Page 64 of Cougar

“Where the fuck am I?” I ask out loud, even though I have no idea why.

I turn in a circle. I’m in a white room that, for some god-awful reason, has the halogen neon lights turned up as high as they can possibly go. It looks like a waiting room. Although, it’s one I’ve never been to before. All that’s in the room, besides myself, are chairs. These chairs are as white as the walls. It’s blinding. The room almost glows. It’s impeccably clean and sterile. I reach out and touch a chair because…well, I don’t know why, but it’s cool to the touch. This room doesn’t seem to be used very often. I make a circle around the chairs, making note of the fact there are no windows or doors.

This makes zero sense.

“How the fuck did I get in here then?” I ask no one. I start pressing on sections of the wall, seeing if there is a panel that moves or something. If I’m in here, there has to be a way in. The way in is also a way out. I need to get out. I don’t belong here. I need to get…somewhere.

Why am I even here?

I try and remember what I was doing before I fell asleep, but nothing comes to me. It’s just blank. Nothing from earlier today, yesterday, or years ago. It’s simply gone. How is this possible?

I grip my hair and pull. The tension from my yanking pulls at my roots. I can feel the pressure, but there’s no pain. What the hell? I pull harder, and again, nothing. Everything is getting stranger, and I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all. I smack myself, and while I hear the pop, that’s it. Nothing else. There’s no sting from contact or anything after the fact. I smack myself harder, and when that, too, gives me nothing, I let out a growl.

My grunts and groans of complaint are cut off when a draft sweeps through the room. Where from? Good question, because who knows? The draft, however, brings notice to my….

“Why the fuck am I in a dress? Gah! Who am I talking to?” I chastise myself for asking yet another question out loud to no one. I’m losing my damn mind. Quickly, I feel around the back and note I’m naked under a hospital gown. I adjust the straps as best I can so my ass isn’t hanging out. Don’t know why; it’s not like anyone is here. Once I tie the final set, it all hits me at once. My heart starts to ache as I make sense of it all.

“Holy fuck. I’m in Jesus’ waiting room,” I drop to my knees as new emotions wave over me.

Everything I couldn’t remember moments ago comes rushing back to me. Who I am—was, what I was doing when everything changed. I’m never going back, not after that. There’s no way. My heart starts to break as I think about the loss of whoever is still back in Wyman. My eyes start to burn with tears. I feel a lump in the back of my throat. I attempt to swallow it down, but it’s pointless. I feel myself choking on the sobs that are about to break free.

How is it possible for your heart to break when it doesn’t beat anymore? I didn’t think that would be possible, but it turns out someone somewhere wants us to suffer along with the ones we’ve left behind. I shouldn’t feel this, but I do. My heart is shattering in a way I’ve never experienced before. I don’t know if I’m going to be able to survive the hurt I feel. It’s different. I can’t do a thing about it. I’m not there anymore. The ones I love are never going to see me again, and vice versa. This is it, and all it is…is visceral pain.

How is this fair?

I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask to leave them. I was supposed to be there with them all for a lot more years. Plans were in place. Even though we’ve been fighting what felt like a losing battle, I was determined to win. We were going to come out victorious. I was going to pull my woman into my arms and tell her she didn’t have to worry anymore, that we won.

We didn’t.

I didn’t.

And now I have no clue if we ever will. Now, all I feel is the shards of my heart. It was as fragile as glass, and it’s been shattered. Broken into a million pieces that will never be able to be glued back together. How could they? I’m here. My entire world is outside of this windowless room.

I breakdown, somehow, more than I already had. Slamming myself down onto a chair, I let out the loud, body-wracking sobs I was attempting to hold back. Why should I? What good will it do? I allow myself to wallow in my grief. When my body no longer has tears to give, the sadness that consumed me starts to dissipate and allows room for the rage.

Pure, unfiltered rage consumes what’s left of my broken soul. I scream, and when I turn to grab a chair to throw it at one of the walls, a projection covers the wall in front of me.

I’m snapped out of my anger as I see her face on the screen.

She’s so beautiful. No one compares to her. I see moments from our past. They range from happy to sad and everything in between. There are so many. It’s incredible. I guess the saying My life flashed before my eyes is true. Except I didn’t get these images as I was shot. No, I’m getting them now that I’m gone. But they aren’t flashing quickly. I’m immersed in them. I’m reliving them.

I’m on the outside looking in.

We’re both so happy. I hold her in my arms for one moment, telling her how much I love her and I’m happy my life has her in it. I wouldn’t be the same person I was on my last day on this earth if it wasn’t for her. She changed me in ways no one else ever could.

I wipe the tear from my eyes as the video changes. This time though, there’s nothing happy about it.

My body is in a bed. I’m hooked up to multiple machines. Wait…this can’t be right. I get closer to the wall and see that machines are beeping and breathing for me. Holy shit. I’m not dead yet. What is this, then? Why am I here?

“Why is this happening?” I yell out. “I’m right there. Let me out! I’m right there!” I plead as I watch her via the projection. She’s crying. She’s holding my hand as she looks from my face to the machines keeping my heart steady.

“Daddy,” she sobs as she holds my hand. My little girl is sitting next to me, alone, crying because there isn’t anything else she can do.

“I’m here. I’m here. I can hear you, honey. I promise. I love you. I love you. Please, please listen to me. I love you.” I tell her. I’m crying, almost screaming at her, hoping she hears me. But there is zero indication she can. It’s hopeless.

The door opens, and she’s no longer alone. I can’t see who it is. For some reason, their figure is blurred. But when she adjusts how she’s sitting, their image becomes crystal clear.

“I don’t know what to do,” Manda says as she holds Teddy on her lap.

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