What I Couldn't Tell Him

45 - You Smell F*cking Disgusting

JAIMIE PERRON

I knew  it  was him before he spoke. The doctor's always bustle in asking questions that they don't expect answers to. Every day they sound more and more bored, the same questions being asked to nobody. They  don't know I can hear them when they curse about my friends, or comment on my appearance. 

The others come in with smiles in their voices. He stays silent, until he sits on the end of my bed. Sometimes he talks. Sometimes he sits.

"I didn't realise you had so many friends." Alden starts sourly, thinking of something. He pauses as though he is listening to an answer.

"Everytime someone comes up to me, they always say how brilliant friends you were. Then they apologise. Then they offer me their numbers." He states dully. I wanted him to go, but i have missed his voice. As much as the uninterested interrogations of the nurses and the fruitless babbling of the others annoys me, I want him to talk to me.

Jenni gives me the gossip. She knows I dont care, but it is not for my benefit. Sometimes she laughs like I answered her. It is unnerving.

"Do you remember that right-back called Jason at the party?" He is the only one who speaks like I can really hear him. Even in a semi-conscious state, I prefer his conversation to anyone else's. He is usually quiet and placid and so unlike himself, but I still need him.

I hate myself for it. I shouldn't have forced this on everyone. I am a weak girl, who fell for a handsome boy and has dragged everyone down with her, under the surface of the icy water that she has been treading. 

I have been dead for a long time. I have been procrastinating. The water was deep and inescapable; I cant keep swimming forever and my body finally gave in. 

But my mind has not. It still clings to his words.

"I broke his jaw." 

I need to speak. I need to say that he needs to control himself. Then I need to touch his face and say that it doesn't  matter. I need to tell him not to be soft. 

I dont know what I need to do, but lying here is not it. 

"He said something about you. I got so angry. They took me to see the shrink; you know, the smiling old woman who tilts her head when she talks to you?" 

My body burns, trapped inside itself. The laugh fizzles out. I am a prisoner to my own thoughts. I am never distracted, always thinking, criticizing, remebering.

"She was picking me apart. My mum turned up too. She wants to meet you." 

I would gulp. He would chuckle darkly and say something cruel and witty. Neither happens, the air just fills with a cold, teasing awkwardness.

"Can I  bring Erin and Ty? They have grown up so much. I didnt even notice..."

Then he takes my hand in his. My skin feels cold and clammy compared to his, and he presses it between his palms to warm it. I can feel every callous on his hand, every rough bit of skin, hardened by the handle of his motorbike. He lifts it and kisses it gently, and I feel his breath on my skin. He holds it for a moment, lowering it back to the stiff, starched sheets.

He sighs. I hear the cracks in his breath. I feel the shift in weight when he runs his fingers through his hair. I feel every single motion of exasperation. I need to touch him. I need to stop him mourning me before I am gone.

"When did this happen?" The breath he takes is shuddering and weighed down, "They say that you probably can't hear me."

Inside myself, I break. My emotions  crumble like eroded rock. Outside  I am still, the exterior trapping the bedlam  inside. There is nothing  I can do. I cant accept  that. There is always something. I am not too young to die, you can never be, but I am too determined. I am too desperate.