so this is just a scene...i wasn't sure if i should continue with it, if i get positive feedback ill continue but i just wanna know what ppl think
Disclaimer..i own no one except Melanie. Brock belongs to himself :-)
He looked through the glass, watching her chest rise and fall slowly to the rhythm of the heart monitor. Every time it beeped, Brock blinked. The white sheets matched her skin as her frail skeleton was visible from several feet away. Folding his arms, Brock inhaled deeply and tried to will the color back in her cheeks…her eyes, which were only slightly open. He clutched the red rose in his right hand and placed his left hand on the cold, sterile door knob and entered the room.
The door closed suddenly behind him and Brock slowly made his way towards Melanie, circling the bed, not knowing where a good place to stand was. He half expected her to wake up upon his arrival; she didn't even stir as Brock took his position next to another large bouquet of flowers. Her eyes fluttered slightly as he cleared his throat. Hardly any signs of life existed with every breath she struggled to take and he abruptly felt very selfish. Placing the rose on the counter behind him, Brock turned around and stood in front of the window with his hands behind his head. He could barely make out what was going on outside, only seeing shadows and lights. It didn't even matter at that point. Biting his lip, he closed his eyes and saw memories in his head more clearly than when his eyes were open.
The look in her eyes when he sneered at her…Brock could feel his fingers wrap around her slender neck, her pulse getting slower and slower the more he tried to squeeze the life out of her. Melanie was gasping for air without success. Brock knew she wouldn't succeed. All the power she ever had over him became weaker as her pulse slowed. He couldn't stop squeezing, even if he wanted to. Her neck breaking in his hands massaged his palms and it felt good. It felt so good. To finally triumph over her, was to break the cliché, to prove to himself he was not submissive to her and above all…make her pay. Pay for everything she had done. Everything.
"Mmhm." Brock opened his eyes and whirled around. The white sheets shifted around slightly and Melanie's head fell lifelessly onto her right shoulder. The only thing that seemed to stand out was her vibrant crimson hair that lay limp over her face. He cautiously walked over to her until his knees touched the mattress. She looked much more comatose than from far away. Her lips were chapped and parched, but the majority of her face was covered in red hair. Hands quivering slightly, Brock brushed her hair away from her cheeks and swallowed hard.
The stitches left a bloody trail across her forehead, Brock followed it with his eyes, not believing the damage along the way. The discolorations on her cheeks were blatantly obvious as well as the swollen soar on the corner of her mouth. He traced her wounds softly and Melanie grimaced in pain. Brock quickly took his hand away and looked at his fingers, which were lightly coated in her blood. Melanie was staring at Brock, piercing him with his gaze with no effort at all. Even on her death bed, she still managed to read him…know him, and he hated her for it.
"You made me do this to you," Brock looked up and stared her straight in the eyes, trying desperately to put the fear of God back into her like he did before. She didn't even flinch as he showed her blood in his fingers. Brock could only assume she was on the verge of, if not already, brain dead. He clutched her hair in his hands and forced her to look into his eyes, bringing her closer to him.
"You did this, not me," Brock said hysterically, "don't you dare pin this on me because I know that's what you're thinking." Melanie blinked again and looked into his swirling iris. He couldn't take it anymore, she was not confirming what he was saying, nor was she denying it. Brock felt his neck get warm, his cheeks flustered. She continued to stare blankly at him, as if he was speaking another language. Brock loosened his grip on her hair and fell to his knees. Running his hands over her face, all the way down to her arm, he breathed heavily, choking back his hysteria.
"Why? Why would you do something like this huh?" Melanie lay there, motionless.
"How could you do this to me…to yourself? We could have been together, think about it!" Brock buried his head into her hand, stroking her hair. Despite his plead, Melanie didn't move, nor did she express emotion. Brock's mind felt numb, but his mouth would not stop. Their eyes met.
"You destroyed us; you ruined everything we ever worked for. How dare you do this to me? We were going to have a life together." Brock felt embarrassed for his own sorrow but could not stop speaking, pouring his heart out.
"How could you do this?" He blurted uncontrollably, "How could you, you bastard! You stupid brute!" Brock paused. His ears were popping, only hearing the beating of his heart. Melanie closed her eyes for a moment or two and then slowly opened them. Brock was startled by what he had said, trying to remember where it came from. He slowly stood up, feeling worse than he had ever felt before, and remembered the flowers he had brought.
"You know what?" Brock picked up the flowers, "it doesn't matter because now I don't have to deal with you holding me back. You did this to yourself and now you have to live with it, not me." He picked up the bouquet and picked one rose. He caressed it under his nose and inhaled its fresh scent, then placed it across Melanie's chest.
"Rest in pieces," Brock mumbled and quickly left the room. Melanie continued to stare, her eyes welling up as one loan tear slid down her cheek and stayed there until it evaporated.