From: Felicity Drew.

To: Felix Hunter.

The day of the operation was something else.

Gone was the positivity from the past day. Gone were the smiles, jokes and laughs. Everyone was so nervous and scared to fake anything.

I could hear the nurses and doctors rushing around and getting everything ready. They had asked me to leave but you insisted that I stayed with you.

You held on so tightly to my hand as if you were afraid of letting go. And in that moment, I had considered telling you about how I felt about you.

Only for a moment. Because then I realized how stupid it was for me to tell you something like that at a time where you were about to pass out.

We didn't speak. We didn't laugh. We didn't cry. You just held my hand and waited for the doctors to tell us that it was time.

Before they started, they left us to have a private moment in which we shared a tight embrace.

You apologized for lying to me and then you thanked me for all I've done for you (which was nothing, if you ask me). And just like everything else, I hated it.

You weren't supposed to make it sound like a goodbye. It was an operation that everyone was confident about the success of, everyone except for you.

But, I did the same. I apologized and thanked you. I told you that you were going to make it, that you were so much stronger than the stupid tumor which made you weakly laugh.

Before I left to get your mom, you asked for one last thing. You told me to remove my shades, and I of course complied.

You stroked my cheek and told me to never doubt that I am the most beautiful person you had ever met; inside and out.

The rawness you spoke with made me tear up again, which caused you to place a light kiss on my forehead. You idiot were making me cry no matter how hard I tried to stop the tears.

I couldn't say anything, so I just tried to kiss your forehead too but I ended up pecking your nose which made you chuckle slightly.

'Goodbye, Felitown.'

That was the last interaction we had before the surgeons wheeled you away to the surgery room.

The surgeon said that the operation would be approximately five hours long, and so we waited.

And waited.

And waited.

No one spoke a word.

It was me and your mom in the hallway, and my mom when she would get the time to come check up on us.

All that could be heard was sounds. Tapping on the flour, knuckles cracking, tissues being blown and a few sobs here and there.

All I could think of was how I could help you raise money for the chemo after you got out of the surgery. I had to help you somehow, before the tumor grew back. I just had to.

The thoughts, the nerves and the fear made the time feel like the longest five hours in my life.

Except, it wasn't five hours.

When I first heard the door open, I shot out of my seat without even being sure if it was someone from the team operating on you. But, your mom confirmed it when I heard her running to whoever came out to ask about how you were doing.

The thing is, there was still an hour and a half left, but the operation was already over.

There was no one to operate on.

They had lost you.

I had lost you.

We were so hopeful you'd make it, that we didn't think what would happen if you didn't. Suddenly numbers didn't mean crap, because you were dead.

I don't think I could ever explain what it felt like to hear those words.

I couldn't even stand on my feet anymore. My knees just gave in and I didn't try to stop them as I fell on the floor.

I think it would've been less painful if someone took my heart out and cut through it with a chainsaw.

I couldn't breathe, I couldn't hear anything besides ringing in my ears. Tear after tear fell down my cheeks and I didn't stop them.

You were gone.

The only friend I ever had, the only guy I've ever loved...

Was gone.

I wouldn't get to tell you that I loved you. I wouldn't get to hear your puns. I wouldn't get to hear your laugh. I wouldn't get to feel your touch.

You wouldn't get to produce a film, or visit a set. You wouldn't get to see the Denzel Washington movie you were excited about. You wouldn't get to graduate high school. You wouldn't get to do anything.

You were so young, so freaking damn young to die. You had so much to live for, so much to achieve.

Every single little thought caused my sobs to get harsher. All the pent up love, anger and sadness came out at that exact moment.

I was pulling my hair so hard that I felt like it was going to fall out. My heart hurt so much, it felt like it was going to explode.

I think I've never wanted my sight back more than that moment. The fact that I wouldn't get to hear your voice made me want to see you one last time. And the frustration of not being able to do that made me sob harder.

I wanted to scream, to break something and run in there to shake you awake. I refused to believe that you were dead. I couldn't believe that you turned into a lifeless corpse just a few feet away from me.

But you did.

You were dead.

And God knows I wanted to be too.

______

I fucking hate myself.