Tic Toc

Three

[Trigger warning, don't get all emotional. Note: pay very close attention to the time stamps.]

Ricky
Los Angeles
Hotel Room
6:42am

*The airport was totally empty; even the staff was gone. Where there were usually rows and rows of chairs to wait in, there were only two chairs back to back. I dragged my suitcase behind me. My footsteps made no sound, and distantly I wondered if I had lost my hearing. I walked to the chairs to find that one was taken. Not thinking twice about it, I sat down in the empty chair. I felt her shoulders against mine. I felt her red-orange hair brush against my dyed black hair. Suddenly she was no longer seated behind me, but standing in front of me.
I looked up into her hazel eyes and smiled as she held out her watch. I took out mine and held it next to hers. I watched her mouth move, but I couldn't hear a word she said. The only sound we were allowed was the sound of my watch ticking. I looked down to see that hers had stopped, but mine kept going. I furrowed my brow in confusion as it started to decay in my hand. Nothing could be done as it crumbled to dust. Her watch stayed totally in tact.
However, her face did not.
I looked to find her face break into a smile... And then continue breaking. Her jaw cracked in half and her skin began to tear. Blood dripped to the floor in streams. Next her entire body began to crack apart and she fell at my feet. I watched my lover turn into something grotesque.
She was gone, and I was standing alone in an empty airport.*

I woke with a start. My heart pounded against my ribcage as I struggled to breathe. I threw back the blanket and sat up. Despite it being over a hundred degrees outside, I started to shake. The fog from the nightmare started to clear and my heart began to ache. I closed my eyes and let out a shakey breath. For what seemed like the billionth time, I tried to remember her face.
Her face. Not the face that haunted my sleep. I walked myself through it again.
Walking into the airport. Sitting next to her. Looking into her eyes. Every time I came up blank.
No matter how hard or how long I tried, I couldn't bring the memory back. It was destroyed and replaced by this vicious nightmare. I realize the memory wasn't a very happy one— I watched my lover shoot herself in the face— but it was still better than what I was left with.
And if that was the worst part, I would be grateful.
My throat tightened and tears stung my eyes as the feeling started to come back.
"No..." I begged out loud, though I knew my efforts were in vain; it would happen every morning regardless of how much whining I did.
It felt as though my heart were trying to tear itself apart from the inside out. But at the same time, I felt like there was nothing there anymore, just a hole. There was a piece missing, but it wasn't her. It wasn't the girl in the airport. There was something else tearing me up inside. I've talked to so many professionals and they all came back with the same answer: there's nothing wrong with me. I must be doing it to myself.
I can't believe that. I won't.

I wrapped my arms around myself and double over in pain as the tears fell. The more I fought it the more it hurt. I knew that if I let it in, it would subside quicker. I would be able to get on with my day with only a dull ache in my chest. But it was just too hard. I groaned as I began to squirm against my will. After what seemed like forever, my will broke and I let the pain ravish my body. It felt like thousands of tiny needles flowing through my bloodstream.
Sharp pains slowly spread from my chest to my shoulders. Almost like a rash on the inside, it slowly took over my entire body.
There was a soft knock on my door, which was expected. Ever since Chris caught me like this a few months ago, he's been getting up bright and early to check on me. He didn't bother with waiting for me to come to the door. I heard the key card swipe and the lock click. A particularly sharp stab in my hip prevented me from greeting him.

"Are you okay?" He asked, suddenly in front of me.
I gasped for breath and nodded.

"Do you want me to come back?"
I glanced at him to see he was holding my notebook. I shook my head.
"No. What d'ya got?" I struggled to keep my voice level.
He sat next to me on the bed and set the book down.
"So... Do you remember what you told me to do?"
It took me a moment to think through the pain before I remembered.
I gave him a project to do.
I was a firm believer that lovers are connected, if not psychologically then spiritually. I thought if you meditated, or something to that effect, you might be drawn to where you need to be. So many times I've sat in a dark room and focused on her. Every time I've come up with something else, something missing. Almost like I should still be looking...