In my heart I retract all the bad things I ever said, they were never a reflection on you, only on my inner demons. You worked hard and I only saw what you could not do. In my misplaced entitlement I gave you only passive aggressive rage, I withdrew to punish you and became self absorbed.
Now you're gone. I never deserved you.
I wish you were still by my side, that I could make amends, that it was me who died instead of you. I've grown, I've learnt about what really matters, but none of that matters now.
You walked out and the gap you left behind just can't be filled by another, by work or distractions. In your uniqueness you carved yourself a role right into my DNA and no matter how hard I try to remove it it remains unchanged; not bigger, not smaller, not louder and never quieter. I work around it as if it were a ball of razor wire in my living room, it takes effort to ignore it and just a glancing blow will cut deeply. I know it's my fault, I pushed you away and for what?
My pride?
Now I see what you meant all along. Now that you aren't here to hold my hand I see it for myself, but unlike you I have not the courage to act.
If I could go back to that night I would do it all so differently.
Your final words still haunts me...
Kurt would never come for me.
11 months earlier...
The knife sat precariously on my skin, soft enough to not pierce my neck, hard enough to enforce the intended message. The harsh metal should have been cold and raw against my bare skin, but my numb body could not feel anything except for the excruciating pain of betrayal. My throat and heart held in a silver grasp, and all I could do was stare lifelessly at the brown eyes that held the blade and a terrifying coldness I had never seen before. I had always thought her eyes were golden, but looking at them now I could see no trace of the vibrancy they once held, no trace of the mother I once knew.
Trembling, I tipped my chin up into the sharpened edge, tempting her to end my anguish, half hoping she would. A small stream of blood trickled from the feeble cut I could not feel, she did not flinch or remove her eyes from mine, a cruel smile stretched out across gaunt features. My frozen heart shifted at the sight of her merciless gaze, my legs almost failing beneath me. Her steadfast grip on the polished weapon deepened, causing more crimson liquid to flow from the raw wound she had inflicted.
"You should've stayed away," she whispered getting in my face. She gripped my face roughly and turned my head slightly so we were eye to eye.
"You're not my daughter," she said pressing the knife deeper against my throat.
The cold blood dripped along my collar bone, staining my white shirt. "Just do it," I forced out, glaring at her.
In one swift movement she removes the knife from my throat and penetrates the left side of my chest with the sharp object.
The dagger laid cold in her hands. It was short at four inches but so sharp even the most gentle of touches to flesh would result in a free bleeding cut. It's handle was carved mahogany and looked old.
I sucked in a sharp breath but that's about all I'm willing to show her. I wasn't going to collapse — I couldn't.
I could never recall how long the beating had gone on for, only the final kick and the sound of the iron bar falling to the concrete. My face wasn't too bad though, just a cut above the eyebrow, the scarlet blood flowing into my eyes.
It was my body that was damaged almost beyond the point at which recovery was possible.
The dark red blood makes its way out of my body. It oozes between the space between my fingers as I cover my wound with a shaky hand. My vision becomes blurrier as my now red shirt turns darker and all I can see is the scarlet blood that once flowed in my veins. Each drop of blood slowly takes away the life in me, leaving me pale and weak, yet defying death.
I could hear Roman yelling, begging her to stop from the other room.
"I've lost you both," I heard her whisper.
"I don't know what you did to him but you broke my boy and I don't know what the FBI did to my baby girl. My children —" she trailed off coming over to where I laid cold and shivering.
"He would give his life for you, you know but we can't have that. With you gone I can bring my son back." Her face was drained with a gaunt expressionless stare.
My eyes fell shut without my permission. I snapped them back open almost immediately. My body ached and I felt so tired. Her grip on my shoulders loosened and all I heard before my eyes shut again were grunts and glass breaking.
"Hold on, Remi!" I heard Roman yell coming over to me. My vision was blurred and I felt like my entire body was on fire but I gripped his hand with all the strength I could muster.
"Roman...Save yourself," I managed to choke out. I could see the tears gathering in his eyes even behind my blurred vision.
"I called for help. You'll be okay."
