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Author Topic: Nothing Sweet About Goodbyes[Solo FB]  (Read 269 times)

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Offline Zero Undead

Nothing Sweet About Goodbyes[Solo FB]
« on: January 14, 2018, 11:02:32 am »
Touching down back on Libra and unbuckling from his seat was a weird mix of emotions, almost like coming off an exhilarating high. Twenty-one years old and nothing could feel better than the rush of zipping through space in a magitech ship. Not just any ship, but one of his own design and purpose – she was beautiful and perfect. It didn’t matter if it had been a very routine and boring patrol where nothing at all interesting had actually happened. Nothing mattered except knowing that he had finally made all the boring as hell classes at academy worth it.

Part of him had never wanted to come back, and that was why it was a mix of emotion instead of pure bliss, there was the disappointment of the experience being over – even knowing there would be plenty more to come. Yet another sliver of him was glad to be home.

Deacon didn’t look torn as he stepped out of the ship; he was grinning and fixing his hair. Eugh, helmet hair was terrible. He was still running his hand through his hair when someone in an officer’s uniform approached him solemnly. The look on the man’s face was enough to make his stomach drop as he quickly snapped into a salute.

“Pilot Chambers, I’m sorry, but it’s your mother sh-“ Whatever else the man was going to say faded from existence, because Deacon dropped his flight helmet and pushed past the officer without another thought as he raced to the hospital as fast as his legs could carry him. His stomach was tied up in knots and his heart pounded in his ears. All he could do was silently beg a higher power that he didn’t actually believe in that she hadn’t left him yet.

Please not with me gone. Please whatever gods are out there, don’t let her have left alone.

It was all he could do not to slam into the nurse’s station as he entered the front doors, skidding to a stop and still running into the heavy desk. Deacon was out of breath, but he managed to half-scream words at the poor lady behind the desk. “Darla Chambers, she should be here. A cancer patient, her doctor is Malia Tornal.”

“L-let me just look for you, sir!” The sound of her keyboard clicking sounded like thunder crashing over the waves already pounding through his ears. It seemed like an eternity but was probably only thirty seconds. “Yes sir, room 1544, but you ca-“

Deacon didn’t wait to hear the rest; nothing mattered except the room number. It was the longest two minutes of his life, between the front desk and finding that room. The only reason they probably hadn’t called security on him was the flight suit he was still wearing. He undoubtedly had a wild, frantic look about him, and his pupils were contracted into thin slits as they had the nasty habit of doing when he was either angry or afraid.

Despite his rush to get there, when he actually got to the room he very nearly froze completely. For a terrible moment he was too terrified to look inside. As long as he didn’t look Deacon could pretend she was alive, but if she was already gone and he looked it became real.

Shaking off the nerves he slowly crept into room 1544 and very nearly fell to his knees with an overwhelming wave of relief. There she was, lying in her hospital bed looking pale and so very frail, but the monitor next to her bed was emitting steady beeps to announce that life still clung there desperately.

 A dying life, but life.

Forcing his legs to keep working for just a few moments longer, Deacon moved to her bedside, dragging a chair so that he could sit and hold the hand not supporting her IV. The movement and noise caused the small woman to stir in her bed, eyes slowly fluttering open as she looked up at her visitor with confused, tired green eyes.

“Misha?” She asked weakly, and the hopefulness in her voice very nearly crushed Deacon. Her mind was obviously going if she was asking for his father. If Darla couldn’t remember that her husband was long gone, then who was he to remind her of something so terrible?

“No Momma, it’s me. It’s your boy.” His voice was soft and cracking as his eyes burned, he took her thin, cold hand in both his and raised it from the bed, kissing it softly before pressing it against his warm cheek.

“Deacon, I’m sorry. You look so much like him, you know that?” She smiled at him, before grimacing softly as her eyes became hazy again. “Where is Misha?”

“I’m sure he’ll be here as soon as he can, Momma. You look so tired, why don’t you get some rest? I promise I’ll wake you as soon as he gets here.” He squeezed her hand gently, kissing it again and fighting back his tears; because the last thing she needed right now was to see him crying.

“Rest…yes. That sounds so nice. You promise you’ll wake me when your father comes?” Her voice was so weak he could barely hear it.

“Of course I promise, Momma. As soon as he gets here you’ll know, okay?” Her eyes were already closed again, she barely nodded. He didn’t know if she could even still hear him. “You know, I don’t think there’s a lot left unsaid between us, Momma. We’ve known for so long that today was coming, but I want you to know that it’s okay. I’m okay. You were a great mother, you know that? The best of the best, and I was a difficult brat, but I am going to be okay if you’re too tired to keep going. I love you so much.”

Deacon lowered his head, resting it against the side of the bed, simply holding his mother’s hand and letting quiet tears escape against the sheets as he waited. His mind wandered as he thought about his mother before she got sick. She had been a very bright, vibrant woman. That was how he wanted to always remember her, not as the frail woman lying there right now. It was almost an hour later when the sound of the monitors changed from the slow steady beats to a flat droning screech.

No one rushed in to try to save her as he raised his head and numbly observed his mother’s final moments. A doctor did enter the room without a sense of urgency to pronounce Darla Chambers’s time of death, but after unhooking the machines, he left them alone with a quite expression of his condolences for his loss.

Deacon didn’t want anyone’s condolences or pity. He turned his com off and stood up so that he could lean over his mother and gently brush a kiss to her forehead before he turned from her bedside and stumbled from the room in a bit of a daze. It was a hard reality to swallow, but he told himself that he had been prepared for this. Of course at the same time he knew how stupid is was for anyone to think they were ever actually ready for something like this.

Who the hell was ready to say goodbye to someone they loved?

“Mr. Chambers? I know this is a difficult time for you, but I need you to sign some papers regarding the disposal of your mother’s remains. Is it correct that she wished to be cremated? Have you already chosen a container for her ashes?” The man looked like he was bored but trying to seem sympathetic, Deacon wanted to punch him.

“Yeah and yeah, just give me the fucking papers. We’ve already made all the arrangements; just follow the instructions on her file.” He snatched the clipboard from the representative and scribbled his name across the dotted line hastily; all he wanted to do was get far away from here. Signature produced, he shoved it back at the man and stalked down the hall. It was easy to ignore people as he left the hospital; there was no one in the entire universe he wanted to talk to just then.

Deacon didn’t believe in some happy afterlife where his mother would see his father again or any of that stupid bullshit. She was dead and dead meant gone. It didn’t change the fact that his heart ached horribly and that he already missed her. It just meant that life was a bitch and then you died and there was nothing else he could do about it. His eyes were bloodshot, but mostly dry now.

Instead of pouring energy into crying, he focused on making it to his mother’s apartment, using his key to let himself in and slowly walking the rooms, turning on all the lights. It wasn’t really surprising that most of her belongings were already packed up into boxes with neat labels on them.

Always a practical woman thinking ahead, Deacon couldn’t help but smile sadly thinking about her sitting there sorting through her things, carefully and lovingly wrapping her little porcelain knick-knacks. He methodically started going through what hadn’t been packed away already. A note had been left for him, telling him what she wanted done with some of her things. Most of it was for him to keep, but some things, like her clothes, were being given away to some of her friends.

Everything was boxed before he stopped hours later; the boxes were sorted into piles depending on if they were going home with him or if they had other recipients in mind. Completely exhausted and drained, Deacon spent the night in his mother’s home for the last time, and that old sofa was still the most comfortable thing to lie on ever.

 

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