Author: Freelancer Starbuck
Website: www.geocities.com/freelancer_starbuck
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Feedback: YEAH BABY!
Archiving: CD has permission, everyone please ask me first.
Rating: G
Summary:
Author's Note: Written originally for a school project, but altered to fit my purposes...
I've been searching deep down in my soul Words that I'm hearing are starting to get old It feels like I'm starting all over again The last three years were just pretend And I said Goodbye to you Goodbye to everything I thought I knew You were the one I loved The one thing I tried to hold on to... --Michelle Branch, Goodbye to You
The night is like liquid velvet outside my tiny airplane window. Clouds float lazily past, smothered in darkness. Points of light reach up from the cities below, prying my eyes open with their weak rays of light.
Jet lag has become a constant friend, albeit unwillingly on my part. I've buried myself in work, flying off on a moment's notice to kick bad guy ass. The incredible rush of barely escaping alive has been replaced with a slight jump of the pulse. Purely physical. I don't really even try anymore. I have nothing to fight for, no one to come home to.
I'm falling asleep again, but I wedge my eyes open with the words on the page in my airline magazine. I absently turn the page, although I can't recall anything on the page before that. Outwards, I'm a busy businesswoman on a late night flight home to her husband or boyfriend. Inwards, I'm screaming, crying for someone to notice. For someone to care.
My mind travels back to a memory long buried for my sanity. Faded jade eyes glitter at me, and then turn a disturbing black with terror and pain. They go limp then, the life flowing out.
"I'm sorry."
The words plead with me, desperate for something unknown. They're burned into my brain along with the expression marring his beautiful features. No forehead wrinkles, no sign of emotion. A ghost of death I never wanted to see.
I should run. Even if it's just for a week or two. I know I couldn't leave forever. There are too many people counting on me. I'm just sick of being the Grim Reaper for all the people I love.
A drink cart bangs along the aisle, waking the few slumbering passengers. The blonde Barbie with a fake smile stops beside me. I order vodka, knowing I shouldn't, and throw it back. I enjoy the harsh burn on the throat. The green eyes don't really bother me as much.
Two hours and three vodkas later, we're over the Atlantic, and I'm giggling like crazy. The eyes are long forgotten and I concentrate on the warm fuzz that's invaded my stomach, undoing the month-old knot that's taken up residence there.
That damned stewardess is back, but not with booze. I've decided that I don't like her as much anymore. She gives me a steaming mug of coffee. I chug that too, not caring that it sears my already burning tongue.
The haze lifts and suddenly, in my head, I can see a blood red sunset. I feel his presence beside me, strong and supportive. He's telling me not to cry, but it's too late. Tears flood my vision, blurring the fantasy world I've made. It melts away and I'm left with the reality of my life. I can't seem to wipe the tears off my face and I feel myself lean forward. My grimy, sweat-filled hair falls around me. It's like I'm detached from myself, reacting in a way unfamiliar to me. I'm not supposed to cry.
I hear murmurs around me but I don't really care. I hurt too much to care. I want to leave the real world, stay in my other world with Vaughn but I know it's impossible. The plane trembles, and my hand moves to my seat belt. I never bothered to unbuckle.
"The pilot is now making his decent into Los Angeles. Please fasten your seatbelts and lock your trays in the upright position..." I tune out the intercom and satisfy myself by looking out the window, tears still cascading down my cheeks.
I feel the skid of the plane as it lands, and remember vaguely lugging my bag off the plane. Dad's waiting for me in the boarding area, the grim look fixed on his face. I can't remember the last time I saw him smile. I like his smile.
We're in the car now, one of those I'm-a-cop-don't-pull-me-over kind of cars. I'm staring out the window, and as I watch the city pass me by on my way home, I decide to say goodbye for the last time.
***
It's been a month since the plane ride, and I'm standing in front of his grave with a bouquet of lilies in my hand. I'm not sure what his favorite flower was, or even if he had a favorite flower. Isn't that depressing?
The stone is so smooth, the different colors peeking out of the dull gray. He deserves more recognition. Something to show all he's done for me. I can't help it, and I start crying, the salty tears dripping down into the earth below. Maybe he's waiting for me and maybe he sees me crying. Somehow I really doubt it.
My voice is feather soft, so quiet I don't know if I've actually spoken. "Hey... I wanted to let you know that I haven't forgotten you. I couldn't, not even if I tried. You were such a big part of my life... hell, you were my life, and it's hard to get used to having you gone. I mean, every time the phone rings, a part of me dies when it's not you. Please promise you'll wait for me, and someday maybe nothing will stand in our way."
I press the flowers to the foot of the grave. Then I brush a kiss across my fingertips and touch them gently to the engraved words.
"Goodbye, Michael."