Broken Blossoms (fanfic)
Sep. 15th, 2011 02:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
starlightstarbrightContains some minor spoilers for Silent Hill 2. Lots of angst, lots of mentions of sickness, and lots of lack of any sort of hope or beauty. Well, it's Silent Hill 2. What did you expect? Mary-centric with some Laura and James, pre-game.
For a long time, Mary Sunderland simply sat in her hospital bed, staring out the window. Outside of St. Jerome's the trees swayed in the wind, lazy and careless. The wind was warm, she figured, unable to actually venture out into it to see. There was a sense of pitiful weakness in the fact that all she could do was lie in bed and stare at the things around her. There was a vase of now-wilting flowers on the table beside her bed, flowers James had brought to her. It made her sad to think of the way she had treated him the last time he had come to visit, nearly a week ago.
"He only wants to make me happy," she thought forlornly, staring hard at pink tulips (her favorite, trust James to know that) that were beginning to dry up, their beautiful petals curling in on themselves. When they had first been placed there they had been healthy and vibrant, full of life and color but now time had taken its toll, and they were little more than dying, faded reminders of what they had once been. No one could look at those flowers, so faded and near to death that they barely even resembled flowers anymore, and say they were beautiful. Mary had told James that she did not deserve those flowers when he first gave them to her but now, looking at their twisted, graying petals, she supposed she deserved them this way. She felt she could relate to them now, so ugly and twisted, barely even recognizable as the woman she had been just a few short years ago. Now, looking in a mirror was too depressing to bear.
Sometimes, she wondered how James could even stand to look at her. When he came to visit, he would simply smile at her the way he always had, though it was laced with pain now at that fact that every day now, she was closer to leaving him. Often Mary tried to tell herself that she disgusted James, that he hated her for getting sick. Deep down, however, she knew there was not a shred of truth to it. James loved her just as fiercely as she loved him, as fiercely as he always had. Occasionally she pretended he could hate her so she would not feel quite as guilty for hurting him the way she was. But in the end, he still loved her, still wanted to see her. It killed Mary that she often lashed out at him when he came to see her, fueled by frustration and guilt and sorrow and knowing that she could lash out at him because he was the person who would love her unconditionally, even if she did hurt him. This was proven in the fact that even after she was harsh with him and told him to leave, if she changed her heart and begged him to stay with her, he would oblige without complaint.
Fate was so cruel, and it made tears slide down to stain Mary's blouse- she was so close to death that she had persuaded Rachel to allow her to wear her own clothes rather than hospital gowns. What had Mary done to deserve someone like James, and what had poor James done to deserve such a wretched wife? At Rachel's prompting one of the doctors had agreed to allow Mary to go home until the final day, stating gently that she did not have much time left at all. She wondered, for a moment, if James would be happy or sad. She wanted him to be happy. She wanted him to want her. Would they talk together? Laugh together? Would they share memories of old times and would she die in his arms when that time finally came? James...
Feebly, in the dim sunshine that managed to creep through the cover of the clouds, Mary asked for a pen and paper, and when they were brought to her she began to write furiously on the small lap desk that her cousin Joshua had clumsily made for her out of scrap lumber. Long after her hand began to cramp, she filled pages with her neat script.
Dear James, she wrote, though it was impossible for her to put down on paper just how dear he was to her. On the pages, a catharsis took place. Now and then she had to pause to cough, small flowers of blood appearing on the silk handkerchief she held to her mouth. She was ruining it, but she would not need it for much longer, anyway, she reminded herself. Onto the paper she poured her thoughts, her feelings, wishes and fears and desires. She said things to James that she had been holding back for so long, all of the guilt and fear and the inexpressible depth of her love for him. She was finally able to say she was sorry for all the pain she had put him through.
Writing such a letter was actually quite freeing, and Mary found that she had gone on much too long with her rambling. She hoped James wouldn't mind. She knew this would be the last words James would ever hear from her, and she felt she needed to say absolutely everything that there was to say. He needed to live for himself, and it was something she had to stress.
James... you made me happy.
Sliding the letter gently into an envelope, she wrote James' name on the front in fluid script and sealed it with her tongue, making sure to clean her lips of blood before she did so. James didn't need to see her blood on their last piece of communication. Rachel took the letter with the promise that she would give it to James when Mary was gone, and Mary felt oddly comforted, lying back on her pillows and finding she had nothing left she needed to accomplish. She had already written her final goodbyes to Laura and James, the two people who mattered the most to her. To die right now, the world would be the same as if she died in a few days. She couldn't, however. She needed to go home first, needed to see James.
