"Wait, no!" He screams as I let my shoulders slump into the bed sheets. "I haven't finished speaking, Anna please!" He grips my hand tighter, but in the falling of my consciousness I barely feel it. I'm blinded temporarily by a light brighter than my own eyes.
I try telling John to burn out the candle. Blow it out, the light hurts my sensitive eyes. But the words escape my mouth as a silent whimper, and my muscles slacken and I feel slightly relaxed.
"Anna! Don't you dare leave me!" He yells, and continues to yell, but his voice fades into the night. I see the images the priest described. Neither the Christ, not hell nor the Devil. I see myself, at only fourteen studying away in a library, winter snow falls outside, and my glasses keep slipping down my nose.
Wet rain on his shoes, he runs behind me. And he slips and falls, bringing down a shelf of books with him. I help him gather the books up as he panics in a wet mess of snow and water. I smile at him as we reach for the same Emily Dickinson book.
And so the image changes. We're in the park, we're seventeen, and he tells me about this magnificent boat he wants to hire and take me on for my eighteenth. It sounds amazing and as I settle down in the dark grass, I look up to the sky and wonder how lucky I am.
Something I've never seen before…
A young man appears, no older than twenty. It's a rainy wet day, and he holds his head in his hands. He sits in a plastic chair, with bare white walls that stand out too starkly. He's alone. When a doctor approaches him, he lifts his head and his eyes are depthless and dark. I recognise them as John's eyes, and I gasp as I recognize those eyes. But it's not John. I don't recognize the man behind the eyes.
I don't hear the words the two exchanges between one another. It's as though someone has set the world on mute. Neither smiles, both grim faced. The man with John's eyes is undoubtedly beautiful, for a man. His dark brown hair is kept short, and suits his dark brown eyes and pale complexion well. He's averagely heighted and is slender, with large eyes framed well by almost black eyelashes.
I follow the two silently down a hall. Neither bothers to talk. Though it didn't matter, I couldn't hear them. I followed quietly, looking into windows as we passed. Most rooms were dark and empty. When we reach one room, I see the name plated on the door.
It's my own last name. I stare at the sign, baffled. Then quickly look back to the doctor and the handsome man who seems absolutely irresistible and something about those eyes makes me think of John. But where was he now? As though the mute button was taken off, sound smacks me like a wind gust in the chest. The doctor speaks first.
"She's alright. So is your son. But she slipped into a coma not long after giving birth to the un-named baby. Would you like to see her?"
The handsome man nods, and as they slip into the door, I follow them. The girl lying on the bed is pale, much like her companion. The two look much alike, both with dark hair and eyelashes. Though if she were standing, she would be taller than the man. She was slender and beautiful, with clear skin that radiated throughout the whole room. Her breathing was deep, as though she was asleep. But nearby monitors beeped with signs of struggling life. I felt tears prick my eyes at the realisation that this new mother may not survive.
"Mr Demi?" The doctor turns to the handsome man, and I feel my head snap up at hearing John's name.
"John?" I say, and I turn to see him standing beside me, though in brief flashes I see different people, suddenly, too quickly, all with the same eyes. The images come to a slow stop to settle on this man's face. Jaykob Demi, I don't know how, but I know this is his name.
Jaykob smiles faintly, staring into space. He approaches his partner and sits in a vacant chair beside her. He sits down and holds her hand in his. I watch on.
"Victoria," He says voice barely audible. I watch the doctor walk from the room and shut the door behind him, Jaykob doesn't notice. "I regret everything." He says. "All those times I ignored you, I was mad, all those times I resented you. I regret it all. I hate myself for everything I did to you. Why couldn't I have been the better fiancé? Why was I so stupid?"
He peers down at their hands entwined, hers limp in his strong, long hand.
"Always so cold." He says, smiling with tears dripping down his cheeks. "You were always so cold. But now, you're colder than ever, and I can't warm you up with kisses and hugs every day. I can't be your other half. Please Victoria, don't you dare leave me."
The words, repeated in this different form of John shock me into realising this isn't where I belong. This isn't my home place. I don't belong here.
I slowly approached the couple. I gently touched their hands entwined on the bed in a final goodbye, and just as before, a blinding white light shocks me awake. I try to raise my hands to my face, but I'm too weak.
I groan and keep my eyes shut tight.
"Victoria?" I hear a gasp. I open my eyes, to look up into the eyes of my love, here by my side. I wondered how long he'd been sitting there for, I wondered about our baby. Where was he now?
"Jaykob," I say, in a hint of recognition. He leans down and kisses my face repeatedly.
"I thought I lost you!" He cries into my shoulder.
I smile weakly.
"I had the weirdest dream about you." I said, smiling.