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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
True love carries through all the stages of the mind, no matter how fucked in the head you are haha. I wrote this one a while ago and finished it recently, its kinda really bad... and too dramatic. But oh well lol.

Submitted: December 04, 2007

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Submitted: December 04, 2007



“I will always love you, Patrick” whispered her painfully broken voice delicately, as she pushed the glimmering metal that was the gun she held in her own bleeding hand between the perfect eyes that stared up at him through the sadness that she was.
“Elizabeth, don’t you dare”
But it was too late. Her pale finger curled around the trigger and pulled it with determination unlike any other Patrick had even before seen portrayed in her. A single tear fled from her almost black eyes as she fell backwards onto the plain white cotton sheets. Patrick stood there lifeless, watching as the crimson blood spilled form her head and pooled next to him on the cold tile floor. What had just happened?
“Hello, Patrick Miller? This is Rachel Goldberg form the institute again. I just wanted to know if you could possibly make time to come in and see Elizabeth some time soon… she keeps asking about you. and I know she’s not exactly in the right frame of mind to remember anyone in our current day, so her remembering you means you were involved with her in the past… and well, we really need to talk to you, me and her doctors. So please call us back to schedule a time to come in. Have a good day.”
The message recorded on the answering machine through the faint static as Patrick sat hunched over in his arm chair, trying to convince himself that this wasn’t happening. He thought he was rid of Elizabeth forever now that she was in the institute, he had moved on, until now.
Elizabeth had been his devoted councilor for over two years before he was married, and before she started to need counseling herself. Patrick had never thought of Elizabeth as anything more then a good friend who he could always rely on to listen to what ever he had to say, but Elizabeth had thought of him as something more, something much more. Patrick had planed to commit suicide a couple years back when he was seeing Elizabeth as his councilor, and of course he didn’t tell her because this would mean her contacting the authorities. It wasn’t until Elizabeth herself told Patrick of her plans to commit suicide herself, did he tell her. They had agreed to do it together, on Christmas Eve, but this was two weeks before the actual day. Patrick started going to the park to sit alone and think about how things had gone wrong in his life, he often saw a girl called Theresa there. She would sit by the pound and sketch the ducks that floated past her. Patrick and Theresa often chatted a bit about the philosophy of things, she seemed to respect his point of view like no one else ever had before. Patrick asked her out for coffee a time or two, and found himself waiting at the park every day just incase he saw Theresa there. The night before Christmas Eve Theresa went to the park, and saw Patrick there. She asked him over to her house for lunch, and while there invited him to stay over for a little Christmas celebration the next day. Patrick agreed, a smile plastered on his face, a smile that he thought would never come off, that was until he went home the next night.
Patrick still remembered that night, when he opened his front door to see Elizabeth lying there, having slit her throat, a scrunched up note In her lifeless hand, “I will always love you Patrick, but I thought we had a plan…” it read. Patrick called the ambulance, and she was in hospital for a few weeks recovering, but of course against her will. The police had asked Patrick to explain the note to them, and not knowing what else to do, he did. The authorities agreed Elizabeth should be kept under observation, and her mood swings certainly backed up the story Patrick gave. She was sent to an institute for mentally sick and clinically depressed people, where she slowly lost her mind, day by day, only ever uttering the words, “other peoples problems, too many of other peoples problems” in a dismal and emotionless voice under her breath. That was, until just a few weeks ago, three years later.
Patrick was engaged to be married to Theresa, who had helped him through all of this. Patrick had tried so hard to forget every little thing about his depression, and suicide plans with Elizabeth. He had tried with every part of his mind to block out the night he found her lying there on his apartment floor, the blood pooling around her as it soaked into the carpet. Elizabeth had forgotten, so he could too, right?
 But now she was remembering how could partrick block it out with Elizabeth calling for him? How could he forget when messages form her doctors piled up on his answering machine? He couldn’t. He had to face it. But how he could he?
Patrick sat alone in the dark of his office watching the clock hands change there direction. He had told Theresa he got off at work at eight that night, which was true, but it was now almost eleven. Everyone else had gone home to there loved ones and family, gone home to a life they loved. Patrick had that to, he could go home to Theresa and be happy, but on the other hand he could not. How could he? Theresa has asked about the messages left on the answering machine, but when ever she brought it up and urged him to call them back, Patrick simply said he had to go to work and left swiftly without so much as a second glance back at Theresa who would be standing there, drowning in despair. Patrick couldn’t escape his past, and neither could she now he was apart of her future. 