"Maybe he'll kiss me and steal away all this pain..." she thought, smiling a bit to herself and then feeling the expression fade as a cough ripped through her body. The pain was almost unbearable at the best of times, and when she coughed it was unspeakably worse, as though every muscle, every joint, every bone was filled with white-hot fire. The pain was constant and Mary always comforted herself by telling herself it would be over soon. If she had been on life support, she would have asked them to pull the plug long ago. For longer than she cared to admit, she had been ready for death.
"I'll go when James is ready," she told herself, trying to make herself comfortable. It was difficult to be comfortable in such a state. "I won't go until James is ready to let me go."
"Do you want me to throw those old flowers out, Mary?" Rachel asked softly, coming back into the room from tending to another patient. Quickly, Mary shook her head, wistfully taking in the sight of the withered, browning blossoms.
"They were beautiful once..."
"They're from James. I'd like to... keep them as long as I can."
Rachel smiled, a little sadly, and nodded. "Of course." Mary knew Rachel understood; she had spoken briefly to Mary about her relationship with a young painter and she could feel the love and admiration coming from the other woman as she spoke of him. "He's coming to get you tomorrow, isn't he?"
"Yes," Mary nodded. "He is."
The uncertainty started again as she thought of seeing James. She was a burden on him, she was sure. Making life difficult was all she did now. She knew he loved her and she could not understand for the life of her why. After all that had happened, how could he keep coming for her, how could he still look on her barely recognizable face with the same love he had held for her on their wedding day? Poor, poor James.
"Mary?" a soft voice jerked Mary from her melancholy and quickly she put on a smile for the small blonde girl who was climbing into the chair beside her bed. James often sat in that chair filled with pressing sadness but Laura seemed carefree. She was too young to understand death.
"Oh, good morning, Laura," she replied, hiding a grimace of pain as she shifted to sit up. "I didn't even hear you come in."
"Rachel said I could come and see you," Laura told her. "And say goodbye for now, because I get to go home today."
"You feel all better?" Mary asked with a smile.
"Yeah, my tonsils are all healed up, the doctor said," Laura opened her mouth gapingly and Mary peered inside, making sure to appear as interested as she could despite her current discomfort.
"They look much better," Mary said approvingly, smiling at the small girl. "I'm glad you get to go home, Laura."
"Me too... but it's not really home," Laura said, disgruntled.
"I'm sure someday you'll get to go to your real home," Mary promised, lifting her handkerchief and coughing forcefully into it. She could not hold back the need to cough today, though usually she tried in front of Laura. Today it was hard to pretend she was not as sick as she really was. Mary could tell that the end was very near, and it scared her. Making sure to hide the new blood on the small square of silk from Laura, she smiled weakly at her. "It'll be nice to get out of here, won't it."
"Yeah. 'cept I'll miss you, Mary," Laura leaned forward in her seat. "We'll see each other again, right?"
Mary smiled sadly, wishing she could truthfully tell Laura they would meet again in life. "Well..." she began, choosing her words carefully. "I'm leaving the hospital too, Laura. Tomorrow. James is coming to take me home. After that, after I spend a little time with James, I'm going somewhere else. Somewhere... wonderful. Somewhere where there isn't any pain or sadness and everything is beautiful all the time."
"Where is it?" Laura asked, leaning forward and looking intrigued. "Can I come with you?"
Mary laughed gently, her hand touching Laura's hair. "It's far away, but I promise someday we'll be there together. Just... not yet. You can come and see me there someday, I promise."
"Okay," Laura looked a little put-out by the fact that she could not come right away, but she was a sensible girl. She knew better than to make a fuss when Mary was so final about something. "Is James coming with you?"
"No, James is staying here."
"So you're going all by yourself?" suddenly Laura looked worried. Mary nodded.
"Yes, but it's okay. It's a very safe place, and I'll be watching you from there."
"Really?"
"Really."
"Well... okay," Laura said, digging into the pocket of her jumper. She was all dressed for leaving the hospital. One of the nuns would probably be by to pick her up shortly, and Mary would hate to see her go. "But here, take these." she held out two rings to Mary, one silver and the other copper. Mary took them with a smile.
