Chapter Sixty — Forever and a Half (Epilogue)

-Citria's Point of View-

This feeling is reminiscent of my father's death. The cold, numb, terrifying feeling of impending doom. My eyes won't move from him. The love of my life, fighting for his life in front of my eyes. Why did he do this? Why did he let Marco win? He told me before that he was next, but I didn't want it to be true. I forced it out of my mind in the hopes that it was him being paranoid, and that he was wrong. But oh, how correct he was; and how much guilt I feel.

His half-lidded eyes are fixed on me, with a glazed layer masking the once-magical and intoxicatingly beautiful irises. The sparkle in them has been replaced with nothingness. Absolute nothingness. His fingers are loosely interlocked with mine, and not even the seeping crimson blood is preventing me from wanting to touch him. In fact, I just want to hold him, and feel him more than ever. Clover is still at my house, being questioned by the police. She's going to arrive at the hospital as soon as she can.

The heart rate monitor is still beeping regularly, but it's gradually slowing down. I hope the ambulance gets us to the hospital before it's too late for Michael. His breathing is weak and irregular, made more difficult because he keeps groaning in agony. He was probably assuming that his suicide attempt would be over quicker than this. I'm glad it wasn't, because there's a chance he'll survive it. I hope, more than anything in this world, that he does.

*  *  *

We're in the hospital now. Michael is still alive, but he's slowly losing all signs of life. He's thankfully still conscious, but he's losing a lot of blood, so I don't know how long it'll take before he slips away. The nurses have tried all they can to prevent the bleeding, but nothing seems to be working. They've tried stitching him up, but as they finish one section of the wound, they find another to work on. Michael must have stabbed himself extremely deep for it to be this bad ...

Although the nurses are frantic, it seems silent to me. I'm sat by Michael's hospital bed, clutching his hand hard enough to be able to feel the pulse in his wrist. My other hand is stroking his curls, slicking them back to keep them out of his face. The partly-dry blood from my hands lightly clings to his sideburns, causing them to feel sticky under my touch. A pained smile of reassurance for him is on my face, to try and convince him that I'm being strong. The last thing he needs is to be concerned for how I feel.

"I love you, I love you," I repeat over and over, swallowing every few syllables to prevent myself from sobbing. I'm not expecting him to respond, because all his energy is being spent on trying to stay alive.

"You can slip away if you want, my love," I assure him, this time not caring if I cry in front of him. "If you want to go, you can go. I don't want you to feel any pain."

His eyes weakly avert my way, and it's then that I see tears filling them. Limply, he raises his other hand, and holds my face lovingly. He pulls my head closer to his, so our noses almost touch. He goes to speak, but pain causes him to grunt again.

"Don't waste your energy, sweetheart." A tear falls down my cheek, dripping off the end of my chin, and onto my bloodied hand. "Lay down."

He sobs quietly, closing his eyes to let the tears from his eyes go. "I-I ... "

"What, Michael?" Realising he wants to speak, I move my head back to see his face fully.

"I d- ... don't want t- ... to die now ... " he tells me, which honestly feels like a shot through the heart.

"You don't have to ... " I begin to panic. "Keep your eyes open, Angel. Keep talking to me. Stay with me, Michael."

"I nev- ... never told you ... " he starts, but is cut off by another surge of pain.

"You didn't tell me what?" My brows furrow sadly; it's so heart-wrenching to watch him struggle in this way.

He closes his eyes and attempts to catch his hitched breath, and once he gains enough to be able to speak a sentence, he answers. "Uncle Reiss ... w-what h- ... he said ... "

I instantly realise what he means. When Reiss first arrived in Indiana, he lived with us for a short time before he went to live with Clover and my father. On the day he moved out, he whispered something into Michael's ear, but neither of them would tell me what was said. Perhaps now I'll finally get to know ...

"What was it?" I interrogate, my voice soft and soothing, as not to sound too harsh on him.

He swallows weakly, exhaling heavily. His hand takes mine, and he pulls them both to his face, kissing the back of my hand as best as he can. His other hand moves from my face, and holds my left hand's ring finger. "H- ... He said "Marry her" ... " He starts to sob gently, but it's harder because of how lifeless he's already become. "I'm s-sorry I didn't get to ... "

My brows furrow sadly, my hand caressing his cheek lightly to show I don't mind. "I don't need marriage to prove how much we mean to each other, Michael. I ... I just need you. I just need you to stay with me." I'm trying not to panic too much, but it's extremely challenging not to break down in front of him.

