Alex looked down at his watch. Five minutes to twelve. Five minutes to
midnight. Five minutes to 2004. He couldn't believe that it had been two
years since that fateful moment. The moment at which his life changed. The
moment at which he had taken a young life away. The moment at which he had
killed someone.
He remembered seeing the boy lying in the road. The blood around his body. The tears on his parents face. The coldness of the prison cell in which he spent the night. He felt sick once again just thinking about it. He felt so guilty. He was guilty. It was all his fault, no-one else's. He was driving the car; he knocked the boy down, he thought. 'Scum. That's what the boys father called me'. The words echoed in his head, along with the comments made by Janice and Steve, before knowing that it was Alex who had been the drunk driver. But what he couldn't believe was the fact that he was over the limit. How could he have been, when he had only had two drinks? Well, at least that's what Sam had led him to believe for two months. 'How could she have deceived me for that long, pretended she was supporting me, let me beat myself up like I did, when all along she was just trying to cover her own back. All because she had wanted to try and sleep with me. How pathetic. How evil and calculating can one person be?' he thought to himself.
His thoughts began flooding his mind.My life seemed to go down hill from there. Ok, so I was allowed to carry on working at the hospital after the tribunal and trial, but what was the point of that only to have it taken away from me nearly two years later. And it's not as if I did anything worthwhile in those two years. I got Jess pregnant after a one-night stand, and I treated her so badly. Then I could have killed so many patients working with the Parkinson's. My career wasn't worth saving. I wasn't worth saving. I can't deal with things. I run away. I ran away from Jess and the baby and made her have an abortion; I ran away to America, then ran away from America; I ran away from the fact that I've got Parkinson's and I tried to kill myself because I couldn't deal with it. Deal with the fact that I'm getting what I deserve - finally being punished for killing that little boy and getting rid of my own baby before it even had a chance. And now what have I got? Nothing. I've got no career and I've got no love life.
The one person I loved I pushed away because I was scared. Scared of being hurt again. Scared in case she didn't feel the same way. And the one time that I did try and tell her how I felt, I went about it in completely the wrong way, for the wrong reasons. I did that because I was scared. Scared in case I didn't have another chance to kiss her again. I knew that I shouldn't have tried to, but she just looked so beautiful and I was scared in case I never saw her again. Scared that the brain surgery might have gone wrong. She was so supportive. So kind and caring, and I was stupid to jeopardise it the way I did. Things were never quite the same after that. Something had changed. I had changed. I wanted her even more. Wanted her like nothing or no-one else I have ever wanted before. I left without even telling her because I was scared. Scared that she wouldn't care, scared that she wouldn't try and stop me. If only I could see her once more. Look at her. See her beautiful smile, hear her wonderful laugh.
I wonder what she's doing right now. Who she's with, how she's feeling. I wonder what she's wearing, how she's done her hair. She's probably at a party, drinking champagne, surrounded by loads of people. Men looking at her, wanting to dance with her. The way I want to dance with her, but can't because I'm stuck here all alone. I can't even hold a champagne glass still, let alone drink out of it. Why would she ever want a man like that? She deserves better. Better and more than what I can give her. She deserves the world. Something that I can't give her. I can't give her anything worthwhile. Nothing that she deserves. I'm useless. There is no point.
He looked up as the clock started chiming. Twelve o'clock. Midnight. This is where it starts all over again, he thought. "Happy New Year" he said, before getting up off the sofa, turning the light out and walking up the stairs to bed.
He remembered seeing the boy lying in the road. The blood around his body. The tears on his parents face. The coldness of the prison cell in which he spent the night. He felt sick once again just thinking about it. He felt so guilty. He was guilty. It was all his fault, no-one else's. He was driving the car; he knocked the boy down, he thought. 'Scum. That's what the boys father called me'. The words echoed in his head, along with the comments made by Janice and Steve, before knowing that it was Alex who had been the drunk driver. But what he couldn't believe was the fact that he was over the limit. How could he have been, when he had only had two drinks? Well, at least that's what Sam had led him to believe for two months. 'How could she have deceived me for that long, pretended she was supporting me, let me beat myself up like I did, when all along she was just trying to cover her own back. All because she had wanted to try and sleep with me. How pathetic. How evil and calculating can one person be?' he thought to himself.
His thoughts began flooding his mind.My life seemed to go down hill from there. Ok, so I was allowed to carry on working at the hospital after the tribunal and trial, but what was the point of that only to have it taken away from me nearly two years later. And it's not as if I did anything worthwhile in those two years. I got Jess pregnant after a one-night stand, and I treated her so badly. Then I could have killed so many patients working with the Parkinson's. My career wasn't worth saving. I wasn't worth saving. I can't deal with things. I run away. I ran away from Jess and the baby and made her have an abortion; I ran away to America, then ran away from America; I ran away from the fact that I've got Parkinson's and I tried to kill myself because I couldn't deal with it. Deal with the fact that I'm getting what I deserve - finally being punished for killing that little boy and getting rid of my own baby before it even had a chance. And now what have I got? Nothing. I've got no career and I've got no love life.
The one person I loved I pushed away because I was scared. Scared of being hurt again. Scared in case she didn't feel the same way. And the one time that I did try and tell her how I felt, I went about it in completely the wrong way, for the wrong reasons. I did that because I was scared. Scared in case I didn't have another chance to kiss her again. I knew that I shouldn't have tried to, but she just looked so beautiful and I was scared in case I never saw her again. Scared that the brain surgery might have gone wrong. She was so supportive. So kind and caring, and I was stupid to jeopardise it the way I did. Things were never quite the same after that. Something had changed. I had changed. I wanted her even more. Wanted her like nothing or no-one else I have ever wanted before. I left without even telling her because I was scared. Scared that she wouldn't care, scared that she wouldn't try and stop me. If only I could see her once more. Look at her. See her beautiful smile, hear her wonderful laugh.
I wonder what she's doing right now. Who she's with, how she's feeling. I wonder what she's wearing, how she's done her hair. She's probably at a party, drinking champagne, surrounded by loads of people. Men looking at her, wanting to dance with her. The way I want to dance with her, but can't because I'm stuck here all alone. I can't even hold a champagne glass still, let alone drink out of it. Why would she ever want a man like that? She deserves better. Better and more than what I can give her. She deserves the world. Something that I can't give her. I can't give her anything worthwhile. Nothing that she deserves. I'm useless. There is no point.
He looked up as the clock started chiming. Twelve o'clock. Midnight. This is where it starts all over again, he thought. "Happy New Year" he said, before getting up off the sofa, turning the light out and walking up the stairs to bed.