"Thank you very much, Laura. But are you sure you want me to have these? Don't you need them?"
"No," Laura shook her head. "You need them more. We got to go on a trip to a flea market last summer, and I bought them from a weird man who said that if you put them on the hands of the lady, she'll open the door. They're made of lead and copper."
"What does that mean, Laura?" Mary asked, laughing.
"I don't know, but what if it's the door leads to where you're going? You can use them, then. Okay?"
"Alright," Mary said, smiling at Laura and reaching out to pat her cheek. "Thank you very much for the gifts." Wanting to give something to Laura in return, Mary unclasped the necklace from around her neck and held it out to Laura. "Here, I want you to take this. It's a locket."
"It's pretty," Laura told her. "Thank you, Mary."
"You're welcome," Mary carefully put the rings Laura had given her on her fingers and watched as Laura struggled with the clasp on the necklace. Giggling a bit, she leaned forward and hooked it for her. "It has my picture on one side and James' on the other. You'll always have me with you this way, so you'll never have to miss me. You'll be a good girl and go easy on everybody at the home, right?"
Laura sighed. "Right," she agreed, as though she didn't really want to.
"Laura," Rachel said softly, stepping into the room. "One of the Sisters is here to pick you up."
"Okay," Laura sighed heavily. "Bye, Mary. I'll miss you lots!"
"I'll miss you too, Laura," Mary leaned forward and captured Laura in a tight hug, trying not to let the tears fall. She did not want Laura to see how torn up she was, how simultaneously afraid of and longing for death she was. "Goodbye." she hugged the little girl fiercely.
With a small wave, Laura headed to the door and took Rachel's hand. Mary waved back, and watched her disappear. It had been only seconds since Laura's Mary Janes disappeared around the corner when another head poked timidly into the room. Mary sat up again.
"James?"
"Mary..." his voice was very low and he sounded unspeakably sad. Mary knew that he had been told she was coming home the next day, and he must know the implications; that the two only had a short time left together. "I... heard from your doctor."
"I get to come home tomorrow," Mary smiled weakly. This time, she would not lash out at him, she told herself.
"Yeah... that's why I came. I wanted... to know if there was anything you needed me to get before I come to get you," James' eyes were rimmed in red and he looked tired and haggard, nothing like the young man she knew he was. It hurt her to see him this way.
"Just a little longer James, and you'll be free again..."
"No, James," she replied as he came a little further into the room. She knew he was afraid she would shout at him again and it hurt her to realize it. "Thank you."
"How... are you feeling?" he asked, and Mary smiled as brightly as she knew how anymore, willing herself not to cough.
"It's... one of the better days," she assured him.
"I... I'm glad," James had a habit of stammering and it had always been one of the most endearing things about him, in Mary's eyes. It seemed he didn't know how to approach her and Mary knew that it was her own doing, that she had made it come to this. She vowed at that moment that in the time they would be spending together before she died, she would make him smile again. And she would remind him why they were married in the first place. Very carefully, she extended one hand, in the air above the bed, and held it out over the edge in his direction. James simply stared at her for a moment and then slowly he moved over to the bed and took it. It saddened her to think that she could barely recognize her hand in his own, so strange was the deformation of her skin from the disease.
"James... I'm sorry," she whispered, squeezing his fingers. He was still looking at her the way he always had and Mary wondered how there could be no hint of disgust in his eyes as he looked at her. "I'm so sorry and I love you. Can we forget I'm sick, just for a little while? There's a courtyard here, and you can see the river. Can we go and sit there, and just pretend..." she choked a bit, trying not to cry.
"Mary..." James looked a bit taken aback, like he didn't know what to say. Mary dissolved into coughing as she did so often and she watched his features flow over with pain that mirrored that which she was feeling in her body, though she knew he felt it in his heart. "Are you sure you're well enough?"
"Yes," Mary smiled weakly. "It's not as though I'll get another chance, anyway."
"Don't talk like that," James scolded gently, though they both knew it was true. James was so gentle, so careful as he helped Mary from the bed, and she had almost forgotten what his hands on her felt like. He guided her to the door on his arm, and though Mary knew there would be hell to pay from her doctor later for leaving the room without permission, she did not mind too much.
"I... love you, too," James said softly as he opened the door, sounding as though he had forgotten she'd said it before. Mary smiled a little, able to ignore the pain she was in because of this simple closeness. As they headed out into the hallway Mary glanced back into the room.