When the paramedics I didn't recognize cut away my clothes the blooming purple patches told of internal ruptures, likely organ damage.
They had looked at me with encouraging faces but were utterly ashen when I couldn't make them out, giving involuntary shakes of their heads.
And all the while there was Roman crying in the background like his heart had snapped in two.
The ride to the hospital was more terrifying than the incident itself; with every bump that the ambulance made, my anxiety peaked higher. I overheard the paramedics saying to Roman if he didn't call when he did, I could've died.
I know they were trying to help, but their words just bounced right off me.
"You're gonna be okay," I heard Roman say in the distance. I tried to hold onto to his voice but I was quickly swept away into a state of unconsciousness.
Jane laid in the hospital bed, knowing that the pain was tearing her apart but she couldn't feel it, the nurses had made sure of that. Instead she just laid there patiently awaiting her demise, contemplating.
The elder doctor took in the appearance of the blonde man, who claimed to be her brother. He looked like he hadn't slept in years, his clothes were ruffled and his hair stuck out in various directions.
"Sir?" The doctor said gently walking over to where Roman sat besides his sister, gripping her hand. He didn't look up so the doctor continued.
"At this point there's nothing more we can do for her," he spoke courteously through his soft English accent, that cut right through Roman. His eyes burned with an ache to sob as his stomach rock back and forth on the harsh waves of fear.
"Roman..." Jane forced out weakly, trying her hardest to squeeze his hand in hers.
"Here. I'm right here"
Jane's eyes dripped with tears. Her walls, the walls that holds her up, makes her strong just collapsed. Moment by moment, they fall. Salty drops fall from her chin, drenching my shirt. Perhaps these tears will help wash her sins away.
"I'm dying. Who would've thought?" She tried to joke but Roman gripped her hand tighter, she grew more serious then.
"Shepherd?"
"I shot her. I don't know where she now and I don't care. I can't lose you. Please, don't do this to me"
The sobs were stifled at first as Roman attempted to hide his grief, then overcome by the wave of his emotions he would break down entirely, all his defences washed away in those salty tears. When he at last turned his face to meet her eyes, he was a picture of grief, loss, devastation. It was the face of one who had suffered before and didn't know if he could do it again.
"I love you, Roman. Be better for me. Please"
"Whatever you want. Anything"
He refused to look away, even as his lips trembled and his shoulders heaved with emotion, unwilling to back down.
His dark lashes brimmed heavy with tears; his hands clenched into shaking fists, in a desperate battle against the grief.
A lone tear traced down his cheek, and just like that, the floodgates opened.
"I can't do this without you," Roman cried desperately. "I won't"
I no longer fear death, only where would I go. I have sinned so much; I would understand if I was sent me to the pits of hell for the things I had done. Or would I be forgiven because he knows my heart, knows I am just another innocent soul that allow myself to be persuaded by wrong things?
I never allowed myself to think about the afterlife, where I would end up, what I'd be after death. I just knew it was a departure from life. But now as I watch my brother crawled by my side fast asleep I can't think of anything. Where would I leave him to go? Would I be able to look down or up at him? Could I somehow guide him even in death? My brother was a good man — brainwashed, misunderstood but a good man. I didn't feel like I deserved the love and loyalty Roman gave, even after he learned of my betrayal he still stood by me, but I clung to it and hung the shreds of my sanity on it. I prayed that one day I would feel removed from my sin, washed clean of it, but the guilt was a stain on me, an ugly scar.
He deserved to live. He deserved a good life.
I hold my arm to the light, my skin ghostly in the morning glow. The worst of the bruises are the grip marks. There is a cut above my left eye and my abdomen feels like my guts are on fire. I try to recall what happened after Roman and I escaped but nothing comes, it was as if last night was a movie and the recording had been erased.
"I should call your family to come see you before... before.." He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence and part of me was grateful for the fact that he couldn't. I didn't want to spend my last few hours thinking about when death will take me.
I gave him a puzzled look. "My family?"
"The FBI," he whispered sadly.
The FBI. Kurt, Reade, Patterson, Zapata... My family.
"That's okay. Don't bother them with this," I heard myself say in a lower tone.
