A Rush of Blood to the Head

Hasta Mañana

John stood before a calf-high headstone, Dennis Gant's, staring at it, angry, depressed, remorseful. He eased himself on to his knees, all the while keeping his eyes trained on what remained of his friend. It amazed him how well kept it was. Then again, it had barely been a week since he was last here. Not much time for things to change.

"I'm back," he said, barely keeping it together. "Sick of me yet?" John issued a cough, trying to clear the lump in his throat, and harshly let out a breath. It  produced a fine mist before it dissipated. "I don't know why I'm holding it in. You've seen me cry. Guess I'm saving you from–" Those last few words did it. "I didn't save you. And I know you're saying, 'I didn't need saving,' or 'John, stop beating yourself up over this. It's not your fault.' I know you didn't, and I can't. I'm always going to, from now until the day I die," He snickered mirthlessly. "Probably when I'm dead, too."

"I just wanted to say... I love you. Maybe you know already," John's wet eyes shrunk, forcing some tears out. "Or maybe you don't, and what I went through was just a hallucination, but... I do. I'm not even– It was only you. If that makes sense. Now I wish I said something sooner, or better yet, just been a good friend, to begin with. I didn't listen, I was aloof. Truth is, I was jealous, and couldn't stand to hear about your girlfriend for another second. Well," John sloughed off his confessions. "Too little too late to make it right now, huh?"

He sniffled, nasty post-nasal drip tickling and draining down the back of his throat. With his nose clogged up, he had no choice but to breathe in the frigid winter's air through his mouth. As seconds passed, it became harder to avoid breaking down.

John leaned until his forehead pressed up against the grave marker and sobbed. He shivered, from both emotions and the cold. He stayed that way for two minutes, and eventually decided it was time to let go, in more ways than one.

When John finally tore himself away and caught his breath, he stumbled backwards, that dizzying sensation plaguing him again. He used Dennis' plaque stabilise himself. It then hit him. He found a reason to keep going, a reason to save himself, a person who kept him stable long after he'd gone.

"I won't let you down again."

Before he could leave, a sudden, loud buzzing sound occurred, as if a fly whizzed past him. Naturally, he swatted it away, but it persisted for a few seconds more, then stopped just as quickly as it came on. John scrutinised the area for the bug, except there was none. There wouldn't be in the dead of winter. His fingers lingered in the air, right in front of his ear, awe gradually glistening in his eyes. Was it a sign? He didn't really believe in them, but perhaps he could start.