On the table beside the bed, a petal fell from those decaying tulips and onto the floor, later to be crushed into nothing under a nurse's shoes and utterly wiped from memory.
For a long time, Mary Sunderland simply sat in her hospital bed, staring out the window. Outside of St. Jerome's the trees swayed in the wind, lazy and careless. The wind was warm, she figured, unable to actually venture out into it to see. There was a sense of pitiful weakness in the fact that all she could do was lie in bed and stare at the things around her. There was a vase of now-wilting flowers on the table beside her bed, flowers James had brought to her. It made her sad to think of the way she had treated him the last time he had come to visit, nearly a week ago.
"He only wants to make me happy," she thought forlornly, staring hard at pink tulips (her favorite, trust James to know that) that were beginning to dry up, their beautiful petals curling in on themselves. When they had first been placed there they had been healthy and vibrant, full of life and color but now time had taken its toll, and they were little more than dying, faded reminders of what they had once been. No one could look at those flowers, so faded and near to death that they barely even resembled flowers anymore, and say they were beautiful. Mary had told James that she did not deserve those flowers when he first gave them to her but now, looking at their twisted, graying petals, she supposed she deserved them this way. She felt she could relate to them now, so ugly and twisted, barely even recognizable as the woman she had been just a few short years ago. Now, looking in a mirror was too depressing to bear.
Sometimes, she wondered how James could even stand to look at her. When he came to visit, he would simply smile at her the way he always had, though it was laced with pain now at that fact that every day now, she was closer to leaving him. Often Mary tried to tell herself that she disgusted James, that he hated her for getting sick. Deep down, however, she knew there was not a shred of truth to it. James loved her just as fiercely as she loved him, as fiercely as he always had. Occasionally she pretended he could hate her so she would not feel quite as guilty for hurting him the way she was. But in the end, he still loved her, still wanted to see her. It killed Mary that she often lashed out at him when he came to see her, fueled by frustration and guilt and sorrow and knowing that she could lash out at him because he was the person who would love her unconditionally, even if she did hurt him. This was proven in the fact that even after she was harsh with him and told him to leave, if she changed her heart and begged him to stay with her, he would oblige without complaint.
Fate was so cruel, and it made tears slide down to stain Mary's blouse- she was so close to death that she had persuaded Rachel to allow her to wear her own clothes rather than hospital gowns. What had Mary done to deserve someone like James, and what had poor James done to deserve such a wretched wife? At Rachel's prompting one of the doctors had agreed to allow Mary to go home until the final day, stating gently that she did not have much time left at all. She wondered, for a moment, if James would be happy or sad. She wanted him to be happy. She wanted him to want her. Would they talk together? Laugh together? Would they share memories of old times and would she die in his arms when that time finally came? James...
Feebly, in the dim sunshine that managed to creep through the cover of the clouds, Mary asked for a pen and paper, and when they were brought to her she began to write furiously on the small lap desk that her cousin Joshua had clumsily made for her out of scrap lumber. Long after her hand began to cramp, she filled pages with her neat script.
Dear James, she wrote, though it was impossible for her to put down on paper just how dear he was to her. On the pages, a catharsis took place. Now and then she had to pause to cough, small flowers of blood appearing on the silk handkerchief she held to her mouth. She was ruining it, but she would not need it for much longer, anyway, she reminded herself. Onto the paper she poured her thoughts, her feelings, wishes and fears and desires. She said things to James that she had been holding back for so long, all of the guilt and fear and the inexpressible depth of her love for him. She was finally able to say she was sorry for all the pain she had put him through.
Writing such a letter was actually quite freeing, and Mary found that she had gone on much too long with her rambling. She hoped James wouldn't mind. She knew this would be the last words James would ever hear from her, and she felt she needed to say absolutely everything that there was to say. He needed to live for himself, and it was something she had to stress.
James... you made me happy.
Sliding the letter gently into an envelope, she wrote James' name on the front in fluid script and sealed it with her tongue, making sure to clean her lips of blood before she did so. James didn't need to see her blood on their last piece of communication. Rachel took the letter with the promise that she would give it to James when Mary was gone, and Mary felt oddly comforted, lying back on her pillows and finding she had nothing left she needed to accomplish. She had already written her final goodbyes to Laura and James, the two people who mattered the most to her. To die right now, the world would be the same as if she died in a few days. She couldn't, however. She needed to go home first, needed to see James.
