Crying Blood Bleeding Tears

My eyes dilated in the radiant surgical lights above me. I gasped for air. The room was silent apart from my lungs fighting to breathe and the beep beep sound from the electrocardiogram that often is heard in hospitals which indicates that you're alive. Tears rolled down from my face and my vision had become unclear. I squinted in attempt to sharpen the blurred images before me. Why am I still here? With a bang it all hit me. The memories started to occupy my thoughts.
My mind rolled back to my high school days in Queens. My high school was located in the borough of New York on Long Island across the east river from Manhattan. It was always cloudy in Queens or humid depending on the season. I was in my senior year and had already been excluded from countless other schools, this was my last chance to graduate otherwise I would have no hope of a stable future. I was a new student in Queens High. I had no family. All that was left was my 4-year-old sister. We shared an apartment and struggled to make ends meet.
However, a beacon of hope was found when I first encountered the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. She had luscious blonde locks of hair which gloved in the summers sun. Her eyes gleaming sapphire blue. Her soft skin and rosy cheeks were cast before my weakened eyes. It must have been love at first sight. I spent restless nights with thoughts of her. She was in homeroom with me, a table away. I had a significant urge to communicate with her, but my words became stutter. The spirit of love had cast its craft upon me. I loved reading and I had a love for literature, The Great Gatsby and Pride & Prejudice were the novels that got me life. Reading and transcribing books was my escape from reality.
I used to earn a few bucks by helping the kind lady in the central library. That was my only source of income. It was a particularly rainy day and I decided to head down to the library after school and perhaps engage my mind and soul into some Shakespeare. As I was delved into Romeo & Juliet, the bell above the door rang. A cold breeze of air rushed inside making the hair on the back of my spine stand up like military soldiers ready for battle. It was as if the sun had cast its goodness in the library. She came. I was in awe of her beauty. She sat opposite me whilst immersing herself into The Great Gatsby.
I put in effort to engage in a conversation with her. Little did I know, she was a bookworm just like me. We shared similar interests and the hours went by like seconds. The clock struck 8 and I realised I had to go home in time for my sister. I really did not want to go. Her chauffeur awaited her. Wow. She was not of my standard. A wave of sadness swept across my face but then when she glanced back and smiled at me, her eyes glowing, I was enlightened.
Every day for several months we would read behind the big shelves of books in a secluded area. As the days lead up to my birthday, I saw lust in her eyes. Was I ready for it? No. Maybe I should wait. Her lustful eyes made me uncontrollable. I leaned in, caressing her heavenly skin, and moving her hair behind her ears. I adjusted my hands upon her waist and pulled her towards my direction. The tension rised between us. As our lips met, her lips brushed softly and delicately like the wings of a butterfly, just long enough so that I could inhale her breath, feel the warmth and tenderness of her skin and the taste of her lipstick lingered as she moved back blushing. This act of intimacy ignited my body from a candle to a blow torch.
I wanted more. I invited her to my apartment. As we grasped hands walking along the streets, fire engines and helicopters blared and hovered above the buildings - what was happening? Flames shot up from my apartment. The only thing I could think of was my sister. Cries and shrieks of agony could be heard from the innocent victims inside. The flames roared ever so fiercely I was about to leap in until the firefighter held me back. She said everything was going to be okay.
I took her word for it.
A burnt figure in the arms of a firefighter appeared before my eyes. This couldn't be her. A wave of shock brushed past my face as I fell to the ground. NO. This could not be happening. I couldn't believe this.
She wiped the tears of my face and tried to console me. She expressed the story of how she lost her stepbrother and how she had been in the same position as me. She smiled understandingly much more than understandingly. It was one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it, that you may come across four or five times in life. It faced or seemed to face the whole eternal world for an instant and then concentrated on you with an irresistible prejudice on your favour. It understood you just as far as you wanted to be understood, believed in you as you would believe in yourself, and assured you that it had precisely the impression of you that, at your best, you hoped to convey. She understood me.
