He remembered back to the night in question. It didn't take much effort - the memories ran very close to the surface. Doused in pain though they now were, the right feeling he'd had remained. Guilt, betrayal hadn't entered his head
until after there was no going back. He remembered, quite vividly, opening the door to see her there, the pleasant surprise he'd felt. She looked angry but something had instinctively told him it wasn't with him. He could tell he
wasn't the epicentre of her anger but it didn't take a genius to figure out who was.
"Abby,"
"Don't ask!"
The door, unaccustomed to violence, rattled off its hinges as she slammed it behind her.
"O.k, I won't. Come in, make yourself at home,"
She paced the same line over and over. He watched her, dizzily, unnerved by her constant movement.
"Hey, cool it, you'll wear a hole in the carpet,"
"Cool it? Why should I?"
"'Cause you'll send yourself into cardiac arrest if you don't,"
She was worked into a frenzy, a bundle of nervous energy. He was waiting for the release, waiting for her to explode.
"I'm just...Why doesn't he want me?"
Her voice was near pleading, looking to him for some kind of gratification almost.
"He does. He's just..."
"Look, he blows hot and cold so often and I'm so sick of giving,"
He opened his mouth to speak but any comment died on his lips when he noted the fire in her eyes.
"I shouldn't have to,"
"No,"
"Then let me take,"
Why had he done it? That was relatively easy to answer. In the context of the moment, pure intoxication of a kind which left him powerless. It was not the first time he'd let his body overrule his brain, it wouldn't be the last either but it was definitely the worst. Just look how it had ended up. She, she was as good as gone. He didn't have to let her kiss him, he didn't, could have pushed her away quite easily. Would have, should have. But once her lips
were on his, his fate was sealed and therefore so was hers. Every word, every action, every touch weighed more every time it played on his mind. There was nothing he could do except wait. No number of apologies would ever make this
right. The word sorry was uselessly overrated. He felt useless above all else, there was no will left in him to think or do or believe. He was in a meltdown.
"How is she?"
He was aware he was being spoken to. He couldn't summon the energy to speak. He was barely able to keep functioning.
"Are you...Don't ignore me!"
The person realised the stupidity of the question they were going to ask and backtracked. He wasn't ignoring them. There wasn't an answer, really, because she wasn't she. She wasn't there. Things didn't change with coma patients.
They either died or recovered. And Abby hadn't done either. Yet.
"I'm not,"
"Ah, it speaks,"
"Give over,"
He practically spat the words. Conversation was the last thing he wanted. He wanted solitude. He didn't even know where he was, let alone who he was actually talking to. He didn't actually care.
"Calm down, there's no need to bite my head off,"
"She hasn't changed. She's still the same. Go and see her if you're that concerned,"
He walked away. Left whoever it was standing there. He didn't want any sympathy. He didn't deserve any sympathy either. And anyone who even uttered the words 'I understand' was lying. No one could. Suddenly, in the numb silence, he heard his pager go off. Who was it? Didn't they know? Then he retrieved the offending article from his pocket and looked at the number. The ICU. Why wasn't he expecting this? It was time to go back. Everything today had happened so fast. Too fast by far. He made his way back to her room, retracing steps he'd already made with a heavy heart. He didn't look up as he entered, scared of what he would see. Whatever the truth was he didn't want to face it yet. He wasn't ready yet. After a few moments of waiting in the silence, composing himself as best he could, though why he bothered when the next few minutes would just make him fall apart again he didn't know, he raised his head. The first thing he saw was Luka's face. It was a stone mask.The Croatian no longer expressed any emotion. No one had to say anything. He didn't need to look at the monitors to confirm his worst fears. They were reality. She'd died. Questions lived and died momentarily in his mind and he felt his knees begin to tremble. Any life that had been left in him drained from his body in that instant. He groped for the doorframe in the overwhelming, black silence, anything to keep him from collapsing. His world rained down on him and this time there was no hope for redemption. He felt the other mans eyes on him, not accusing and not angry but hopeless.
"What happened?"
He stammered slowly.
"She coded."
Two words with devastating impact. How many times as medical professionals had they told people about death? How many times had they used those words themselves? Now they meant so much more. Whenever he heard those words from this moment on, he knew he'd see her face, visualise this moment. Pain ripped him apart, shattering his being into a million tiny pieces. Pulling together the last of his strength he walked over to the bed. He looked down on
her, surrounded by machines and tubes. She wasn't Abby anymore. She may look like Abby, but the soul inside was gone. Her peace in death was horrifingly dissimilar to her unrest on earth. But unrest was resolvable. She could have been this peaceful...why hadn't she lived? Why was this her time? When she still had so much to give. He wished himself in her place, knowing it was useless, but wishing all the same. No one would miss him the way he knew she'd be missed.
"We did this, Dave,"
Luka murmered, his eyes never faltering in their desperate, loving gaze. He couldn't take his eyes off her. He felt maybe he'd misjudged the Croatian.