"Maybe he'll kiss me and steal away all this pain..." she thought, smiling a bit to herself and then feeling the expression fade as a cough ripped through her body. The pain was almost unbearable at the best of times, and when she coughed it was unspeakably worse, as though every muscle, every joint, every bone was filled with white-hot fire. The pain was constant and Mary always comforted herself by telling herself it would be over soon. If she had been on life support, she would have asked them to pull the plug long ago. For longer than she cared to admit, she had been ready for death.
"I'll go when James is ready," she told herself, trying to make herself comfortable. It was difficult to be comfortable in such a state. "I won't go until James is ready to let me go."
"Do you want me to throw those old flowers out, Mary?" Rachel asked softly, coming back into the room from tending to another patient. Quickly, Mary shook her head, wistfully taking in the sight of the withered, browning blossoms.
"They were beautiful once..."
"They're from James. I'd like to... keep them as long as I can."
Rachel smiled, a little sadly, and nodded. "Of course." Mary knew Rachel understood; she had spoken briefly to Mary about her relationship with a young painter and she could feel the love and admiration coming from the other woman as she spoke of him. "He's coming to get you tomorrow, isn't he?"
"Yes," Mary nodded. "He is."
The uncertainty started again as she thought of seeing James. She was a burden on him, she was sure. Making life difficult was all she did now. She knew he loved her and she could not understand for the life of her why. After all that had happened, how could he keep coming for her, how could he still look on her barely recognizable face with the same love he had held for her on their wedding day? Poor, poor James.
"Mary?" a soft voice jerked Mary from her melancholy and quickly she put on a smile for the small blonde girl who was climbing into the chair beside her bed. James often sat in that chair filled with pressing sadness but Laura seemed carefree. She was too young to understand death.
"Oh, good morning, Laura," she replied, hiding a grimace of pain as she shifted to sit up. "I didn't even hear you come in."
"Rachel said I could come and see you," Laura told her. "And say goodbye for now, because I get to go home today."
"You feel all better?" Mary asked with a smile.
"Yeah, my tonsils are all healed up, the doctor said," Laura opened her mouth gapingly and Mary peered inside, making sure to appear as interested as she could despite her current discomfort.
"They look much better," Mary said approvingly, smiling at the small girl. "I'm glad you get to go home, Laura."
"Me too... but it's not really home," Laura said, disgruntled.
"I'm sure someday you'll get to go to your real home," Mary promised, lifting her handkerchief and coughing forcefully into it. She could not hold back the need to cough today, though usually she tried in front of Laura. Today it was hard to pretend she was not as sick as she really was. Mary could tell that the end was very near, and it scared her. Making sure to hide the new blood on the small square of silk from Laura, she smiled weakly at her. "It'll be nice to get out of here, won't it."
"Yeah. 'cept I'll miss you, Mary," Laura leaned forward in her seat. "We'll see each other again, right?"
Mary smiled sadly, wishing she could truthfully tell Laura they would meet again in life. "Well..." she began, choosing her words carefully. "I'm leaving the hospital too, Laura. Tomorrow. James is coming to take me home. After that, after I spend a little time with James, I'm going somewhere else. Somewhere... wonderful. Somewhere where there isn't any pain or sadness and everything is beautiful all the time."
"Where is it?" Laura asked, leaning forward and looking intrigued. "Can I come with you?"
Mary laughed gently, her hand touching Laura's hair. "It's far away, but I promise someday we'll be there together. Just... not yet. You can come and see me there someday, I promise."
"Okay," Laura looked a little put-out by the fact that she could not come right away, but she was a sensible girl. She knew better than to make a fuss when Mary was so final about something. "Is James coming with you?"
"No, James is staying here."
"So you're going all by yourself?" suddenly Laura looked worried. Mary nodded.
"Yes, but it's okay. It's a very safe place, and I'll be watching you from there."
"Really?"
"Really."
"Well... okay," Laura said, digging into the pocket of her jumper. She was all dressed for leaving the hospital. One of the nuns would probably be by to pick her up shortly, and Mary would hate to see her go. "But here, take these." she held out two rings to Mary, one silver and the other copper. Mary took them with a smile.
"Thank you very much, Laura. But are you sure you want me to have these? Don't you need them?"
"No," Laura shook her head. "You need them more. We got to go on a trip to a flea market last summer, and I bought them from a weird man who said that if you put them on the hands of the lady, she'll open the door. They're made of lead and copper."
