The possessive bad boy

Will you read my eulogy

Somebody famous once said "there is nothing to fear but fear itself." Never in my life have I heard a statement that was more wrong. You have shadows that lurk in a dark house. Faces hiding in your closet, watching while you sleep. There's the killer behind the shower curtain. Or the slow painful moans of something craving your flesh. But right before the end is the scariest. It's death looking you in the face. It's that moment of "am I happy with who I am?" Its looking back at your life and thinking how you won't get anymore firsts. Now all you have is lasts. That all sounds great and poetic. I would love to tell you in the face of death I was calm and collected. I would love to tell you I wasn't scared. But really that only happens to the hero in the movie. I'm no hero. I'm just a girl who got dealt a bad hand at strip poker and ended up naked. The truth is people can dress up death how they want. They can make it sappy, or heroic, anything really. But it's not. It's scary as fuck.

Upon waking i could hear faint beeps. Constant beeps. And really all I'm thinking is "turn that the fuck off?" My eyes are heavy and they will not open. I feel heavy and useless. Tubes are sticking out of my throat. What an odd feeling. It's almost in the way but at the same time it's like it was always there. Humans are funny that way. We grow so accustomed to the world around us that any sort of change sends us spiraling into confusion. That's where I was. Confusion. Slowly my senses came back. I could hear slight chatter from female voices, though I cannot make out what they are saying. I could smell antiseptic. Too clean. To much like death. A hospital.

Then my sense of touch returned. I could feel scratchy sheets beneath my broken body. And surrounding it was the stiff material of a hospital gown. Slowly I swung my feet off the bed and looked around. The room was empty with only white walls, a chair, and a vase of flowers on the window sill. I test my ligaments for sore spots. First my neck, then toes, hands, legs, arms, and finally my back. No pain. Strange I should feel something. Slowly I walk across the room into the sitting area. Nurses are buzzing around and chattering.

"Excuse me," I say to an elderly looking one with grey hair. "Excuse me," I say again when she doesn't answer. I figured she was to busy so I move onto the next nurse. "Can you please tell me where I am?" I ask politely. Nothing. She didn't even blink. Now I'm becoming nervous. My breath speeds up and my heart starts pumping. Why won't these people answer me? Then I see a retreating figure enter the room I just left. Quickly I jog over and through the small door. My heart sores. He's here standing talking to a nurse just beyond my bed. Just enough so I can't see my surly unkept mess of a cot. They speak in hush voices, and I can't hear them. But I decide to give them a few minutes before I see him. My Blake oh how I missed him. Minutes later the doctor makes his way to the door. A smile and wave on his way out. Again he doesn't even look at me.

Stepping farther into the room I sense dread. And as I round the curtain I die. There he is. Sitting beside my bed with silent tears. Confusion hit me first. Then i looked down at myself. Panicking I ran out of the room and back to the nurses. Frantically I waved my arms around and screamed. No one even blinked. So I raced back to my room. Blake was clutching the hand of an almost lifeless body. My lifeless body. I stood looking over myself. I looked to be asleep. Silent tears streamed down my face as he clutched my hands. In between heavy breaths he would tell be not to leave. He would beg me not to let go.

We sat for what felt like hours. I was becoming tired. I could feel my life fade away. I knew I was dying. A few times nurses came in to pump more drugs in my system or to just check on me. At some point the doctor finally came back in. He told Blake to go get food and that I wasn't going anywhere. Grumbling he got up and left. So I followed. But the strangest thing happened. At the end of the hall my feet became heavy, like walking through tar. I couldn't go further. I cried for him to wait but it was no use. I stood there staring at his retreating figure as he left me. But I continued to push until the weight was to much. I had to turn back. As I got closer to the room my steps became easier. Finally I was back sitting beside myself.