𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐓 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐀 𝐏𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 // 𝘫𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘣

𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚢-𝚏𝚒𝚟𝚎

His heart was now up in flames.

"What?! Wait! No, no, no, no. Doc, please!" John B grabbed at Dr. Nygard's bloody sleeve to keep him from leaving Affinity's side. "You have to help her!"

He said nothing, only left to in the armchair with his liquor.

John B grabbed the bag and took on both roles. Any hope he had sunk as the tears rose to the rims of his eyes. His breathing rattled as he pulled his hair from his eyes to refocus. He had to center all his energy on trying to steady his hands long enough to place the mouthpiece back over her face and pump the air into her lungs. The bag fell to the table while he returned to CPR.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.

He continued to push firmly on her chest. Her head swayed back and forth. There was no sign of life. All he wanted, all he needed was for her eyelashes to flutter, to reveal her eyes.

You did this. You killed her.

She was everything...now you're back to having nothing. Maybe that's what you deserve. Your father escaped the nuisance you are. Now she can have peace away from you and the hell you bring into people's lives.

John B grew weak in the knees. The smallest movements made him light headed and the guilt and regret were enough to drown his mind in self-loathing. He tried to remain afloat for her. Through the sobs and the tears streaming uncontrollably down his face, John B frantically switched between the Ambu bag and CPR. With every passing moment, his actions grew slower, more strained. His emotions were gradually winning the battle. There was nothing left.

It's over. She's dead. Why do you care so much now when you didn't care about how she was slowly dying before?

The taunting in his head seemed to grow louder, deafening.

Both hands cupped around his face as he paced, shuffling across the perimeter of the table. With teeth gritted, he continued to cry over her. His entire body was now leaning above her motionless figure. His fingers pressed down on various places below her jaw as he searched for her nonexistent pulse. John B rested his head on her chest, this time, listening. But yet again, he couldn't feel anything that might signify life. He pursed his lips together, hard, trying to keep from erupting with cries and screams.

"Hey," he sobbed. "Fin, you gotta wake up. Wake up!" His shaking hands clasped around her pale cheeks. "Affinity, wake up!"

The boy tried CPR one final time. Nothing.

It wasn't just his hands now, his entire body was trembling immensely. So much so that his brown curls kept falling before his eyes. He stepped back. Was he even breathing at this point? And then came his breaking point.

He screamed, it ripping through his chest, clawing its way into the air, and ricocheting off the wooden walls. The bag on the table was suddenly across the room and the chair next to him joined it seconds later. His foot smashed into a box on the floor. The tears burned as they fell, streaking through the dirt that had dusted onto his face. Hands covered in dried blood dragged through John B's hair in distress as he practically fell onto the stool by Affinity's tableside. His elbows slammed down on its surface, his face falling into his palms.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to her, sobs breaking through his words. "I meant it, Affinity. Oh my God, I meant it. I love you. I've always known that I've loved you." He fell to his knees while the stool slipped out from underneath him. "I know it-it doesn't seem like it because you aren't supposed to hurt the ones you love...but I love you, Fin, and I'm so sorry I did this to you."