Time To Go

Nine: Kennedy

The cold air hits me with little-to-no consideration as I burst through the hospital exit. I stumble out bending over myself, my arm hugging at my stomach as I gasp desperately for the little oxygen in my lungs. I suck in cold air that splits inelegantly down my throat, cutting the words I need to spit out.... the words I need to say to make my situation more than just the ridiculously unrealistic dream that it seems. I stand up straight, clutching at my head pleadingly, ignoring the glances from people entering and leaving the hospital as I steady my breathing, my eyes shimmering with unshed tears as I force my eyelids together.

I was taking myself away from the hospital. I was back in the library, curled up on the wooden bench reading out loud. I was reading The Cather In The Rye, I was Holden on an unnecessary journey only lasting days... days. All the time that John had. Perhaps less than four hundred days left.

"No..." I say quietly, tugging at my dark hair which shone like melted chocolate thanks to the little rays of sunshine bursting deliberately through the Grey clouds above me. "No!" I say a little louder as I stumble away, shaking my head as John's scent fills my nose... soapy, childish, ill.

His eyes flash behind my shut lids, observing me thankfully as I pass him the book which I had spent hours looking at, simply through the remembrance of him. I sat there and passed it to him just like the infant he made me be. I flicker my gaze open and walk to the nearest wall as the familiar feeling of dizziness overcomes me and I fear for my balance. I throw my palms flat out on the red-bricked wall before me. I gently press my forehead against it. Steadying my breathing completely.

You always leave. You always walk away at the first sign of letting your guard down.

I shake my head in disapproval at my thoughts, which are still dwelling on the way his hair looked in the little sliver of sunlight that was streaming in from his half-open blinds. It was the first time I had leaned in closer to him, just to pay him attention. Just to let my eyes fall along the faint stubble on his chin, just to let my eyes be reflected within his, just to let my presence be blended with that of his own. I longed to be a part of him. I longed to make the dead man come alive.

"Fuck!" I whisper as I drag my hands sharply across the harsh wall before me. A stinging sensation burns suddenly at the sensitive skin of my hands. Yet is it not enough for me to stop brushing the wall before me.

I longed to read John. To let his words leave my mouth. I longed to listen to the poetry of his smile. To breathe in the sweet scent of his pages. I longed to be the author of his final chapters.

I shake my head, my forehead echoing the sting from my hands as the wall before me presses into my skin continuously. Stop it, Kennedy... John is nothing to you. He is a man who is in an unfortunate position and it is not up to you to change the routine of his life. It could make him worse.

"I need this." I think out loud as I stroke the wall somewhat tenderly.

The sun has begun to burn the back of my neck, and I shift my feet in discomfort.

I longed to hear John read to me. I longed for his delicious tongue to let words of elegance and magnificence. I longed to hear his speech dance with the pages before him. I longed to hear him chuckle at his own voice as he would read. I longed to run my fingers through his hair as he would continue to read. He would read of stories alike to us... he would read Romeo and Juliet.