashing into a million pieces.
And she never had to know. He always made sure of that, for that was the best for her. He certainly wouldn't want to ruin her world.
"I shall pray for you Dr. Tarika. Pray that you are never, ever short of happiness!" This was one truth he could whisper to himself, long after her car was way out of sight. In all those white lies, one truth he wished she and the God she believed in could hear.
One thing he would regret was she would be upset on knowing he hadn't kept his promise. But she would get over it. Sooner or later. And her world would be full of love and warmth and happiness.
..
As he sat in his chair thinking about that night, he knew his purpose was fulfilled. If there existed anything as love, then he had loved her. Loved her mysteriousness. Loved the air that surrounded her. Loved the sweet void she left behind every time she exited the hospital room upon checking on him. He loved every bit of her. Deeply. Unconditionally. Irrevocably.
He held the gun to his head, silently wishing upon her desired life to be given to her before he bid adieu to everything. The time had come. The time when hell would finally embrace him with open arms. The time when he no longer needed to see this inexplicable world. The time when he could imagine her face and leave for eternity.
The time when he realized if there was any existence of love and warmth, he had experienced it albeit momentarily. Her smiling face swam in front of him as he pulled the trigger.
..
~~ The End ~~