"You considered them to be family. Let them spend this last time with you —"
"Don't. We aren't family. They are just another set of people I disappointed. Just leave them be."
Roman looked shocked for a minute but he quickly recovered as he rumbled through his pants pocket for the phone I had used to call Kurt and pressed redial.
"Roman —"
He raised his hand and I swallowed whatever I was about to say.
Kurt answered on the third ring.
"Kurt Weller?" Roman asked into the phone.
"This is Roman. Remi's — Jane's brother,"
He listened for a bit with a bored expression on his face.
"She's hurt pretty badly. Doctors say she won't make. Thought you and your team would want to say goodbye."
He listened some more, his eyebrows knitted. He brushed his hand across his face and mumbled the name of the hospital before hanging up.
"He cares." Two simple words but they brought tears to my eyes. If only he knew how wrong he was...
She looked so peaceful just sleeping there. Roman's head was nestled in her lap, her hand rested at the top of his head.
God, I hope she's just asleep. I hope I'm not too late.
I didn't know what kind of flowers she liked or if she liked flowers at all so I just asked the florist for the best flowers she had. $300 for her best was ridiculous but for Jane it was worth it. Anything was worth it for her.
I knocked gently on the door alerting my presence.
Roman's lids that were drooping and leaden with sleep snapped open violently. He glances over at me then back to her her.
"Come on. Make this quick," he said and without another word he turned on his heels and walked out of the room, shutting the door gently behind him.
"Jane"
She stirred but didn't wake. I moved closer to her bedside and sat right besides her, brushing a dark lock of hair behind her ears. Her eyes snapped open then. She looked around confused until her eyes landed on me. She opened her mouth to speak but no words came out.
She rubbed on her throat then pointed to the cup of water. I refilled the cup and helped her to some water.
"Thank you," she whispered hoarsely.
"This one feels more realistic." I looked at her confused. She was babbling.
I smiled gently at her and held her small, bony hand in mine.
"Pains meds are a bitch, aren't they?"
Her disheveled, black curls were scattered across the pillow, and every breath I inhaled smelled faintly of soap. Thankfully, I had nobody to share this moment with. Glancing around the room, I noticed a messy assortment of notebooks, freshly sharpened colored pencils and other stationery items giving me a great aesthetic pleasure. Slowly, I pushed myself out of bed, letting my feet hit the cool floor and picked up one of the notebooks. They were sketches of Jane and Roman smiling fondly at each other, a sketch of Roman as he slept, random flowers and a little dog. I felt a smile stretch across my face as I took in what she had been doing in the few hours she was here.
The last sketch though, made my breath hitch. It was a sketch and us — Jane and I, standing side by side and scribbled at the bottom in neat cursive were the words I'm sorry.
I looked up at her only to find her already looking up at me. I couldn't read her expression, she just stared.
"Maybe I can ask Roman to give that to him," she said sadly after sometime, picking at the imaginary lint on her covers.
"Maybe he'll handle it better coming from Roman."
"I'm right here, Jane."
"You're not real," she chuckled, "I've been having dreams of Kurt since I got here."
Remorse etched at my heart. Guilt gnawed like a worm at the core of an apple. A tear trickled down my cheek, memories flooded my mind.
I was already losing her. She was dying.
Jane. My Jane.
She couldn't even tell reality from her dreams anymore. They were all meshed together.
I broke down and dropped to my knees.
The last breath had been pulled from my lungs. I didn't care who saw me or who heard me, the woman I loved just slipped through my fingers.
She died thinking I didn't care enough to come to her, that I didn't care enough to save her. She forced out those three words that made my heart stutter.
"I love you" it was low and breathy but I caught it.
I whispered it back, burying my face into her hair, soaking the black curls with my pain.
She gave me a sad, weakened smile and shook her head.
"Now I definitely know you're not real. Kurt could never love me.
Kurt would never come for me."
As the life drained out of her, her skin took on the pallor of a corpse. Her stomach felt sick and then one by one she lost control of her limbs until finally her head slumped.
"Kurt would never come for me," she whispered with her final breath.
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