"I ... " He pauses, his eyes almost fully closed by this point. I'm losing him, and that's breaking me inside. "I don't ... think that will h-happen ... " he continues hopelessly.

Although it's the most agonising feeling, I have to accept that Michael isn't going to live. Unless a miracle occurs – which is unlikely – I'm about to lose the love of my life; my personal reason to live.

"Before you go, Michael ... I was planning to tell you something ... important." With guilt taking over, I slide the pregnancy test from my back pocket (I grabbed it from the bedroom lightning-fast before I entered the ambulance with him earlier), and show it to him. "You're going to be ... " I sniffle unexpectedly, "You're going to be a daddy."

Despite the pain he's experiencing, he smiles, but I can only just see a thin strip of light reflecting from his eyes, because they're closed so far. "I'm gonna be a daddy ... " he repeats, his voice hoarse, and quiet. "And you're gonna ... b- ... be a mommy ... "

Tears rapidly form in my eyes, blurring my vision by now. "Yeah, Michael. I'm gonna be a mommy, and you're gonna be a daddy."

"L-Look after hi- ... him or her ... " he pleads with me. "And tell them their daddy is ... in the sky with the angels ... "

I nod without hesitation, wanting to agree with everything he says as his final wishes. "I will. I will." I place the test on his bedside table, looking down at his beautiful but pale face. "I love you. More than anything. Please never forget that."

"I ... love you ... " he manages to murmur back, his breathing brittle and slowing.

-Narrator's Point of View-

The nurses realised that there was no more that could be done. They had no way to prevent Michael's health from declining, as he was bleeding too much, too quick. They warned Citria that they were going to give Michael a high dosage of Morphine to prevent him from feeling any pain, but Citria was in a world of her own, and nodded without acknowledging what had been said. The nurses went ahead with the administration, before subtly leaving the room to give the couple their final moments together.

Citria didn't know what to say for a moment, so she expressed her affection by holding her beloved Michael in her arms. There was a silence; it would have been serene and beautiful, had it have been anywhere else. Here, however, it was melancholy, and there was a numbingly silent atmosphere surrounding them. For a moment, Citria felt at peace with everything. Marco was gone, and she was with her child and her love. Even though temporary, she wished to savour it.

But oh, it didn't last long. After spending minutes in a trance, she snapped back to reality to realise Michael's chest was no longer rising and falling for air. Her head darted up from his shoulder, as she tried to find any sign of life from him.

"Michael?" she pleaded in fright. "M-Michael?" She rose from her seat, standing over him. "N-No. No no no no. No, please." Tears were already falling down her dampened cheeks, as she grabbed Michael's hands. She kissed down his arms, on his cold face, and finally his lips. Desperately, she cried out the love she proclaimed for him, before she collapsed back into her chair, head in hands, and sobbed hysterically.

* * *

-1996 – seven and a half years later-

-Citria's Point of View-

"Mommy, will I ever get to see my daddy?"

As we walk together through the park, a saddened smile forms on my face. My seven-year-old son has been curious about his father before, but never asked about seeing him. Coming to a halt, I face opposite him and kneel down to his level. "Look, Michael ... you were named after your daddy for a special reason. He was a brave person who had to go through a lot of different things. He ... he was like a soldier, you see. He had to do a lot of fighting. Not bad fighting, like hitting and kicking, but fighting like ... a good fighting. The kind of fighting where you manage to get through the bad things without hitting and kicking."

"But will I get to see him?" His brows furrow curiously, and the same brown eyes that made me fall in love with his father shine brightly in the summer sun. The same brown eyes ... but younger. More innocent. Full of life. Hope.

"Well ... " I sigh in defeat. "No, sweetheart. But there's a special reason for that, too. I told you before didn't I?" A smile forces its way onto my face, to stop me from crying.

"Yeah. Daddy went to the angels in the sky." He smiles at this idea. "But won't he get to come and visit me ever?"

