Lost in Hollywood

A Thousand Splendid Things

A thousand years later Sky was sitting on the white couch of Cody's living room.

There was a blanket around her shoulders. She had no idea who had given it to her, or why, but it wasn't helping, she was so cold, her blood had turned to ice, her heart had stopped. A shiver after shiver ran through her aching body, as she wrapped the blanket tighter, trying to keep herself from falling apart.

Cody's blood that was coating her hands and soaking her clothes had gone cold too, just like the blood in her veins, cold and sticky, and dark. Its metallic tang filled her senses with every broken, shallow inhale turning her head light, dizzy. Someone had offered her wet wipes, she couldn't remember who, to clean her hands, her face, but what for? There was no point. The blood was on her hands, and it always would be. Let everyone see her guilt, her horror. She could never wash it off.

She was shaking. There wasn't a cell in her body that wasn't trembling, shivering, shattering, turning into ice and dust, and shadows.

His blood on her hands—

Cody—

He can't be dead. He can't be. Sky stands in the doorway, frozen, but only for a heartbeat, and then the panic turns into action. She runs to him, throws herself at him, screaming his name so hard that her voice breaks, her throat turns raw.

Cody—!

She has to save him. Losing him is not an option. She loves him, she needs him, she can't let him die, there has to be something she can do to stop this from happening, to turn back time, to stop the blood that's gushing out of him—

No, no, no, no, no—-

Her hands are on him, gripping his shirt and shaking him as her tears break free and fall onto his lifeless face. The scream that leaves her lips shatters every part of her body and soul, but Cody doesn't even blink, he doesn't wake up, but how can she give up? This is Cody, who was always there for her, who never gave up on her, who believed in miracles—

She needs a miracle now. Angels, God, Heavenly Grace— She's not a religious person, but right now she forgets that. She's begging for someone to help her, any god, any power, she doesn't care who, someone, anyone, please help— because this is Cody, and she can't give up on him.

This is Cody, and she knows the taste of his lips, the scent of his skin on that spot where his neck joins with his shoulder, Cody, whose beautiful, long-fingered hands are always warm, always, never cold, Cody whose smile can lit up the whole room, but whose tears taste like the ocean, Cody who is kind and gentle and smart and funny and Sky knows him, knows him better than anybody else, Cody who just wants to be loved, Cody whom she has failed, completely, utterly failed, Cody, Cody, Cody whom she loved but too little and too late and he can't die, he can't die, he can't die and she has to save him.

She's on the bed, crawling on top of him, crying out his name that comes out as a broken whine now, thick with tears and fear. Her hands are flying with panic, and his blood is hot, it's pouring out of him, turning the white sheets red. So much blood, so much, just like with Kat— there can't be that much blood in one person, can there? This has to be a mistake, this has to be fake, just like in the play— fake blood on his cheeks, on his lips. But Cody doesn't wake up, he is limp on the bed and the blood keeps pouring out of his head. Jesus, help— I have to save him—! But there's too much blood, and her hands can't stop it, it keeps running out of him and Oh Lord help me, his eyes are dead, filled with tears that are still rolling down his cheeks but he sees nothing, his hazel eyes are glassy and staring at the ceiling, and they are dead, dead, dead eyes—

No. Fix this. Fix this. I have to save him— God help me—!

Her hands are cupping his head, and she doesn't even hear the sounds that leave her trembling lips, the broken, desperate whines - Cody, Cody, Cody, wake up, don't do this, wake up, ohmygod, Cody, please—! Tears stream down her face as her hands thread through the thick, dark strands of his hair, now sticky and hot with blood. She tries to put his head back together, to stop the bleeding, but God, God, God, it's not just blood that pours out of him, and her fingers meet sharp pieces of bone and soft, spongy tissue of his brain and—