|Fickle (fickle) wrote,|
@ 2012-03-18 02:25:00
|Entry tags:||creative: fiction|
nothing left to say except goodbye
Word Count: 824
Characters: Livia, Kiran
Warnings: Death fic.
Summary: Livia's dying and Kiran's there. Experimental second-person. I'm ridiculously insecure about this so, uh, be gentle with any comments you leave, please.
"I always knew you were going to break my heart, but I didn't think that you'd kill me too." Your weak laugh speckles your lips with red.
Your name is Livia de Luca. You are nineteen years old. You are dying.
"Shut up. You're not going to die." He's lying and both of you know it. The tears that choke his throat closed make his voice sound rough, almost angry.
He's never sounded angry at you before. You don't think he even has it in him to be angry at you.
But you're dying now. You're leaving him.
You suppose that gives him the right to be angry.
He keeps both of his hands down over your chest and presses hard. You remember hearing that if you're doing CPR properly, you'll break your patients' ribs. You don't remember who told you that. You know that his hands are too high up for your ribs. You know his hands are too low down for your heart. You know it doesn't matter because it's your heart he's squeezing anyway.
"Don't--" You manage to say.
He misunderstands and says, "I know it hurts but it'll slow the bleeding, Livia, it'll keep you alive until helps gets here."
No help is coming and both of you know it. He presses down anyway and you can feel your blood flood over his hands the way that your tears used to.
"Just hold me." Even now, you are still the one giving orders. "Stroke my hair like you used to."
He never had any talent for divining what you liked. You always had to tell him. In bed, out of bed -- you always had to tell him what to do.
"Livia," He's so stubborn. He still thinks that you can save you. You have to catch his wrist and pull upwards, but there is no strength left in your hands. Your fingers slip against his skin as if you are trying to hold handfuls of water.
He gets the idea anyway and takes your head into his lap. You sigh. There are no stars in the sky tonight -- either's it's symbolic or your vision's blurring. He strokes your hair like you ordered and you sigh again.
He has your blood on his hands and the part of you that died at sixfteen (that remembers him walking away from you, that bled for him, that still hates him) thinks that is fitting. But you have always loved him more than you hated him, no matter how hard you tried to hate him, so you give him absolution for that.
He doesn't say anything and you wonder if he's too overcome with emotion to speak. It takes you an eternity to realize it's because you didn't voice your thoughts aloud.
"I forgive you." Speaking's getting more difficult. Your mouth feels dry and your throat is closing up like someone's winching it shut, turning a key that tightens your throat like a lock. It's suddenly very important that he should forgive you too. You hate him for that too, that you need his forgiveness when you are the wronged party (but of course, if you had been better, he would have stayed so you must have done something that you need to be forgiven for).
His lips move but you can't hear what he's saying. Something hits your cheek and it's every cliche you've ever read, the wetness that you mistake first for rain and then for your own tears before you realize that they're his tears.
You're still not crying. You're proud of yourself for that in a vague way. You are a fighter and you will die as bravely as you lived.
...You should send Kiran away, It will hurt him to watch you die. Part of you thinks that he deserves to watch it, because he walked away from you when you were sixteen, he didn't see you dying in your room inch by slow inch. He deserves to be hurt for all the hurt he did you.
You just forgave him, didn't you? Ridiculous. The hate and the love have grown together so closely in your heart now that you can't forgive him, ever truly forgive him, anymore than you can ever truly hate him.
But you love him and for his sake, you should send him away.
You should send him away.
But you are dying and this is the last thing that he can do for you. You are dying and this is his last chance to make amends. You are dying and this is your last chance to be with him.
You say nothing in the end, just close your eyes. He holds you tightly as you bleed out.
You are Livia de Luca. You are nineteen years old and you are dying in the arms of the boy you've loved since you met him.
You are dying but you are not dying alone.