Angel Boy
Chapter 8/?
A 7th Heaven Fan Fic by Lucky Star


Chapter 8: Reflections

My first thought was that I must have died. Maybe this is what heaven feels like. I feel free. Weightless, boundless. Totally free. I feel like I'm flying, like my feet can't touch the ground and I don't want to anyway. I want to stay like this forever.

The euphoria slowly faded, turning to a vague awareness of the room around me as my head tried to clear. I knew then I wasn't in heaven, or anywhere close to it. Hell seemed a more appropriate description.

My whole body ached, every muscle seemed to pull in a different direction. I thought if I could move, just a little, I could relieve some of the pressure, but I didn't want to move because I didn't want anyone to know I was awake.

Let them keep talking to my still form, let them keep crying and praying for my recovery. At least someone was praying for it.

I just wanted to die.

Everyone would be better off without me around, any fool knew that was true. I had destroyed my family, and I didn't deserve to live.

"Eric! He blinked! I think he's waking up!" I recognized my mother's voice, and my father moved closer to my bed. I could feel both of them touching me. Mom held my hand, Dad put his hand on my arm..

They have no idea what I have done. They don't realize it's all my fault. I did this, I'm responsible for Lucy and Kevin, and everything. If they knew that, if they knew what I had done, they would be with Lucy right now, not me. Why aren't they with Lucy? She needs them, she deserves them at her side. She didn't do anything wrong, except try to help me when I was too far gone already. She should have just left me to die like I wanted.

Dear God, why won't you let me die? Send me to Hell, I don't care. I know I wouldn't be welcome in Heaven after the things I've done.

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"Don't be so hard on yourself," the words filled my head, and I knew it was Josh again. He wasn't gone after all.

He was sitting on the footboard of my bed.

I have always believed in spirits, but not quite like this. Not the ability to present in a human form. Josh was with me, and had been with me always, but this image of him was nothing more than my mind trying to see him and create him and make him real.

"You know they love you, and they only want you to get well, no matter what you've done," Josh added.

If he had been a real person, I would have felt anger at his suggestion. No one knew what I had done, no one knew how immature and stupid I had been. No one except me and God.

"You're not real," I told him, and unless my eyes were playing tricks on me, he seemed to pale a little. He barely looked human now, mostly transparent, ot even ghostly.

"But you are," he started, and I could sense him losing strength. "You're their son. You read your mother's journal. You saw in her own handwriting just how blessed she felt when you were born. They should have lost both babies, Simon, but somehow you survived. Your parents love you, and they will forgive you if you just give them the chance."

"Shut up," I glared at him, or what was left of him. He was slowly dissolving into the air. "I wish I never read that stupid notebook." In saying that I knew I was saying goodbye to him, and this was it. Whatever he said now would be the last of it, the last of him.

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Simon. Don't shut out the ones who love you. They are your strength and your redemption. Reach out to them and let them help you."

I closed my eyes and turned my head to the side, away from him. I'm much too old to project my thoughts through an imaginary friend.

"They won't blame you, Simon. They love you. They just want you to get better." His voice faded with each word until he was gone.

Finally.

Tears stung my eyes at the realization I had pushed him away. But that's crazy, because he isn't real. He can't be real. He's my conscious, or my subconscious trying to voice my real thoughts.

I don't want to die. I want my mother to hold me in her arms and tell me it's okay, everything will be okay. I want Mom to tell me she loves me no matter what. Nothing matters, except me and it's okay. I'm going to be okay.

I thought I felt her hands in my hair, stroking it away from my face. Lips, softly pressed to my forehead, and a gentle squeeze on my hand.

"You're going to be just fine, baby," she whispered, and I felt myself nod in response.

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End chapter 8. Thanks to all of you who read and review, I love you guys! Anyway, keep those reviews coming. Now that the hectic holiday season is more or less over at work, I'm hoping I will have more time (and energy!) to write...Until then, please read and review, and know I appreciate you! Thanks! Lucky Star (JjsLuckyStar@aol.com)