“Patrick, the institute called for you again…when are you going to face this? please darling tell me when so I can help you through this” Theresa’s voice was somewhat broken, she gazed longingly at the man she loved, waiting for his reply to a cry she knew he would never answer.
“Theresa this isn’t to concern you” Patrick paused. Of course it was to concern her, it concerned him too, but he wasn’t strong enough to go back. To go back and remember all the feelings he once had of doubt and depression about everything at all, to go back and remember the woman he had agreed to end his life with, and to go back and see her, knowing he had left her alone to drown in the depression she now was, was simply too much for the confused man Patrick now had become again. 
“Isn’t to concern me? Of course it is! Patrick please don’t try to do this on your own. I’m here to help you, I always have been. Please except my help” Theresa begged.
“Do what? There is nothing to be done.”
Patrick’s denial was strong and persistent, but not as persistent as the institute’s attempts to contact him. Letter after letter was sent to his office and to his home. More phone calls and more messages were left for Patrick, urging him to talk to them about Elizabeth.
What was once February became April, and finally now with nothing left in his life but Theresa who had given up herself, Patrick made his way to the institution down town where Elizabeth had been for the years he had denied her existence.
“Hello, um sorry I didn’t contact you sooner, I’ve been terribly…busy with, work and…family matters. Who is it that would like to talk to me?” Patrick forced these nervous words from his throat as he held the receiver of the house phone to his sweating face.
“Mr. Miller? Oh hello, I’m sorry you didn’t call sooner. You see, now it’s been so long, and Elizabeth’s memory isn’t any more what is called stable.” Said a voice some what given up itself. It reminded Patrick of Theresa’s, simple and distant.
“I’m very sorry how delayed my calling you has been, Mrs.…I’m sorry what did you say your name was?”
“My name is Ms. West; I’m the head of the unstable persons department here at the institute.” The voice on the phone had changed and now belonged to an older woman with a much more established tone and one much more annoyed than saddened.
“my receptionist, Molly Dobson, she gets a bit too involved with our patients. She transferred through your call. Now then Mr. Miller, would it be possible for you to make time for an appointment with me?” 
“Of course, when would you be available Ms. West”
“I have an opening after visiting hours today at half past four; ill see you then Mr. Miller. Thank you for calling.”
The dial tone sounded before Patrick could confirm. The staff where Elizabeth was certainly didn’t seem to like him much at all. But this didn’t matter to Patrick, he just wanted to get this over with and get Elizabeth out of his life.
That afternoon Patrick left for his appointment at the institute, a lump in his throat and the memories of that Christmas night in his once again troubled mind.
Theresa cried softly as she sat outside the apartment block on an old wooden bench, a suitcase next to her delicately shaking legs. A taxi pulled up as Patrick walked out the door. He caught sight of Theresa in the corner of his eye, turned and made his way towards her.
Theresa sobbed as she peered up at the man she still loved through the tears in her hazed over eyes. Words didn’t have to be shared between the two. It was clear what was happening. Patrick hadn’t been the best husband, and Theresa not the best at being told someone didn’t need her. The two may have once been in love, but Patrick could never love as much as he needed to have someone always there for him, even when he pushed them away.
“I loved you Theresa, I never meant to hurt you.”
One last tear crept down her cheek, smudging the make up that covered her face. Theresa smiled softly as she looked into his eyes; “goodbye Patrick.” was all she said.
“Ah Mr. Miller, finally we meet. As you already know Elizabeth is not at all well, or in the right state to remember anyone she used to, or does know. But for some reason, beyond that of our doctors here, Elizabeth keeps talking about a man named Patrick. Or, she used to. Now Elizabeth doesn’t say a word to anyone, not even her father who used to visit every day—” Ms. West paused, looking deep into Patrick’s shallow eyes. “Mr. Miller if you could please just talk to us about her past, who she used to be, or simply answer a few questions? All we have are the police records of the night she was found having attempted suicide and--” continued the lady who sat poised in her chair. Although behind a desk and obviously a figure of authority, Patrick could tell she needed him to do the things she had asked.
“Of course, I’d be glad to help in whatever way I can” replied Patrick, avoiding her eye contact.
“Help is the wrong word for this, but your assistance in her case would be most appreciated.”
