буржуйский фанфикшн:
Therapy
I frantically scribbled ‘not Penny’s boat’ onto my left hand with my worn out sharpie as the control room quickly filled with water. I turned and slammed my hand on the porthole window, hoping Desmond would read it and understand what I was talking about. I was completely under water now, as I saw him register the information and try to get into the room to say me. But then it would be for nothing, if he saved me. I had to die, or else his vision wouldn’t come true and Claire and Aaron would never be rescued. They’d be stuck on the island forever. Claire would be alone in her tent with out her family and friends from Sydney; Aaron would never get an education, or listen to a DriveSHAFT album.
I slowly drifted down into the depths of the control room, ready to accept my face. My lungs were on fire and about to explode out of my chest, but I ignored it, knowing it would all end soon. As my vision got dimmer and dimmer, memories of my island existence started to float into the forefront of my mind. The first night on the beach with Claire was the first, and I almost felt my facial muscles twist into a smile as I recalled referring to her as a newbie to plane crashes. The second was when she collapsed on the beach from dehydration, and I had volunteered to watch her while the others searched for water. She was worried about people being scared of her because she was ‘the pregnant girl’. I chuckled, she didn’t scare me.
The third was of course when I cured her cravings with a full jar of extra creamy peanut butter. It was my specialty on the island. I masked my withdrawal symptoms the best I could just so she would feel better. I think she really enjoyed it. I sure did.
The memories started to blur together now, as if on fast-forward; my mind knowing it didn’t have much time. I saw us get kidnapped, Claire returning, Aaron being born, getting caught with drugs, when she left me, when she came back to me. I saw everything, on in a fraction of a second; a collage of the best and worst days of my life.
Just as I was about to slip away into oblivion, I feel an arm around my chest, pulling me backwards…
“What then what happened Charlie?” My therapist asked, interrupting my reverie.
“I’m not quite sure, I blacked out, and woke up on the beach with Desmond slamming his fist into my chest, screaming at me to live. Almost like when I was hanged and Jack found me. I opened my eyes, and I also saw Hurley and Sayid around me. It was almost like The Wizard of Oz when Dorothy woke up from her dream. He was there, and he was there, and…she was there too, holding onto my hand for dear life.” Nice pun there, Charlie boy, I thought to myself.
“Who is she again?” I looked at this ‘therapist’. Did she have the memory of a goldfish or something?
“Claire.” I replied flatly, slightly annoyed.
“Ah, right.” She glanced at her watch, and looked back at me. “What happened after that?”
“Well, the others were right for once, and the ‘bad’ others came to the island wanting to kill us. There was a huge battle, and lots of people died. Thankfully it was more of them than us. Locke was lost in the crossfire, Ben too, but before he died, he told us how to send out our own message on the radio tower to somebody other than the bad others. Sayid was the one who volunteered first.
After the battle…there was an eerie still over the island. The next week or two were strange. We had no one to fight with anymore, no need to defend ourselves from ‘others’ of any kind. We just had to…wait. It was during those few days that Claire told me she loved me for the first time. She confessed how scared she was when she thought I had died, how she realized what she lost. I had never heard somebody say that to me before; not even my own brother. Everything was…perfect that last week. When Penny finally rescued us with her crew I was overjoyed. Desmond’s vision had come true after all, and I wasn’t dead. I realized that we weren’t tied down by fate, as he made it seem.”
My therapist looked down at her watch, and announced that our hour was over for this week; finally. It felt good getting things off my chest and all but this stranger didn’t understand how it was like to be on the island. When we were rescued a bunch of us were recommended to see a therapist every week just to see that we didn’t go crazy on the island. It was quite the opposite with me, at least toward the end. Now Jack on the other hand was a little off his rocker now. I don’t think his mind had actually left the island. It was as if he was trying to be the new Batman because he kept trying to save everything, or person. It was truly sad.
I exited the psychologist’s office, and saw Claire sitting in the car out front waiting for me, smiling. I gave her a lopsided grin back and got in the passenger side. I reached back to the back where Aaron sat in his car seat, and touched his foot lightly.
“Hey Turniphead,” He giggled in response as I turned back to Claire.
“You ok?” She asked leaving the parking lot.
“Well, I’m still sane, so that’s a good sign.” I joked.
She laughed, oh how I loved that laugh. “Anything else?”
“Well, we talked about ‘it’ today.” We generally didn’t like to say that I nearly died out loud. It was something we didn’t need to talk about.
Claire went silent, “Oh…how was it?”
“I didn’t tell her much, just summarized it all. I don’t think she would’ve fully understood either way.” My second ‘death’ had been an objective we’d been leading up to in therapy. Next week she’ll probably want to talk about how I felt about it.
“Not a lot of people would Charlie…” She made a left turn and changed the subject, “Anyway, I noticed today that we were fresh out of peanut butter today while I was making lunch for Aaron.” She deliberately kept her eyes on the road. “The jars’ completely empty.”
I turned to her, smiling, “That’s what you think Claire…”