What If He Didn't Die?

Chapter 38: Another Midnight Call

I grab on both his hands and as a response to my touch, his head jerks up. The moment his eyes meet mine, a smile erupts on his face. But I find nothing soothing about it. There's something that's irking me and I fail to understand what.

He blinks as I struggle to keep my grip tight on his skin and my curiosity is quenched. It's his eyes. His eyes which should've been a clear grey, instead stare up at me through two blank irises. Their colour, a black as dark as I've ever seen. I frown automatically but decide to ignore it the minute I feel his hand slipping off.

"Hold my hand, pull yourself up," I instruct softly but he keeps looking straight at me with no visible change of action or emotion, still demonstrating the same meaningless smile.

"Daniel?" I say in an irritated tone as his skin slips further under my sweaty fingers.

Him not putting in any effort and my palms sweating more by the minute. Clearly, nothing is in my favour apart from my sheer will of not letting him go.

But sometimes sheer will is like water in a car's fuel tank. And just like that, he slips away.

"NOOOOO DANIEL!!" I yell at the top of my lungs and my throat burns in response. But before it is all gone, I jump forward to catch him.

"EASTER NOOOO!!!" I hear a voice not remotely similar to Dan's but before my mind can process any of it, I've already lost any floor to place my legs on.

My limbs start shooting in all directions before I finally find something to hold on to. My hands grab tightly on the terrace edge as I hang on to them. In no time, big bold drops of sweat start dripping one after the other, off my skin and my heart starts hopping towards my mouth.

I fight the urge to scream for help, knowing although, that without it I can literally die the next minute. I begin to feel a cruel pain in every part of my feeble body like someone put knots all over my veins and muscles. Like a furious tug, war is being played inside of me. The pull intensifies in squares every second.

My muscles ache beyond tolerance and the idea of letting go starts seeming way more peaceful than the painful efforts of staying hung for a few more useless seconds. A few muffled cries begin sounding in my head but they fail to grab my attention.

The skin at my fingers burns harder as they slip slowly until I stop feeling anything at all. I let it happen peacefully. It is the only option I have anyways. Any struggle on my side is only going to make the fall come earlier.

And to be honest, I don't really think I can do anything anymore. I'm sure I've lost control of all my senses. My vision too starts blurring up and I bet a bucket of hell hot water won't burn my skin if poured on me right now.

A moment before the end, I close my eyelids slowly to feel the peace of numbness. And it's divine. Not feeling anything. If this is what death feels like, it's funny why we hate it. I wish I could tell someone that I don't want people to mourn me after I die. That there's nothing to mourn. That the end is everything I want. And that the phrase rest in peace is just the truth.

But I know it's too late for that, I know they're going to mourn me like death is something sad. And the sudden helplessness takes over me, making me feel a dying- or should I say, a living need for all this to stop so I can tell people to not mourn my end, but to celebrate it instead.

For the first time in a long time, the heavens answer my prayers and my skin notices a warm grip on it, just before it leaves the surface. I open my eyes and just like that, all my senses come back. The first thing I feel is the shock in my muscles due to the sudden catch and now the pull by whoever the warm skin belongs to. The second thing is the voice. The exhausted, screeching voice.