Disclaimer: I don't Doctor Who, or Torchwood, or any of the characters belonging to those series.
Immortal. Immortal. Such a beautiful word for such an awful reality. And I owe it all to you. Thanks a million, Doctor. It wouldn't be so bad if we were still all together, but you went without me, didn't you? Just shut the doors and left me. I want to believe that you did that on purpose, because then I know that you know I'm still alive.
But you wouldn't have done that. You think I'm dead. And no-one goes looking for a dead man. And Rose? What's happened to her? Did you keep her safe? Or is she like me now, a walking corpse? Is this how you treat all your companions, Doctor? I don't blame you – it's so lonely, being immortal. Are you happy now, now you've thrown your misery on us?
My wrists leak blood, filling the sink, but I don't die, just lie there, dizzy, staring at the ceiling, knowing that there's no way out. I've tried everything, but the scars just heal. God, I've done it all now. Everything you wonder what it would feel like if you tried. I've taken that step that you always wonder about, slashed that extra bit deeper. I know the most painless way to commit suicide, by experience. It's actually quite funny, if you think about it. It makes me laugh, at any rate. I wonder if you'd laugh, if you knew.
I wish I'd died up there, on the Gamestation. I was ready. But you had to spoil it, didn't you? No, I'm being stupid. I didn't want to die – who would? But I didn't want to live, not like this. Takes the fun out of everything, knowing that there's no more danger. Perhaps I should get a job – stuntman, policeman, join the army, something where being unkillable is an advantage. But that's just not me. And I can't settle down. I've got to find you.
I don't know why I need to see you so badly. After all, you were the one that ended it. But still, I need to find you. Perhaps you can stop this. Perhaps I just want the satisfaction of punching you in the jaw, or shooting you, taking a regeneration to pay for the life you stole from me. I don't know. I just know I have to find you.
So, I got a job. Not quite regular, but it is stable. I doubt you'd approve, but where else could I go? At least here I'm the first one to know about anything strange that turns up. And I'm enjoying life again. Seems like being attacked by blood-thirsty aliens is a sure-fire cure for depression: that's why you were always grinning, I suppose. I don't want to kill you as badly as I did – I've got over that. I just want to see you and Rose again. I think Gwen and Rose would get along – they could swap stories about the horrible predicaments we dragged them into. It might take a while, but I will find you. After all, I've got all the time in the world.