1.

She led him into her apartment. It opened up into a small kitchen that boasted a petite circular table almost covered in news magazines, books, newspapers, and mugs. Mismatched curtains limited the amount of afternoon light streaming in, and two chairs carried the burden of several coats and sweatshirts, a few of which he had seen before.

A long curtain covered the doorway that led to the rest of the place and she opened it, looking slightly apologetic.

"I hardly bring people around to visit and it's a little cluttered, but make yourself at home," she smiled.

He followed her through and took in the place that she called home while she fumbled to kick her shoes into a corner. A modest futon bed was in a corner, with light from the only other window dancing on it, illuminating the mess of color and texture and design of the fabrics piled on it. She had several amplifiers and cords littered the ground around them, and among that an electric guitar and bass, an acoustic guitar, a keyboard and a large stand up bass that looked slightly larger than her.

She had several bookshelves, filled with all manner of material, that stood against her walls. He saw horror books and fantasy books mixed with books of physics and world history. Bright comics found their place next to the more muted classics. There were sketch books, dictionaries, and works by the philosophers Plato and Nietzsche. There were so many they spilled onto piles on the floor. Her coffee table was covered in more magazines, sheet music and a battered laptop. Wrinkled papers held together by clips in bundles that were thick and had very long words on them were tucked away in different places, one of which was also the coffee table.

Small wooden drawers doubled as a bedside table and had a clock, a brightly colored, cheerful-looking skull, jewelry and various cosmetics.

She walked up to him, until she was close and he could see the pale inquisitive green in her seemingly brown eyes. Her arms were around him and he breathed in her scent of fresh cloth and slight perfume as they fell onto the futon.

2.

She laid there with her dark hair pooling across his lap and grinned up at him.

3.

The door slowly creaked open, letting light stream in. She was standing in the doorway, holding his big shirt around herself. She walked up to the bed where he lay, lifted up his blankets and climbed on top of him. She was only wearing that shirt.

She kissed him deeply, sucking his lip. He put his arms around her.

He smiled and kissed her. Then, taken by a sudden raging desire, he tore off the shirt and his clothes while simultaneously kissing every inch of her he could reach.

4.

It was dark out from the clouds and rain pounded on the window. Outside was smudges of dark brown, green and gray. She laid on her stomach on the futon, writing in a notebook. She looked up at him.

He couldn't help but notice how plump her breasts looked. Her silver necklace threaded around the curves they made and shimmered in the gray light. He looked at her, to see her looking sideways at him. Her lips curved into a smile.

He was on back of her, lifting her shirt to see the small of her back and sliding off her jeans while kissing her neck. Her notebook dropped to the floor along with her pen as she murmured softly.

5.

He woke to feel her moving next to him. Her hair was rumpled, her eyes sleepy. Warm morning light streamed into the room and she stretched and got up and started to pick her clothes up off the floor.

"Want a shower?" she asked.

6.

She came out of the bathroom, in a bunchy, white knee length dress that suited her perfectly. She was gorgeous.

"How do I look?" she asked, spinning around, grinning hugely.

"You look alright," he grunted, while eating chips.

"I hope your parents like me. They seem awfully conservative," she said while putting on her silver heels.

"They love you," he grinned, and he threw the bag of chips down, got up and grabbed her to him.

7.

She sat at the table, staring intently at a piece of paper as if it were a death sentence. He had no way of knowing how accurate that assumption was.

8.

He came into the room quietly, and he heard music being played. It was mournful yet intricate, slow at some parts, fast and stumbling at others. It sounded like a beautiful, dying song.

He squeezed through the door to see just her in a stool, her back to him. She played feverishly, hunched over the guitar with wisps of dark hair curling underneath her bun.

He walked in front of her, to watch her. In all the months he had been with her he had never heard her play like this before. She had always been self-conscious of playing in front of him, yet today she didn't even acknowledge him. She was completely immersed, completely taken by the song that hinted of death. Every note shimmered in the air like diamonds and caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand up.

She ended her symphony, savoring the final note. She looked up at him and smiled. Her face looked gaunt and her figure had taken on a frailness that he had not noticed before when she first said she was sick.

9.

She kissed him and told him that she loved him and he thought back to the ring he had hiding in his sock drawer. He told himself that he would ask her later, when the time was right.

10.

She had taken to writing in her notebook everyday. Her guitar stayed in the corner, gathering dust. Everyday her cheekbones became more and more prominent, as her body fought a losing battle against the sickness that ravaged her. Everyday he bought her vibrant pretty flowers that used to remind him of her. He removed the wilting ones while she slept fitfully, afraid she'd see herself in them like he did.

11.

The final stages had a grip on her. The sunlight that kissed her face made her look more like a cadaver. She slept, her face wracked in pain even in slumber. He left her that morning, to return later to an empty place.

12.

She had left a painting of a beautiful flower on the made bed. The canvas was still wet, and boasted every bright color.

A note written on the back said that it was for him and how much she loved him.

I will sleep were the last words she wrote.

He found out later that after she had written that, she had walked out into the sea.