Commander Zemil Vymes
Sep 22nd, 2002, 01:02:54 AM
The thin band of gold glinted at Vymes, calling him across a room of smoky melancholy. At times, he wondered why he still wore it.
Because...he always told himself...he still loved her.
"Adrian"
He barely breathed her name. It hurt too much to hear himself say it. The acute trauma of her loss had faded over the six years since he'd buried her, but it was never something he could take away. He'd tried with alcohol, and it had nearly buried him, as well. He hadn't lost her in a speeder accident, or any other sudden, tragic end. Instead, she'd contracted a rare, degenerative neurological disorder. Synaptic Lucidation, they called it. Some doctor told him that the chemicals between her nerves were slowly disappearing. It took Adrian away from him, one memory, one word at a time. Each day, he stayed by her side, but watched another part of her die. By the time it was over, she could barely say his name, and hardly knew the person behind it. In a way, he wished it had been in a speeder crash. He would have gotten a call in the middle of the night, and had to endure the regret of missing the chance to say goodbye.
He turned away from the thought. It was a destructive cycle, and Zemil knew he couldn't face it on his own two feet. And that led to drinking again. Some days, it was all he could do to drag himself out of bed to face another night. Some days, he'd slept with his gun under his pillow...waiting for the right sign to put the barrel in his mouth and squeeze off one last shot.
Adrian probably wouldn't recognize the phantasm that was Zemil Vymes. He was a zombie perpetuated by his own heartache, and animated by a grim necessity to simply exist, in the only way he knew, outside of her arms. He was a cop, and as long as he could wear a badge, he could hide behind its solace, and find some sense of meaning in a world that seemed to grow colder every day.
And, in a cosmic sense of irony...so did his cup of caf.
Because...he always told himself...he still loved her.
"Adrian"
He barely breathed her name. It hurt too much to hear himself say it. The acute trauma of her loss had faded over the six years since he'd buried her, but it was never something he could take away. He'd tried with alcohol, and it had nearly buried him, as well. He hadn't lost her in a speeder accident, or any other sudden, tragic end. Instead, she'd contracted a rare, degenerative neurological disorder. Synaptic Lucidation, they called it. Some doctor told him that the chemicals between her nerves were slowly disappearing. It took Adrian away from him, one memory, one word at a time. Each day, he stayed by her side, but watched another part of her die. By the time it was over, she could barely say his name, and hardly knew the person behind it. In a way, he wished it had been in a speeder crash. He would have gotten a call in the middle of the night, and had to endure the regret of missing the chance to say goodbye.
He turned away from the thought. It was a destructive cycle, and Zemil knew he couldn't face it on his own two feet. And that led to drinking again. Some days, it was all he could do to drag himself out of bed to face another night. Some days, he'd slept with his gun under his pillow...waiting for the right sign to put the barrel in his mouth and squeeze off one last shot.
Adrian probably wouldn't recognize the phantasm that was Zemil Vymes. He was a zombie perpetuated by his own heartache, and animated by a grim necessity to simply exist, in the only way he knew, outside of her arms. He was a cop, and as long as he could wear a badge, he could hide behind its solace, and find some sense of meaning in a world that seemed to grow colder every day.
And, in a cosmic sense of irony...so did his cup of caf.