It was time for her funeral. The casket was open. Her tiny face brought tears to my eyes. On each side of the casket sat two large candles. Above the casket were roses red of colour brought from Penny's flower shop. Penny loved my sister very much. They shared a mother and daughter bond. In the background, faintly praying, was a Christmas song she used to listen to every Wednesday. The casket was closed, and pallbearers carried it on their shoulder to the hearse. As the casket was lowered down, tears were shed. She was the reason I lived and now she had left me. The smallest coffins are always the heaviest. They bear the most pain and grief.
Days of sorrow passed, I started to go to school and try to recover. It was as if my heart had been torn away from my chest. It had been almost a week that I hadn't gone to school, and I was missing her a lot. I hadn't received a text or call from her which was strange. As I entered the gates, I saw her face. It was pale. Something was not right. As I started to approach her, she turned away. I was angered.
I returned from the school gates and wandered the streets of Queens.
I entered a pub. I had never tried alcohol before I've seen in movies that it relieves one from pain. One shot. Two shots. Three shots. My mind eased. It was addicting. A glimmer of hope that life could be made tolerable flickered as I learned to drink alcohol. It altered the way I felt at first, I ceased feeling lonely in a crowd; given the next drink, I could be a part of a group and become the centre of attention, the star turn, the world would revolve around me.
Alcohol became more important to me than food, drink, air to breath, anything, or anybody. I was loving this intoxicating lifestyle. My perception of life gradually changed my understanding of honesty and truthfulness was increasingly warped and distorted. I was a free man.
My apartment had been littered with shattered shards of glass. The significantly strong stench wafted throughout the room. As I was in a horrendous state, I heard the door knock. I got up with a bottle of Jack Daniels. I kicked the week-old pizza box out of the way.
It was her. What did she want now? I chuckled. The sort of chuckle a villain chuckles when he is in agony. She held my face in her hands as she stared into my soul, she was in shock of the monster I had become. She sat with me on the sofa which had grubby stains. She placed my head on her lap and stroked my hair gently. She calmed the monster inside of me. Therefore, I loved her. No one could understand me like she could.
She put me to bed and layer beside me comforting me as my eyes closed. She said she was going to stay with me for a few days. The days passed like hours, and she left without notice. As I woke up, I noticed the room cleaned and a note was left above the furnace:
'Hi, I am leaving town. Well, this country if I am being totally honest. I enjoyed meeting you, you're a nice friend. Hopefully you will start a new life with your future family. I enjoyed spending time with you, but the truth is we can't do this. I have cancer. My chances of life are very low. I could die. That's why we are moving to London on the 19th of January which is tomorrow actually. Well, it's been a tough rise and I wish you the best. Goodbye.'
My heart shattered. My fist clenched. My knees fell. Why was this happening to me? I loved her. All this time I was just a friend to her? My heart could not take this. I started to drink more. This was killing me slowly.
A few years of loneliness and intoxication later, I was diagnosed with cardiomyopathy which made it harder for my heart to pump blood around my body. Doctors told me to rest and limit my consumption. So, I stopped, remembering her words. I hadn't paid a visit to the library after my sister's death, so I decided to become the old me.
As the bell rang, the librarian's eyes lit up. She had not changed one bit apart from the emerging wrinkles upon her face. She was delighted to see me. So, I smiled painfully. Behind the Shakespeare shelf were the bean bags which I had always sat on and read. I turned around and saw her. Her rosy cheeks and tender skin. She was still the beautiful young woman who I loved. She was the solution to my problems. I sighed in relief. She had returned. Or hadn't she gone? All that didn't matter, as long as she was before my eyes.
Then, a child's voice cried, "Mummy" and a small girl around the age of 3 appeared and hid behind her. It was her daughter. She had a family. We shared a moment of painful silence. My heart sunk. I realised that true love is just an illusion. It never really exists. I learnt it later in life but thankful to her I learnt it well. One sided love does exist. My heart cried. She said to me, "Not in this lifetime, perhaps in another". It gave me somewhat hope.
As I trembled along the sidewalk, my heart shut off. My system had gone blank. A few hours later I found myself holding onto life in a hospital. She had moved on. She was happy. My chapter in her book was over, little did she know she was the title of mine.