Gillian, you found me again

is this death

YOUR POV:
The knife pierces through my skin. I feel the cold blade pull out of my neck, then back in. I feel a cold, wet substance run down my shirt, then against my neck. It can only be blood.

I fight for air. Screaming is no use, I could die right here if I tried. The pain in my neck sends aches through my whole body. I can't turn my head even the slightest to get a glimpse of whoever it is

The knife keeps going in and out of my upper back, more and more deep with every cut. The now warm, damp blade moves to my lower back. Though my body feels numb I can still sense the weight of my blood drenched shirt on my neck.

Breathing is a cruel thing right now. With every touch it gets worse and worse. All I feel aside from the deadly pain in my neck, is the slow aggravating movement of the knife carving something in my back.

I'm grasping my pillow so hard I think any movement would tear the fabric of its home. Every breath becomes unbearably shallow . Trying to hold it as long as I can, I start to taste the awful metallic taste of blood.

It's coming up my throat. I close my eyes, and all I can think about is "this is it, I'm dead" between visions of what I presume is my last sight of my bed, and memories of Gillian and my parents, I try my best to keep breathing.

I barely see the blood sopping on my pillow out of my peripheral vision, when the thought of Gillians last kiss rings through my bones. But i can't find it anymore. One more breath and I think my body will fall apart

All I remember is the faint sound of shattering glass, and my world going black.

GILLIANS POV:
It's a sad rainy day here in London. I arrive back at my house and text her. The flight is almost a day long, I'm exhausted. She doesn't respond, but I don't overthink. I walk away to grab a cookie, then come back to 4 new notifications from the news app

This better not be bad, if there's any paparazzi pics from the airport were dead. I hesitantly grab my phone and read the headlines "singer/songwriter y/n appears dead in her home! find out more!"

What? That can't be right that's fake. I look down at the one underneath "y/n has been found with 7 cuts in her neck last night, click here!" My heart beat goes way up while reading one of the articles, and my breathing, now heavy.

Reports say y/n's parents found her in her home bed on August 30th at 4:56 am, covered in blood. "We heard her bedroom window smash and ran in there. All we found was her shirt pulled up over her neck, and she was just covered in blood" says her parents, Louise and Brian Alphine.

Her dad pulled the shirt off her neck and found 7 stab wounds. Her back had something carved in it with what 'appears to be a knife' quoted from the family. We still don't know who did it, but we are working hard as y/n is in critical care right now, the doctors are doing the best for the Canadian singer, well keep you posted.

I feel the tears pooling in my eyes. How could I let this happen? With that stupid guy out there, and that blonde bitch, what did I do? I unsend my text to her, and book a flight all the way back.

Yes it's another day long flight but I could care less. I don't even care about the paparazzi at this point, all I care about is if she's okay. The last thing I need right now is to lose that girl.

The only flight I can get leaves in an hour, and doesn't arrive until 5pm. I take it anyway, and grab my already packed luggage from the flight I just got back from. The flight is boarding just as I arrive. I just make it, and find myself a seat next to the window.

The flight seems even more long and painful then usual. My mind circles around "I shouldn't have left her" or "I can't lose her" and "I should've told her how I felt sooner"

My foot is tapping the ground the whole way there. I don't sleep, just stay awake and watch the clouds. Hoping for an answer. Agony along with that all nighter aren't helping any.

As soon as the flights over I run off the plane. Call a taxi, and drive to the only hospital I think she would be at. I remember her saying the hospital she was born in, and how fancy it made her feel.

So I head over and ask if I can see her. "I'm sorry but she's in critical condition, we can only let family in" the worker in scrubs says to me
"I am family though!" I fib. The worker sighs and looks down at her keyboard.
"Room 556. Fifth floor to your right" I grin widely
"thanks" i say, and walk away. I think she realizes who I am, and doesn't even bother calling security.

I head up to room 556 and slowly open the door. I see the poor girl in a hospital bed. Hooked up to a breathing machine, with her mom sitting next to her. She turns her head to look at me

"Gillian Anderson?" She gets up to shake my hand "pleasure to meet you"
"Pleasure to meet you too"
I sit next to her "my daughters said so much about you" her voice is breaking "your daughter has always been special to me"

She smiles that same bright smile I recognize. Must've been where y/n got it from. We sit there for a few minutes just observing. Listening. I move closer, and reach out my hand.

I grasp her cold, hollow hand. It only makes me feel worse. The repetitive sound of the oxygen going in and out makes me want to scream.

Almost 2 hours go by. Still nothing. It's 8 pm now. "I'm going to be going with her father, you can stay if you like" her mom says putting on her coat "thanks" I smile goodbye as she leaves the room.

I let out a long breath, and kneel next to her. "I'm sorry" I lay my hand gently on her cheek. No reply as expected, I just cup her hand in mine.