Disregarded Desires
She sits across from you, and though you'd never admit it, she is stunning. Her rich auburn hair, faintly curled and catching the light, just barely grazes her slender shoulders. You've been trying not to think about the simple black dress she's got on. Those weathered hazel eyes peer at you from beneath a mask of makeup you're sure you've never seen before in the very public hallways of the hospital. Your knees brush hers unconsciously under the small table, and even in the dim light of the restaurant, you can see the flush coloring her otherwise pale cheeks. She makes a futile attempt at idle chitchat, but before the waiter has even returned for your dinner order, you're shooting a string of brash excuses at her. 'I'm too old for you, I am not attractive, and I'm damaged,' as well as the unmentioned; you're still holding out on the hope that Stacy will come back, on her knees, begging forgiveness. But no matter how hard you try, you can't erase the image of the crystalline tears that line her eyes and smudge her mascara at your words.
Nearly a year after the disastrous date with Cameron, Stacy has returned, and though both of you are denying it right through your teeth, you've gone back to where you started before she left you. Save for the fact that she's married to a cripple (you try your best to avoid noting how ironic this is), or that you've grown cold and bitter since she walked out (and a drug addict, Cuddy would add. But you're in pain – they wouldn't know). Everything starts moving so uncontrollably fast and before you're even aware of it, she's telling you that she is planning on leaving Mark, that she wants to be with you. And it's your past all over again. You thought that this was what you wanted; Stacy was coming back to you, and things were going be like before, when you were happy. Except you still can't walk (or play golf, for that matter). It's not the first time you've disregarded your desires, but you find yourself in her office, concentrating on an obscure streetlight outside as you tell her to go home with Mark.
Because you can't make her happy.
Welcome to the first level of the first circle. Because you have willingly alienated the two people who have chosen to love you, you will be an eternal slave to your mind. In life you'd rather dream about your heart's desire, so in death, you will be taunted by your vision in that every time you see your love, she will disappear before you can reach her, as a mirage does to those hopelessly lost in the unforgiving deserts.
Self-Inflicted Pain
The tiny glass bottle sits on your desk, unassuming. You're positive that the contents can't speak, yet the liquid seems to be calling your name almost tauntingly. The sterile syringe lies beside it, the starchy white of the packaging contrasting sharply against the dark wood of your desk. The blinds have been pulled shut, blocking out the world on the other side of the glass walls. You know that what you've got in mind is incredibly stupid, but you want nothing more than to get Stacy out of your head, and, more to the point, prove 'von Lieberman' wrong. His achievements hold nothing to yours. The needle slips into your skin smoothly, but your breath still hitches slightly at the pressure as it releases the Nitroglycerine into your veins. Your breaths come evenly as you wait for the promised pain. Eyes locked on something in the middle distance, you are vaguely aware of Cameron's entrance. She's updating you on the patient's status when it hits you; an unbelievable burning inside your skull, just behind your pretty blue eyes. Cameron's worry doesn't disappear even after you cheerily (enough, under the circumstances) inform her that you're having a migraine. You don't say anything as she glances disapprovingly at the tiny glass bottle on your desk.
Later, as Wilson storms into your office with conscious boisterousness, you do your best to appear even more pathetic than normal. There is no way he can miss the extra weight you put on your cane as you hobble towards the red coffee mug on the other side of the room. And then he's off psychoanalyzing you again, absolutely sure you've done this because of Stacy (he's not completely wrong).
Next time you need to get your mind off something, stick a needle in your eye. It's less annoying to the rest of us when you can still walk.
Thank you, Doctor Wilson.
You've entered the second level of the first circle. The raging desert sun will forever char your delicate skin, as you tow a weight behind you, the merciless hooks piercing your skin to the bone. You'll be driven by pain in death as you were in life.
"Let it burn, so I can feel my life fade."