The funeral was depressing, unsurprisingly.
It was a funeral, after all.
He guessed he should be more upset.
He had walked into the bathroom to find his wife of five years dead on the floor.
That should have been pretty traumatising.
In truth...he didn't feel anything.
He had calmly leant down and taken her pulse.
Then he had calmly dialled 911 and informed the authorities calmly of what had happened.
He had calmly escorted his dead wife downstairs and to the morgue.
And he had accepted the news of her death.
Then he had calmly gone home and informed her family and friends.
And now he was calmly dealing with the grief-stricken attendees of her funeral at her wake.
If he had been surprised, maybe he'd be more emotional.
But they both knew it was only a matter of time before she offed herself or starved to death.
When he remembered how to feel, he had tried to help her.
Tirelessly trying to persuade her.
But he was in no place to help her, because he was in the same dark place as she had been.
He had loved her. Once.
But she knew his heart never truly belonged to her.
Because they both knew that he was gay.
He had married her anyway, because that's what he was supposed to do.
He wasn't supposed to be gay.
He was meant to marry the beautiful blonde he had known for nine years, and have children with her.
But now, in a way, he was free.
He knew that was a horrible way to think, but he couldn't help it.
Dr. Cox grabbed his arm, and he yelped in pain.
The first emotion that he had felt in the past month, caused by none other than the mentor he had loved for nine years.
Last time Dr. Cox had grabbed his arm, he hadn't noticed the finger placement.
But now, the man's index finger and thumb overlapped each other by miles.
Dr. Cox pulled him into an isolated corner and pulled up his sleeve.
He made no effort to stop Dr. Cox. He just stood there, allowing his actions to be controlled by the older man.
Just like Dr. Cox had always wanted, he was now a mindless puppet.
"What the fuck are these."
Dr. Cox's voice broke through the glass bubble he had seemed to be encased in for the past five years.
He blinked stupidly as emotion after emotion hurled themselves like daggers into his very soul.
He felt himself physically cry out with pain as he grabbed his chest, gasping for air. He clawed his protruding rib cage as he began to drop down.
He fell into Dr. Cox's arms, pain shooting up his right arm and bile building up in his throat.
He felt himself begin to lose consciousness, and begged the Gods to kill him.
JD closed his eyes over the luminescent blue as his last plea ripped out from between his blue-tinged lips.