Who: Simon What: A visit to Aura Where: Hospital When: Sometime this week when she had no visitors Warnings: Angst.
Stepping into the hospital, Simon felt that every set of eyes were on him, staring, knowing what he had done, the crime he had committed. Intellectually, Simon realised that it was just his guilt gnawing him, chewing holes in his calm. The sound of Aura's head hitting the walk, the look on her face as she reached for him during those fateful few seconds... they were memories he could not forget, memories he could not possibly erase from his mind. And they hurt, a physical pain that made his chest ache, his throat close.
She could die. And he would be at fault.
Somehow, he held his head high as he walked down the corridors of the hospital, a stark black form against the cool, comforting colours that were meant to soothe the sick and healing, to comfort the family in their time of grief. The colours just made Simon ill, a little voice screaming in his head that he was responsible for Aura being here, and this was the last place she deserved to be.
It seemed to take forever to get to her room, and a quick peek in told him that no one was there, just her pale form resting on the bed, her head swathed in bandages, porcelain skin tinted with bruises. For the longest time, all he could do was stand in the doorway, his good hand fisted in the hem of his shirt, tight enough that his knuckles whitened with strain. And then, as though in a daze, he stepped closer, the distance between him and that bed growing smaller with every step.
Lips pressed together, he wet them, wiped at his eyes, and silently, he sat in the chair that was closest to her bed. Shaking hands took one of hers, fingers lacing, and he bowed his head. No longer could he hold back the tears, the grief and guilt that overwhelmed him. His shoulders shook with those held-back sobs, soft apologies falling from his lips, and as the grief continued to roll over him, his words, his apologies and expressions of adoration blurring into something completely unintelligible.
He wasn't sure how long he sat there, how long it had been since the tears had ceased, but his face felt hot, and his hand ached from how closely he had been holding hers. Simon lifted his head, exhaling, and quietly he rose, leaning over to brush his lips against her bandaged forehead.
"I'm so sorry Olivia," he whispered, voice cracking. "So long I looked for you and I can't even be grateful for having you near. Even if someday you forgive me..." He paused, wiping at his eyes, his hand shaking. "I can't forgive me."
There was a pause, and he took in a great, deep breath, kissing her forehead one more time. "I love you, sister. I do love you."
Backing up, he moved towards the door, hands clasped behind his back, his eyes fixed on her. And then at the threshold, he turned on his heel and left, feeling worse than he had when he had first come in.