She never came.
I shouldn't have expected her to - shouldn't have wanted her to but some part of me had just assumed that hers would be the last face I would see. I could see her in my memory: her soft waves of caramel coloured hair, the scatter of golden flecks in her brown eyes, the way she scrunched her nose at me when I teased her, the odd outfits that made her intriguing to look at. I could still see her sleeping on the armchair in my room, a book in hand with an innocence cast over her gentle features. I would never understand why she loved me. I didn't deserve her, not in this state, not in my chair.
I had been blessed before my accident, surrounded by people who loved me, in a job I loved and able to do as I pleased. But for nearly two years before I'd met Louisa, I had been in a bad place. I'd gone through seven carers, all women my mother had thought would 'improve my life style.' Women who told me to look on the bright side of life, to think of my new lifestyle as a blessing. Women who were afraid to touch or talk to me like a person because I was in a chair. The carer I felt guilty about was Cara, an elder woman in her late fifties who had looked after several disabled people before myself. The person before me, she had told me, had been a dear friend. She'd been with him ten years until he passed away.
"I'm sure we'll be together a long time too," she had smiled half-heartedly, clearly still grieving as she pat my shoulder.
But no, I made sure that wouldn't happen. It had been a bad day - oh no, not even a bad day. It had been a bad year. I had lost faith in the world, consumed with the wondrous thought that death would finally end the aching of limbs I had no control over. I'd asked Cara to fetch some firewood and she was gone around ten minutes. It took me only two minutes to get the screw I'd located out of the wall and angled to my wrists. That was the day I'd almost been free and the last day Cara had worked for us. I do feel guilty now - she was a lovely woman who loved her career as a carer and I had tainted that. She was fired immediately by my mother who threatened to sue her if she ever stepped foot near me again.
Louisa Clark had been the replacement for Cara and the first person to treat me like... a person. A person with feelings and a witty sense of humour. She scoffed when I was petty and warned me when I was being an ass. She was the only person to tell me the truth up front, the only person I felt truly comfortable with. I realised now that I took that for granted. Even before the chair, I had struggled to find somebody who could understand the challenging mind of Will Traynor and thank god for my parents because in offering them six months, I finally felt understood. I felt complete.
I could never ask Lou to continue this though. Despite her confession of love, I couldn't ask her to stay, couldn't bare the thought. She needed to be free, to soar with the birds and finally see what the world has to offer.
She never came.
I knew that I was being childish but it bothered me that in my last moments, she wouldn't be there. I wanted her to hold my hand and whisper sweet nothings into my ear. I wanted to pretend that there had been a chance for us, that her love hadn't been wasted.
She was irritating and irrational and sarcastic. But she had a face that couldn't hide emotions and a smile that made my heart twist in my chest. She was wonderful and she would do wonderful things once she left our little hometown, I was sure of it. She'd take on the fashion industry or write novels or she'd travel the world. Perhaps she'd visit the cafe in Paris and think of me. And perhaps in ten years, when she'd seen the sunrise in Australia and tasted the food of Italy... perhaps then, she would settle down with a husband and children. And perhaps she'd think of me then too and thank me, for not saying yes to her request.
"Please stay," she had said. "Please don't leave me."
But I had to do this. A world without the feeling of the breeze in my face as I drove with the roof down, without the feeling of going for a run to cool off after a fight - even a fight. Nobody would fight, let alone disagree, with a man in a wheelchair. I wanted to punch something now - that motorcyclist on that day two years ago, my father for not remaining faithful and myself, for not being enough for Louisa. For not getting to say goodbye to her. I could still taste her lips on mine.
But she never came.
And as the nurse came in with the milky solution that would end my life, I paused for a moment, staring at the door, willing my Louisa to rush through the door and tell me she loves me once more and that she forgives me. The nurse lifted a straw to my mouth and instructed me to drink and I did so, slowly, my eyes never leaving the door. My family wished me their final goodbyes: a tearful and dramatic affair. My father shook my hand and made a joke as tears leaked down his face and sister cradled my face, sobs escaping her as she rocked me back and forth. My mother cried too but she just held me to her, promising that God had a place for me and that they loved me.
I was tired. My arms ached and my chest burned and I wanted it to be over. I felt my eyes drooping, my breath slowing. I wished Louisa was with me for one last witty come back and to feel her hand in mine again. I guess I'd been denying it since she had revealed her feelings but they were reciprocated in the most painful, passionate way possible.
I loved Louisa Clark with everything I am and was but that wasn't enough. I think my last feeling was regret. Regret for not thanking Nathan once more, for not telling my sister that she was better than I ever was. But mostly, for not saying yes to Louisa when she had asked me to stay with her.
But I didn't deserve her and she never came.