"I know,"
He answered, the depth of sadness he felt not expressed fully in his voice. It never could be. He was here and she was gone. It wasn't right. And, he knew, it was his fault.
until after there was no going back. He remembered, quite vividly, opening the door to see her there, the pleasant surprise he'd felt. She looked angry but something had instinctively told him it wasn't with him. He could tell he
wasn't the epicentre of her anger but it didn't take a genius to figure out who was.
"Abby,"
"Don't ask!"
The door, unaccustomed to violence, rattled off its hinges as she slammed it behind her.
"O.k, I won't. Come in, make yourself at home,"
She paced the same line over and over. He watched her, dizzily, unnerved by her constant movement.
"Hey, cool it, you'll wear a hole in the carpet,"
"Cool it? Why should I?"
"'Cause you'll send yourself into cardiac arrest if you don't,"
She was worked into a frenzy, a bundle of nervous energy. He was waiting for the release, waiting for her to explode.
"I'm just...Why doesn't he want me?"
Her voice was near pleading, looking to him for some kind of gratification almost.
"He does. He's just..."
"Look, he blows hot and cold so often and I'm so sick of giving,"
He opened his mouth to speak but any comment died on his lips when he noted the fire in her eyes.
"I shouldn't have to,"
"No,"
"Then let me take,"
Why had he done it? That was relatively easy to answer. In the context of the moment, pure intoxication of a kind which left him powerless. It was not the first time he'd let his body overrule his brain, it wouldn't be the last either but it was definitely the worst. Just look how it had ended up. She, she was as good as gone. He didn't have to let her kiss him, he didn't, could have pushed her away quite easily. Would have, should have. But once her lips
were on his, his fate was sealed and therefore so was hers. Every word, every action, every touch weighed more every time it played on his mind. There was nothing he could do except wait. No number of apologies would ever make this
right. The word sorry was uselessly overrated. He felt useless above all else, there was no will left in him to think or do or believe. He was in a meltdown.
"How is she?"
He was aware he was being spoken to. He couldn't summon the energy to speak. He was barely able to keep functioning.
"Are you...Don't ignore me!"
The person realised the stupidity of the question they were going to ask and backtracked. He wasn't ignoring them. There wasn't an answer, really, because she wasn't she. She wasn't there. Things didn't change with coma patients.
They either died or recovered. And Abby hadn't done either. Yet.
"I'm not,"
"Ah, it speaks,"
"Give over,"
He practically spat the words. Conversation was the last thing he wanted. He wanted solitude. He didn't even know where he was, let alone who he was actually talking to. He didn't actually care.
"Calm down, there's no need to bite my head off,"
"She hasn't changed. She's still the same. Go and see her if you're that concerned,"
He walked away. Left whoever it was standing there. He didn't want any sympathy. He didn't deserve any sympathy either. And anyone who even uttered the words 'I understand' was lying. No one could. Suddenly, in the numb silence, he heard his pager go off. Who was it? Didn't they know? Then he retrieved the offending article from his pocket and looked at the number. The ICU. Why wasn't he expecting this? It was time to go back. Everything today had happened so fast. Too fast by far. He made his way back to her room, retracing steps he'd already made with a heavy heart. He didn't look up as he entered, scared of what he would see. Whatever the truth was he didn't want to face it yet. He wasn't ready yet. After a few moments of waiting in the silence, composing himself as best he could, though why he bothered when the next few minutes would just make him fall apart again he didn't know, he raised his head. The first thing he saw was Luka's face. It was a stone mask.The Croatian no longer expressed any emotion. No one had to say anything. He didn't need to look at the monitors to confirm his worst fears. They were reality. She'd died. Questions lived and died momentarily in his mind and he felt his knees begin to tremble. Any life that had been left in him drained from his body in that instant. He groped for the doorframe in the overwhelming, black silence, anything to keep him from collapsing. His world rained down on him and this time there was no hope for redemption. He felt the other mans eyes on him, not accusing and not angry but hopeless.
"What happened?"
He stammered slowly.
"She coded."
Two words with devastating impact. How many times as medical professionals had they told people about death? How many times had they used those words themselves? Now they meant so much more. Whenever he heard those words from this moment on, he knew he'd see her face, visualise this moment. Pain ripped him apart, shattering his being into a million tiny pieces. Pulling together the last of his strength he walked over to the bed. He looked down on
her, surrounded by machines and tubes. She wasn't Abby anymore. She may look like Abby, but the soul inside was gone. Her peace in death was horrifingly dissimilar to her unrest on earth. But unrest was resolvable. She could have been this peaceful...why hadn't she lived? Why was this her time? When she still had so much to give. He wished himself in her place, knowing it was useless, but wishing all the same. No one would miss him the way he knew she'd be missed.
"We did this, Dave,"
Luka murmered, his eyes never faltering in their desperate, loving gaze. He couldn't take his eyes off her. He felt maybe he'd misjudged the Croatian.
"I know,"
He answered, the depth of sadness he felt not expressed fully in his voice. It never could be. He was here and she was gone. It wasn't right. And, he knew, it was his fault.