"Unfortunately not, Michael." My hand rests on his cheek, to comfort him. "Because when your daddy was here on earth, he had a mission to do the good fighting. He managed to complete the mission so he was allowed to go see the angels. The problem is, once you get to see the angels, they don't need you to do any more missions, so you get to stay in the sky forever." I soothingly kiss his forehead. "Do you understand, my flower?"

"Yes mommy." He nods to show he comprehends what I'm saying, before taking my hand. I stand up fully, and we continue our walk around the park. "What do we have for dessert tonight mommy?"

"Michael, you've got to have dinner before dessert!" I chuckle, shaking my head in mock disapproval.

"Yes I know, but what is it? Pleeeeeease tell me?"

Giving up, I tell him. "Auntie Clover and I have made your daddy's favourite: mixed berry pie. Does that sound good?"

"Yeah!" He beams at the idea of eating something his father enjoyed, before turning his head and pointing in the same direction. "Can I go play on the playground?"

"Yes. Go ahead." Leaning my back against the trunk of a tree and folding my arms, I watch as my gorgeous son runs off to play with the other children on the swings. It's easy to see Michael in him, and it makes me sad that he never got to meet his son.

But I want every moment to count with this child. After how drastically and quickly Michael's life was flipped upside down almost a decade ago, I want our son to be able to say he spent plenty of time with me before I leave this planet myself. I don't want him to regret anything; not a single moment he spent with me. Because you can lose someone; anyone ... in the twinkling of an eye.

* * *

"Have you eaten all your dinner, little man?" Clover asks Michael. She playfully investigates his plate to check for any leftovers, before nodding in satisfaction. "I think he has, Private Investigator Mommy," she says to me.

"Has he, Second in Command Auntie Clover?" I interrogate, before staring at Michael's plate myself. I let out a pretend gasp of pure shock. "By gosh, it's all gone! He's done it!"

"Yay! Can I have daddy's pie now?" Michael begs excitedly, tugging at Clover's sleeve.

Clover and I laugh with him, then I stand up to cut the dessert into slices. As I grab the knife and start dividing the pie, I can't help but relive the old times with my beloved Michael. From the moment we met, to the moment I realised he slipped away. We had problems; who doesn't? I wouldn't change any of it, other than Marco's involvement. Without him, Michael would still be here today. He'd be here to see our beautiful boy growing up. Starting school. Learning to read and write. His first words. His first time walking, and riding a bicycle. He would have been here to see all of that. In fact, his entire family would be here to see that.

The day Michael died circles around in my head even to this day. Seeing the fear in his eyes, and the thought of us losing one another burdening him until his final breath. For the sake of keeping myself sane, I think of the positives. He has no more pain. He's with his family. He doesn't have to suffer any longer. Like a fairytale. Like magic.

The flashbacks begin again, but in some ways, I find peace in them.

"Forever and a half ... "

I glance down at him, realising he has fallen into a deep sleep ...

... Sleeping soundly.

Drifting into a world where dreams come true, and there is no pain to hold you back.

A place where everyone has joy and laughter, and togetherness and wonderment rules over hurt and despair.

A place that he currently lives, but I must wait for.

~~

That's Forever and a Half completed guys! I got so emotional writing this part, as it felt so real to me! I hope you enjoyed the story. Thank you so much for reading. ❤️

IMPORTANT NOTE:-

If you've been effected by any of the themes in this story, then please seek help and support from suicide and mental health awareness campaigns, sites and support lines. Don't fight the battle alone. You are valued; loved; and you are here for a reason. You were put on this earth to live life, not to end it. You have purpose and you mean the world to more people than you think. You mean the world to me, for sure. Don't tell yourself that you are a burden to anybody, because you are not. People want to help you, and anyone who doesn't has never had to deal with such pain before. Mental health issues are very real, and should not be written about, spoken about, or brought into conversation in a satirical matter. It is not a joke. If you don't wish for professional support, come to me. Message me, post on my message board, or comment. I'll be here for you because I know how it feels to be depressed, anxious, paranoid, and feel suicidal. On a final note, I love you, and I value you, and you're important to me. Yes, I'm talking to you.

Hang in there, my lovely. You're doing wonderful.

~~

Forever and a Half – finished February 1, 2020
Editing completed May 18, 2020
Completed June 9, 2020