Drowning in the Distance

XVI | Donghyuck

I stare out at the twinkling lights in the distance, my legs dangling over the side of the roof, my fingers reaching to replay the voicemail that she left me after her surgery. I play it over and over and over again over the last few days, just to hear her drowsy voice on the other end. I can recite it word for word now. I miss her. Her lame jokes, her cheerful presence, her stupid laugh, her bossy attitude. All of it. My gaze falls unconsciously, down four stories to the window of room 302. The room is dark except for the soft light from her desk lamp. She sits at the desk, her brow furrowed in concentration as she fiercely taps at the keys on her laptop, her wavy hair tied in a really messy up-do, neither a ponytail or a bun. I frown slightly. What is she doing this late at night? It's getting late, she should take a break. I let my eyes trace over her features, taking in her skin, her lips, her eyes. Is she still thinking about me? 

I feel a prickle of cold upon my forehead, glancing up at the sky as a gentle flurry of snow is starting to fall and add to the already thick blanket that coats the city. I close my eyes for a moment, enjoying the feeling of icy flakes landing upon the skin of my face. With all my moving around, I must have been on the roof of at least 20 hospitals over the years. I've looked down at the city below, watching the world go by and leave me behind, experiencing the same thing at every single one, regardless of the country or the scenery; a feeling of longing. An irresolute yearning to be walking through the streets alongside the people who parade them, or swimming in the ocean with the unknown creatures that inhabit it... A longing to live life in a way I've never had the chance to. My entire life, I've been wanting something that I couldn't have, something that was out of reach. But now what I want isn't out there. It isn't a thousand miles away. It's right here. It's close enough to touch. But I can't. 

Until now, I didn't want anything serious. I loved not catching feelings and moving away before anything could develop further. Honestly, I don't think I believed in love, as sad as it sounds. I certainly didn't think or even know that it was possible to want something so bad, to have so much desire for something that you feel it in your arms and your legs and in every breath that passes through your lungs.

I'm pulled from my thoughts when the sound of her voice in the voicemail cuts out for a moment, a dinging sound coming from my phone. I look down, ready to flick the notification away, only to see a notification from her app, a tiny cartoon bottle dancing next to the words: Night-time meds! I don't swipe it away. The notification eventually times out and the voicemail starts back up, the animation passing and I'm left staring at my reflection in the black screen as she finishes speaking and ends the call. I can't even explain why I'm still doing this. I truly don't know why. I allow myself to look down at her, appreciating her moonlit beauty for a moment before I stand, pulling myself over the ledge and onto the roof, striding over to the door and grabbing my wallet, as well as a newly-folded note, before the metal slams shut behind me. 

I slowly make my way down the stairs and back to the third floor, peering out of the doors and looking to my left and right, ensuring that no one is in the hallway before sneaking back into the ward and down to room 315. I pull my door shut, as quietly as I can so that I don't alert anyone of my return and, therefore, my absence. I cross the room and stand in front of the med cart, mixing my allocated meds together in a cup of pudding, taking them just the way she taught me. As I swallow down a spoonful of chocolate dessert and pills, I stare at a drawing on my desk. It's one that I did earlier today, depicting myself as the Grim Reaper, the blade of my scythe reading: "LOVE." My eyes wander up to the drawing of Y/N from the yoga room, still pinned up above my desk. I can't bring myself to take it down, nor to give it to her. I take a deep breath, throwing the empty cup into the bin over by the door, when my phone pings loudly. I pull it from my pocket, seeing a text from Wendy.

You still doing okay?

With a loud sigh, I pull my hoodie from my body, throwing it over the back of the chair by my desk, and send her a text back, fingers moving to press the letters and send before I can even think about what I'm writing. I scoff at what's left on the screen and throw it onto the bed. What a load of bullshit.