sosostris
29th August 2005, 16:57
A/N. I'm not even entirely sure what this is, so interpret at will.
The Things He Did
He was sitting on her bed watching TV when she came out of the shower and shakily said that she had to book an appointment with the doctor.
He sat on her sofa the afternoon the results came back, and never once spoke to her like a victim.
He drove her to the hospital the day of the surgery and held her hand as the anesthetic consumed her. Waiting so she wouldn’t be alone when she woke.
He convinced her to move into his apartment after the chemo started, just as a temporary measure. She agreed because she didn’t feel like visitors.
He held her at night and she relaxed in his arms.
He never said a word as she sobbed silently into his chest.
He smiled when she laughed about them both being bald, lovingly tracing the face he cherished.
He furiously protected her privacy as he ran for office, refusing to allow her to be a publicity stunt or a sympathy vote. He had a cabinet filled with the photos he purchased from various magazines before they got a chance to print, a folder in his office drawer containing a few of his favorites.
He slept for days when she finally left him, feeling relief from the tension in his chest. He had nothing left to hold him back now.
He stepped on to the podium, just as he did every year since she passed and took a shuddering breath before clearing his throat at one of his few public appearances.
“Someone very dear to my heart fought a long and courageous battle with this disease. A disease that can, and will, be beaten. I’d like to thank you all for showing your support for such a worthy cause.”
He stepped down with a curt nod and felt like a fraud, making his way directly to the waiting limo in a rush. Slumping into the backseat, loosening his tie to will away the lump in his throat. Just as he always did.
He went home to an empty apartment and knew it was always going to end like this.
He looked out over the city that he had shared with her, and swallowed the bitter taste that rose in his mouth. He knew what he had done and what he would do.
He thinks he loved her once, but none of that matters anymore. He hates her for what she did to him, for not being strong enough, for leaving him alone.
And knows she would never forgive him, not for the things he did.
The Things He Did
He was sitting on her bed watching TV when she came out of the shower and shakily said that she had to book an appointment with the doctor.
He sat on her sofa the afternoon the results came back, and never once spoke to her like a victim.
He drove her to the hospital the day of the surgery and held her hand as the anesthetic consumed her. Waiting so she wouldn’t be alone when she woke.
He convinced her to move into his apartment after the chemo started, just as a temporary measure. She agreed because she didn’t feel like visitors.
He held her at night and she relaxed in his arms.
He never said a word as she sobbed silently into his chest.
He smiled when she laughed about them both being bald, lovingly tracing the face he cherished.
He furiously protected her privacy as he ran for office, refusing to allow her to be a publicity stunt or a sympathy vote. He had a cabinet filled with the photos he purchased from various magazines before they got a chance to print, a folder in his office drawer containing a few of his favorites.
He slept for days when she finally left him, feeling relief from the tension in his chest. He had nothing left to hold him back now.
He stepped on to the podium, just as he did every year since she passed and took a shuddering breath before clearing his throat at one of his few public appearances.
“Someone very dear to my heart fought a long and courageous battle with this disease. A disease that can, and will, be beaten. I’d like to thank you all for showing your support for such a worthy cause.”
He stepped down with a curt nod and felt like a fraud, making his way directly to the waiting limo in a rush. Slumping into the backseat, loosening his tie to will away the lump in his throat. Just as he always did.
He went home to an empty apartment and knew it was always going to end like this.
He looked out over the city that he had shared with her, and swallowed the bitter taste that rose in his mouth. He knew what he had done and what he would do.
He thinks he loved her once, but none of that matters anymore. He hates her for what she did to him, for not being strong enough, for leaving him alone.
And knows she would never forgive him, not for the things he did.