Harry & Claire

A porcelain beauty she sat. She stared at nothing but yet she was staring at me. She was content. So pristine she stood from her chair and walked towards the door, reached for the door knob, and walked out of the gaping hole in the wall. She turned back and spoke softly the words I feared she might, "Goodbye, I love you". I stood there and stared at where she once stood. Where she had once said those words. I couldn't speak for weeks. As if the words I wanted to say to make her stay were stuck in my throat. I didn't stop her. I could have...but I didn't. I lost all motivation. I didn't shower, I didn't eat, I didn't drink, and there were entire gaps of time where I would stop breathing as if the words I never spoke were choking me.
...
I moved on eventually. I got a job at the cafe down the road from our...my apartment. I served food to cheerful guests with cheerful smiles and I put a faux cheerful smile on as I greeted each person and gave them their orders. They had no worries. So damn cheerful they were. After work everyday I would walk towards my house. Past the boutiques and the shoe shops. Past the pubs and strip clubs. Past the parks and ponds. I'd stand in front of my apartment door and I'd see the Christmas wreath that she had put there on December 14th, 1984. It's 1986. I open my door and I smell that familiar smell. Her apple scented candles that she loved. I walk to my room and I grab the door knob to the door that she had once touched on the day that she left. I turn the knob and step inside to all the same things in all the wrong places. I shifted everything around after she left so that when I slept I wouldn't be reminded of her. That when my eyes would finally close I would be able to sleep without seeing her face. I would sleep peacefully. I would live in those eight hours of slumber. Then I would wake up the next day and I would go along with how my days always go. The way every dead day of mine goes.
...
Ten years later I write all of this. I'm 33 and I'm still living my dead life to the fullest. I still have the same clothes. The same furniture, the same everything. I haven't changed save the loss of hair and well I got a dog. I named her Bailey. She is my everything. She is always there for me no matter my mood. She perks up her ears when I walk in the door and she is always there to greet me with a cheerful smile. She's given me reason to my dead life.
...
I got a letter the other day from Claire. Oh yeah, that's her name. She's the girl who left and the one who spoke her last leaving words. She's on her death bed. She moved in with her parents after she left and she lived there up till now it seems. She was diagnosed with malignant melanoma a few months ago. Stage IV and the doctor says he can't do anything to help her. Her letter reads as followed.

Hello, I love you.

Harry...I'm really sorry for everything. For the fights that meant nothing. The fits of rage and the broken plates. The hurtful words and everything. I am sorry. I had and have a broken soul and in turn I broke your soul into so many pieces and I'm so sorry. I can't say it enough. I have something to tell you and I'm just going to come out and say it. I have malignant melanoma and I am writing this letter from my death bed. They say they can't do a god damn thing to help me. I'm sure your laughing right now at the this whole thing. Well, at least I hope your not laughing...too hard. I write this letter to you alone because in all these years I've found no one. I've seen no one. No one wants me... Your the only one who would ever put up with me I guess. I hope that you are well and I'm sorry for contacting you after so long. Once again I am sorry for everything.

Dying of cancer,
Claire

...
I somehow found myself beside her, days later in the hospital. Her breathing was shallow and her eyes were sunken in. She was pushing a wagon with square wheels up a hill and she was losing. We didn't say anything. I just sat there and stared at her as she stared at nothing yet she was staring at me. Directly into my soul. It was as if she was attempting to fix what she had broken. Her porcelain skin was blotched with shadows and I could see her slowly slipping away even as I was holding her hand in place. She was so pristine on that day. I was holding onto her hand so tight but she was still able to stand up and walk towards the door. She was still able to reach for the door knob and walk out of the gaping hole in the wall. Even my tears couldn't hold her back. She turned back and spoke softly the words I knew and feared she would, "Goodbye, I love you". I knew I couldn't let her leave this time without me saying my last words. So I raked my brain for the right ones. I ended up with the words that were caught in my throat on that day, "Don't leave me, I love you". Those unspoken words weren't enough for her then and they weren't enough spoken now. She was gone and even as I screamed and sobbed out my eyes, I could feel her in the room. She had left her soul in the doorway.
...
To this day when I walk towards a door I see her. Her smiling pristine smile on that porcelain face. I still live a dead life. I still do the same damn things, though I've learned to do them in different ways. Claire was and always will be apart of me. At least as long as I am close to a doorway.