This one was inspired by the song Fake Plastic Trees by Radiohead.
Fake Plastic Trees
She is sick.
He is angry.
Angry about how with all the modern medicine and technology and science they just cannot know what she has. What is wrong with her. What makes her so weak.
Most of the time she sleeps, her eyes closed, her breathing even and Jacob just sits next to her bed, staring at her pale skin, so sallow and lifeless now, and he holds her hand, brushes her skin with his fingertips and hopes to beam some life back into her.
He brings flowers. Every day.
The white and sterility of the hospital room drains even more life out of her and he wonders why they keep the rooms like that.
So he brings her flowers, all kinds and all colours to brighten up her pain-wrinkled face and tickle a smile out of her.
"They're so beautiful," Bella whispers one day as he sets a bouquet of red gerbera on her bedside table and smiles at her – the way he always does, always did. Always will.
"Thank you.."
Her voice is so quiet that Jacob fears it might just fade into silence if he stops listening. Stops taking care.
Not that he ever would.
"No big deal, Bells."
She looks at him intently and he knows that she did not thank him for the flowers but for himself.
That he took care. And never left her side.
To him it is self-evident. There is no way he would not take care. He is her best friend… as much as it wears him out that he wants to be so much more. He loves her… knowing that she loves him, as well but not the way he wants her to love him. He wants to be there for her any way she wants… even though he knows he would never be what she truly desires.
And a cruel, masochistic part of him is with her every day because it fears that whatever it is she has is killing her. And he does not want her to die alone. Without him there to once again tell her how much he loves her.
"I love you," he says quickly, fear pinching his heart and she smiles softly, almost pitiful.
He does not know whom she pities, anymore.
"I know."