033. Too Much
Too Much
Sometimes he wants too much. Sometimes when his leg hurts too badly and he knows that one more little white pill will see him in the ER having his stomach pumped, he wants so badly, wants what he is sure will help, will ease his pain. He wants it badly enough that it partially overcomes the pain. It brings a new pain in its wake, of course. A pain of wanting what he cannot have, of needing what can never be his. He'll take what he can though. Better to take the friendship that is given and accept that much than try for more and lose everything.
Her arrival hasn't helped at all. She arrived with all her worry and concern and it wasn't for him. He loved her once…before. That was what his life was now; before and after. Before he had loved her but now…after…it was too much. Seeing her was too much. The others believed it was because he still loved her and he let them think that. But he doesn't love her, not anymore. But seeing her brought it all back; the pain, the fear, the indecision and that dreadful, terrible, shattering moment when he'd woken from the coma to find that he was alive but forever crippled. Crippled outside and crippled inside. Pain-wracked, pain-raddled, pained.
And sometimes seeing him is too much. He'll come wandering in, hands shoved in the pockets of his pristine white coat with that small half-deprecating, half-amused smile on his face. He'll banter, he'll quip, he'll return the sarcasm and dry irony. Then he'll smile again, wider, more genuine this time then turn and leave. And he'll watch him go and want…too much.