In Sickness And In Health

In Sickness

The room was empty. A quiet stillness had settled, the dark of the night remaining unbroken. Not even the faint glow of the moon fell through the windows- the thick clouds muffled even the stars themselves.

As he stood, trembling, on the rickety chair, Frank glanced out of the window on the other side of the room, wide eyed. He stared at the thousands of houses around him. Countless dischordant voices all seemed to cry out at once.

You see, in Frank's head it was anything but quiet, or still. Like a thousand needles piercing his skull, the voices swarmed over him, like they always did. No longer was his consciousness his own private well, from which he could drink the nourishing waters of sanity; it was a mere drop in a tempestuous ocean.

An ocean he was drowning in.

He strained against a wave of nausea, and fumbled as his vision clouded over in front of him. Every limb turned numb, shaking, scarcely supporting him. His breathing hoarse and strained, his heart hammered in his chest. His veins threatened to burst, pulsing like a parasite under his skin. The voices echoed, bouncing off the walls in his seemingly cavernous skull.

He tightened the noose.

This is the only way... The only way they will ever be quiet... The only way I'll sleep...

His leg arched as he prepared to kick the chair backwards.

Frank halted abruptly. A voice emerged, far louder than the others. A light, far brighter than any he'd ever seen, blinded him. He squinted. A shrouded figure emerged. It uttered one word, just one.

Stop.

A dulcet tone. Calm, serene, yet sad and anxious at the same time.

His trembling body was still. The other voices ceased momentarily.

Stop.
Suddenly, he remembered.
He remembered who he was.
He remembered the pills that lay all over the floor.
He remembered the scars scattered across his body, like the frayed ends of an ancient tapestry.
He remembered his family, his friends, his school, his life...

Piece by piece, the memories began to fall back into place. The storm began to quieten. The light faded a little. His muscles relaxed. One by one, the screams turned to whispers, the whispers to silence.

The blinding light faded. A cool wind entered the room. The moonlight's faint glow had broken through now-thin clouds. Soft hands lifted the noose. They caressed the sore skin beneath. His breathing relaxed a little. In front of him stood a girl, tears glistening, hair shimmering, body a grey silhouette. Her quivering rictus grin softened in relief. He climbed down, every muscle still trembling, and vomited before collapsing onto his bed face first. Soft lips pressed into his neck.

The voice spoke again. Its angelic tone soothed his aching body to sleep.

I love you...

A hand touched his. A wet kiss on the back of his wrist.

His mind focused on an image: a girl, roughly his age, with beautiful blonde hair, the cutest smile on the planet and a soul that would humble the most pious of angels.

He smiled feebly, tears damping the pillow. The last words he uttered before blacking out were muffled and choked, but unmistakeable:

I love you too... Jeanne...