"What does that mean, Laura?" Mary asked, laughing.
"I don't know, but what if it's the door leads to where you're going? You can use them, then. Okay?"
"Alright," Mary said, smiling at Laura and reaching out to pat her cheek. "Thank you very much for the gifts." Wanting to give something to Laura in return, Mary unclasped the necklace from around her neck and held it out to Laura. "Here, I want you to take this. It's a locket."
"It's pretty," Laura told her. "Thank you, Mary."
"You're welcome," Mary carefully put the rings Laura had given her on her fingers and watched as Laura struggled with the clasp on the necklace. Giggling a bit, she leaned forward and hooked it for her. "It has my picture on one side and James' on the other. You'll always have me with you this way, so you'll never have to miss me. You'll be a good girl and go easy on everybody at the home, right?"
Laura sighed. "Right," she agreed, as though she didn't really want to.
"Laura," Rachel said softly, stepping into the room. "One of the Sisters is here to pick you up."
"Okay," Laura sighed heavily. "Bye, Mary. I'll miss you lots!"
"I'll miss you too, Laura," Mary leaned forward and captured Laura in a tight hug, trying not to let the tears fall. She did not want Laura to see how torn up she was, how simultaneously afraid of and longing for death she was. "Goodbye." she hugged the little girl fiercely.
With a small wave, Laura headed to the door and took Rachel's hand. Mary waved back, and watched her disappear. It had been only seconds since Laura's Mary Janes disappeared around the corner when another head poked timidly into the room. Mary sat up again.
"James?"
"Mary..." his voice was very low and he sounded unspeakably sad. Mary knew that he had been told she was coming home the next day, and he must know the implications; that the two only had a short time left together. "I... heard from your doctor."
"I get to come home tomorrow," Mary smiled weakly. This time, she would not lash out at him, she told herself.
"Yeah... that's why I came. I wanted... to know if there was anything you needed me to get before I come to get you," James' eyes were rimmed in red and he looked tired and haggard, nothing like the young man she knew he was. It hurt her to see him this way.
"Just a little longer James, and you'll be free again..."
"No, James," she replied as he came a little further into the room. She knew he was afraid she would shout at him again and it hurt her to realize it. "Thank you."
"How... are you feeling?" he asked, and Mary smiled as brightly as she knew how anymore, willing herself not to cough.
"It's... one of the better days," she assured him.
"I... I'm glad," James had a habit of stammering and it had always been one of the most endearing things about him, in Mary's eyes. It seemed he didn't know how to approach her and Mary knew that it was her own doing, that she had made it come to this. She vowed at that moment that in the time they would be spending together before she died, she would make him smile again. And she would remind him why they were married in the first place. Very carefully, she extended one hand, in the air above the bed, and held it out over the edge in his direction. James simply stared at her for a moment and then slowly he moved over to the bed and took it. It saddened her to think that she could barely recognize her hand in his own, so strange was the deformation of her skin from the disease.
"James... I'm sorry," she whispered, squeezing his fingers. He was still looking at her the way he always had and Mary wondered how there could be no hint of disgust in his eyes as he looked at her. "I'm so sorry and I love you. Can we forget I'm sick, just for a little while? There's a courtyard here, and you can see the river. Can we go and sit there, and just pretend..." she choked a bit, trying not to cry.
"Mary..." James looked a bit taken aback, like he didn't know what to say. Mary dissolved into coughing as she did so often and she watched his features flow over with pain that mirrored that which she was feeling in her body, though she knew he felt it in his heart. "Are you sure you're well enough?"
"Yes," Mary smiled weakly. "It's not as though I'll get another chance, anyway."
"Don't talk like that," James scolded gently, though they both knew it was true. James was so gentle, so careful as he helped Mary from the bed, and she had almost forgotten what his hands on her felt like. He guided her to the door on his arm, and though Mary knew there would be hell to pay from her doctor later for leaving the room without permission, she did not mind too much.
"I... love you, too," James said softly as he opened the door, sounding as though he had forgotten she'd said it before. Mary smiled a little, able to ignore the pain she was in because of this simple closeness. As they headed out into the hallway Mary glanced back into the room.
On the table beside the bed, a petal fell from those decaying tulips and onto the floor, later to be crushed into nothing under a nurse's shoes and utterly wiped from memory.
