Ditto

A Oneshot by Desireé Lemmon

A/N: Happy New Year. Here's just a little outlet I used to channel some writing fuel. You may decide who the characters are. -love- Desireé

And there he lay

among the purgatory and torment he had endured in many recent months,

slowly drowning in the pity that had been thrust upon him

And there she stood

with hair like the night and hands like the earth and eyes like the ocean,

shaking uncontrollably as she came to realize that these hours were limited

The doctor is a tall man, no older than forty, with a few creases in his face like an old piece of leather. "Excuse me," he mumbles in a professional voice. The girl he has addressed gives him an artificially grateful nod, when in reality she would love nothing more than to push him down a flight of stairs and watch him crash on the second landing. Wishful thinking, she silently says.

Any room like this

being the habitat of a patient so close to nothing,

would normally have balloons and flowers and cards that meant well

But this particular room

being the habitat of a patient who was nothing,

had only the fragile little notion of a girl he wished he could love forever

He is perfectly awake, wholly aware, thoroughly alert. She kneels beside the bed, which has no IV hooked up to it, no beeping monitor, no disruption of peace. She is grateful. Maybe the doctor was a complete jackass, but the hospital nurses knew when to stop pretending they could be helpful.

Many hours were spent

trying and failing and over again,

to figure out a way to salvage this life and spare the thought of loss

Few hours were spent

after trying and failing and over again,

to accept the truth for what it was and only be happy it hadn't yet finalized

"You look terrible," he laughs hoarsely. His throat is not sore, or scratchy, or swollen with infection. The reason of his raspy voice is, in fact, his attempt not to cry in front of her.

"Thanks," she replies in a sarcastic tone. This makes him smile and she feels a small swell of accomplishment inside her. The last breaths he would take would not be in vain. She wanted to make sure of that.

Surely some relative of his

after debating with themselves about their own morals,

would come to visit because it was the right thing to do

Inevitably no relative of his

after deciding he had severed ties so they would do the same,

would come to visit because it was a foolish thing to do

"I'll miss you," she whispers after what seems like an hour. With a glance at the clock, she finds it's only been five minutes. It isn't clear to her whether or not this was a good thing. He looks at her; she tries to find the pain in his eyes, but he does a good job of concealing it. "I'll miss you a lot."

For a moment, she wonders if she has said the wrong thing, because he willfully turns his head away, his neck craned so he stares out the window. Then he responds, "I know. I'll miss you, too."

In the merry month of December

with the exchange of gifts and the lighting of candles and singing of songs,

families celebrated their religions proudly

And in the merry month of December

with no presents to give but herself, no lights to shine but her eyes, no tune to whistle but her own sweet voice,

she celebrated one last time with this abandoned boy she loved

They rest for a while, his hand shielding hers, her thumb clamped around his wrist protectively. The sun is lower when she wakes up, her back stiff from sitting awkwardly on a stool and slanting against the bedside. She looks up to see he is smiling at her. It is a weak smile, but one nonetheless. "Have you slept at all?" she laughs as she sits up straight, her spine cracking slightly.

"No," he says defiantly, "I do not plan to miss anything by wasting my last days on sleep." She gets quiet and he frowns. "I didn't mean it like that."

"I know," the girl sighs achingly. She leans down and kisses his palm with eggshell candor because there is no strength in her to gravitate toward him and let her lips meet his.

The clock says evening time. She knows the doctor will be returning to tell her visiting hours are over, but it doesn't even matter anymore. Perhaps the hospital staff has realized this, too, because by the time the sunset comes and goes, no one has knocked to bother them.

For the very first time in a long time, she feels at peace. And as her eyes flutter closed, he traces the words 'I love you' into her forearm with his finger. Her lips curl up in a smile and she takes a breath, something he won't be able to do tomorrow. "Ditto."

This last hour spent as he lay there

forgetful of the torment and agony that he had endured with her,

now inhaling the sweet air he had taken for granted all these years

This last hour spent as she slept there

naïve to the hurt that would launch upon the world quite soon,

instead taking in his presence for the last time with the word ditto hanging in her head.