Forever and a Half || Michael Jackson

Chapter Sixty - Forever and a Half (Epilogue)

Chapter Sixty — Forever and a Half (Epilogue)

-Citria's Point of View-

This feeling is reminiscent of my father's death. The cold, numb, terrifying feeling of impending doom. My eyes won't move from him. The love of my life, fighting for his life in front of my eyes. Why did he do this? Why did he let Marco win? He told me before that he was next, but I didn't want it to be true. I forced it out of my mind in the hopes that it was him being paranoid, and that he was wrong. But oh, how correct he was; and how much guilt I feel.

His half-lidded eyes are fixed on me, with a glazed layer masking the once-magical and intoxicatingly beautiful irises. The sparkle in them has been replaced with nothingness. Absolute nothingness. His fingers are loosely interlocked with mine, and not even the seeping crimson blood is preventing me from wanting to touch him. In fact, I just want to hold him, and feel him more than ever. Clover is still at my house, being questioned by the police. She's going to arrive at the hospital as soon as she can.

The heart rate monitor is still beeping regularly, but it's gradually slowing down. I hope the ambulance gets us to the hospital before it's too late for Michael. His breathing is weak and irregular, made more difficult because he keeps groaning in agony. He was probably assuming that his suicide attempt would be over quicker than this. I'm glad it wasn't, because there's a chance he'll survive it. I hope, more than anything in this world, that he does.

*  *  *

We're in the hospital now. Michael is still alive, but he's slowly losing all signs of life. He's thankfully still conscious, but he's losing a lot of blood, so I don't know how long it'll take before he slips away. The nurses have tried all they can to prevent the bleeding, but nothing seems to be working. They've tried stitching him up, but as they finish one section of the wound, they find another to work on. Michael must have stabbed himself extremely deep for it to be this bad ...

Although the nurses are frantic, it seems silent to me. I'm sat by Michael's hospital bed, clutching his hand hard enough to be able to feel the pulse in his wrist. My other hand is stroking his curls, slicking them back to keep them out of his face. The partly-dry blood from my hands lightly clings to his sideburns, causing them to feel sticky under my touch. A pained smile of reassurance for him is on my face, to try and convince him that I'm being strong. The last thing he needs is to be concerned for how I feel.

"I love you, I love you," I repeat over and over, swallowing every few syllables to prevent myself from sobbing. I'm not expecting him to respond, because all his energy is being spent on trying to stay alive.

"You can slip away if you want, my love," I assure him, this time not caring if I cry in front of him. "If you want to go, you can go. I don't want you to feel any pain."

His eyes weakly avert my way, and it's then that I see tears filling them. Limply, he raises his other hand, and holds my face lovingly. He pulls my head closer to his, so our noses almost touch. He goes to speak, but pain causes him to grunt again.

"Don't waste your energy, sweetheart." A tear falls down my cheek, dripping off the end of my chin, and onto my bloodied hand. "Lay down."

He sobs quietly, closing his eyes to let the tears from his eyes go. "I-I ... "

"What, Michael?" Realising he wants to speak, I move my head back to see his face fully.

"I d- ... don't want t- ... to die now ... " he tells me, which honestly feels like a shot through the heart.

"You don't have to ... " I begin to panic. "Keep your eyes open, Angel. Keep talking to me. Stay with me, Michael."

"I nev- ... never told you ... " he starts, but is cut off by another surge of pain.