People who wish for immortality clearly don't understand what they're wishing for. Immortality is not a gift, it's not a blessing. It's a curse. It's a curse that makes you watch everyone you love die, while you yourself stay the same. It's like standing still and watching your loved ones lives go by and not being able to go with them. Watching them getting old while you still look like your 34, watching them moving on and achieving the big milestones: turning forty, then fifty, retiring and eventually dying.
When I was dying, back then when it still was possible, Alfred Fellig told me I was lucky. Back then I didn't understand why he would say such a thing, but now I do. Who would've though dying as a gift? To a person who can't die, dying would be the greatest gift. I'm envious of those who are able to die. Life loses its meaning when there's nothing in the end. I'd give anything so I could've died with the man whom I loved.
It's been years since he died, but I'll never forget our last years. It was heart-breaking to watch him get old and sick as I was still the same when we first met. I had barely aged four years whilst he had aged at least forty. The little hair what he had left on his head was now grey, he's skin was sagging as thin as a paper, he was wheelchair bound and fragile like a porcelain doll. He wasn't my husband anymore. As I pushed him through the park everyone gave us the look, the look people give to the children of ill parents, parents who'll be dead soon. No one could've suspected that one's we were the same age, that this man was the love of my life.
It still surprises me that he lived as long as he did. We were always sure that it would be the job that would kill us. Not that we talked about death that much, at least not before we noticed what was wrong with me. Realizing that I could not die nor age made our lives complicated. We had already left the bureau and made lives to ourselves in a nice neighbourhood, we had friends and hobbies. Our lives were what one could call normal, no more aliens or government conspiracies, no more x-files. We deserved it, after all we'd been through we deserved some peace and happiness. But clearly God had something else in his mind. Since everyone around me aged normally, we had to move in order to not to raise suspicion. We had to disappear, make up reasons, and leave our former lives and friends behind. Towards the end we didn't even bother to make new friends, what's the point? No matter how many lies we told about the miracle creams and cosmetic surgeries, we couldn't stay more than eight years in one place. In his last years we got a cabin in the woods so he could live his last years peacefully. Every weekend I drove to the city to buy the necessities and whatever he needed, otherwise we barely left the cabin. Mostly because he couldn't walk anymore and moving was very painful for him. But a week before he died he asked me to take him outside on the porch, to see the world one last time. He knew he was going to die soon but I didn't want to believe him.
Week after the outing I was sitting next to the hospital bed we had brought to him. He hadn't moved much during the past week and for past two days he had barely opened his eyes. It was like he had given up but the life inside him didn't just want to let go. Everything was unusually quiet, it seemed like the whole world was asleep. I was about to get up and brew more coffee but Mulder's paper thin skin and fragile voice stopped me. At first I wasn't able to hear nor understand what he said. I leaned closer to him and asked: "What is it Mulder?" It's funny, after all these years I still called him by his last name. He hated when I tried to call him Fox.
The answer took him much longer than it should have. His breathing was hoarse as he tried to form the words on his lips.
"Gun. Upper. Left. Drawer. Bring it. Please." At first I didn't know what to do, but then he squeezed my hand and gave me a look. That moment I knew what he meant. I wished I didn't know, but I knew why he needed the gun. He was ready, but I wasn't. I knew that it was his time, but I didn't want to lose him. I was afraid, afraid to be alone. The silence between us was mind numbing. It was like time had stopped, only thing we could do was to just stare at each other. I wished that if I just stayed there and didn't make a sound the moment would last forever.
"Dana. You're my one in five billion. Please. Do this for me."
The moment was broken. Tears begun to roll down my cheeks. He needed my help, he needed me to be strong, but I wasn't. That's the terrifying truth, I wasn't strong. I was selfish and scared. I didn't want him to leave me.
"Fox please. You can't go. Not yet."
He didn't say anything. He just held me as I collapsed in to his fragile arms and cried, and even if he was weak his embrace was still strong and comforting. His rough hands stroked my cheek as we laid there and I gave up. I let everything go. Every sorrow feeling and pain that I had felt the past years just poured out with my tears.
And as this all took place not even for a second did he look scared or worried. He knew this was his time and he was ready, and somehow his serenity eventually calmed me down enough to get me up. We didn't say a word. We didn't need to. The connection between us was too strong for words. I walked to the left upper drawer and took the gun out. It felt heavy and powerful in my hands. I had held gun million times before but at that moment all that experience disappeared. The gun felt more dangerous than ever before. My hands were shaking but Mulder reached to them and gave me a reassuring look. He helped my fingers to the trigger and guided the gun to his forehead. The shaking didn't stop and I felt a lump on my throat.
"Even when the world was falling apart, you were my constant... my touchstone."
"And you are mine." My voice broke down and the gun went off. It was over. The silence was back. No more hoarse breathing, no more constants. My touchstone was gone.
I couldn't move, my whole body was paralyzed. In front of me was the bloody mess that once used to be my soul mate. It was disgusting, I felt sick. Most of all I was angry. Not to him, to God who was enough cruel to punish me like this. I took the gun and placed it on my own forehead and pulled the trigger. Again and again, until there were no bullets left. Nothing happened. It hurt like hell, but I didn't die. The empty gun hit the wooden wall of the cabin as I screamed. I hit my fists over and over again against the floor and yelled. I didn't stop until my hands bled and I was so exhausted I passed out.
As I said, it's been years since he died and ever since I've tried million different ways to die, but not ones have I succeeded. I don't understand how Fellig did it, but I envy him. I envy him so much.