After talking to Elizabeth’s doctors and therapists for over what seemed like hours, Patrick asked if he was allowed to see Elizabeth. The staff agreed and said it might help her to remember if she saw him again.
Walking down the hall to the room in which he knew Elizabeth would be Patrick felt a sudden pain in his gut. His hurt consumed him as the memories of her appearance clouded in his mind.
“In here, room 119 Sir” directed the short man that had been told to escort Patrick to Elizabeth’s room.
Patrick said nothing, simply turning in reply, a week narrow smile forced on his pale face. The man took a bundle of keys that had been pinned to his belt and opened the door with a large, dirty, metal key.
“I’ll be right outside if there should be any trouble” said the short man, then he turned away and sat at a desk facing the room.
Patrick stepped in slowly, holding his breathe in what must have been fear. Elizabeth sat slumped with her back to wall, her once beautiful and long dark brown hair was now a mousey grey and knotted itself over her face. She did not turn to the sound of his voice or the opening of the door.
“Elizabeth?” Patrick almost whispered, stepping towards her slowly.
Elizabeth turned slowly, her hazed over eyes sad and broken in their lost gaze.
“I’m sorry I didn’t come before, I, I was…” patricks pathetic words trailed off into a murmur.
“shut up.” she said softly. “just shut up okay? Please, leave me alone to rot in this shit heap.” her words were fragile and seemed to break as they forced themselves out of her hoarse throat.
‘I thought she didn’t talk’ thought Patrick, as he stared into her deep, dark eyes. He stood in silence for a few moments, and wondered what he should say. Elizabeth had once been his most precous of friends. And now she was broken. Broken like a twig, snapped in half and beyond repair.
The room was eerie and without noise. All Patrick could hear was the sound of his own shallow, distressed breaths. Suddenly the still of the dismal room was sharply broke, as Elizabeth began to cry. She cried without a sound of sobbing, but the tears flooded from her pained eyes and splashed into her sweaty palms, making the softest of landings.
“Please don’t cry Elizabeth” Patrick whispered.
But Elizabeth wasn’t listening. All she could think of was how much she missed what she used to feel for Patrick, and how she longed to escape this world in which was trapped.
A guard entered the room, and asked Patrick what was going on.
“I—I um, I don’t know…” Patrick replied in a pathetic, soft voice.
The guard gave him an aggravated look and walked without caution over to Elizabeth, who still held her fragile face in her hands. She looked so empty.
“Elizabeth? Do you want me to go get the doctor? Then you can tell her what’s wrong and it will all be better, okay?” the guard spoke with a sweet but patronizing voice.
Patrick stood awkwardly, somewhat thankful that the guard was taking care of her. But before he could let go of the strain he held in his lungs, Elizabeth looked up and stared him right in the eyes. Her sight seemed to burn right through him and pierce into his lonely soul. It was then that Patrick noticed that the guard was wearing a belt around her slender waist, and in the belt a gun was held next to a radio transmitter. Elizabether followed Patrick’s eye line towards the dull metal of the gun, and as she did so, a small line of a smile formed across her pale face. Before Patrick could let a single word of panic escape his dried up throat, he realized that it was too late.
Elizabeth pulled the gun from the guards belt and hit her with all the strength she had across the legs. The guard collapsed to the ground, and clutched at her shin bones. She still hadn’t realized what Elizabeth was doing.
“Elizabeth!” chocked Patrick, desperation filling him.
Trying to stumble over to where Elizabeth sat half crouching, Patrick tripped over the guard who still lay confused on the floor.
Wretched feelings of pain drowned Patrick as he watched Elizabeth stand gracefully, and press the back of her hand against a window. The window shattered into what seemed like a million broken pieces of tiny bits of insignifagent glass. Taking a shard of glimmering glass in her shaking hands, Elizabeth ran it across the gaurds throat. Hot blood ran down her once so innocent hands, and a calm over took the room.
“I will always love you, Patrick” whispered her painfully broken voice delicately, as she pushed the glimmering metal that was the gun she held in her own bleeding hand between the perfect eyes that stared up at him through the sadness that she was.
“Elizabeth, don’t you dare”
But it was too late. Her pale finger curled around the trigger and pulled it with determination unlike any other Patrick had even before seen portrayed in her. A single tear fled from her almost black eyes as she fell backwards onto the plain white cotton bed sheets. Patrick stood there lifeless, watching as the crimson blood spilled form her head and pooled next to him on the cold tile floor. What had just happened?

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