Chapter Text
Everything felt like nothing. A blur took shape, strange shadows being cast against the backdrop of dim, hopeless lights. It’s as if he was crawling through a moonlit desert with no oasis in sight; what awaited him was only a mirage of pure desperation.
Somehow, it felt strangely familiar.
Jotaro could recall the feeling. It had haunted him for countless nights, looming over his shoulders like a dark cloud. Oh, how he hated that accursed dark cloud; yet, it’s returned once more.
The shadows began to move. Faintly, a steady beeping sound became audible. How peculiar, Jotaro thought. His heart wasn’t beating. Everything was nothing. Nothing was everything.
He assumed that some time had come and gone. The myriad of shadows became a solid entity, one that took great interest in him. It paced the abyss of a room, made use of touch every so often, and provided distant company. Shadows were no one’s preferred choice but their presence was obligatory. Jotaro already had his fair share of experience in accepting obligations.
Nevertheless, it was all rather mundane, even when he discovered that his heart was still, in fact, beating. Beyond hearing, other senses began to infiltrate once more, earnestly. First was sense, then smell. The scent of harsh chemicals rose like great, big flames, engulfing and burning his nostrils until they were ash. Jotaro could do without this obligation, as well.
One day out of a seeming infinity, Jotaro made yet another discovery. It was truly nonsensical. The two words played off of each other like water and oil. What Jotaro discovered was a bright shadow. Yes, a shadow that seemed to gleam and burst with comforting, radiant light. He could sense it as if it were a ray of sunshine.
And it spoke. The bright shadow said words like, I'm here and You'll be okay.
How encouraging, thought Jotaro. He yearned to reply with his own brand of comfort. Don’t worry and I will. Perhaps the slight rising of his chest told these simple words, as the bright shadow never seemed to have departed.
Nor did he want it to. But an even greater desire made Jotaro’s heart ring out a wistful song. If only he could see this bright serenity of a shadow. He wanted his eyes to be filled with nothing more, affirming its presence in unmistakable proof. This was no mirage of desperation. If it truly was, then this mirage wouldn’t be so beautiful.
A perfect, radiant oasis that once was his.
Marina hated white tiles. The awful redundancy of her heels smacking against them drove her mad. She loathed their familiarity, wishing they were nothing more than a stranger.
Indifference consumed her as she crossed the faintly lit hallways of the hospital. Her eyes were dim, and a permanent frown curved her red lips. There were occasional dark shadows painting the floor, but it was still white. Horrible white.
She heard the clock ticking. Taking a glance, Marina noticed it was the dead of night. Where's the day disappeared to? The memory of hours gone by flashed in her mind. A phone call. The frantic slap of her hands as she searched for car keys. An engine revving with life when she felt hers had collapsed in on itself; the blitzing speed made her feel like she was trapped between the strange blur of living and dreaming. Nothing short of a nightmare.
That was ten hours ago. The sun was still eager to shine; now, it has taken refuge. Marina felt envious of it.
The hallways were impossibly long, but even the longest roads had their ends. Her dim eyes swallowed the sight before them: a brown door with a name plastered on it. Suddenly, her heart took a plunge, falling through an endless void.
Jotaro Kujo
She was frozen in place, a total vacancy in her stance. Marina couldn’t even make out the voice next to her.
“Are you…” The nurse, a skinny young woman with black hair, flipped through the pages on her clipboard. Her brows furrowed with concentration, hazel eyes thoroughly scanning it. They lit up just a second later, but she noticed the alarmingly stiff woman next to her. Her enthusiasm vanished without a trace. The nurse had an awkward drawl, repeating her initial words. “Are you… Mr. Kujo’s ex-wife?”
Mr. Kujo’s ex-wife. Jotaro’s ex-wife. They’re both clunky.
Marina felt her fingers strum the tense air. “I am,” she replied.
The nurse was no fool. She pushed her little body together in what appeared to be shame. “Ms. Marina,” she apologetically said, holding the clipboard to her chest, “Mr. Kujo… he’s under good care now, but he is far from well, still.”
“I know that,” Marina could only focus on his name. It did not belong in front of a hideous door like this one. Her frown deepened. “I was told I could see him. Did they send you to tell me otherwise?" A part of her wished it wasn’t so. Inevitability must be taken care of as soon as possible.
Seeing her ex-husband desperately clinging to his life, surrounded by horrible white, was an inevitability.
“No, Ms. Marina.” answered the nurse. Black hair framed her pale face. Dark splotches of skin hid under her eyes. “I’m only here to do an hourly report on Mr. Kujo.” She ran her fingers through countless pages. “They have been getting better bit by bit. His healing has been promising, but he—”
“Can I go in now?” Marina sounded robotic.
The nurse promptly silenced herself. “Yes, you can Ms. Marina.” She stepped forward, hovering a hand over the cool silver-colored doorknob. Marina wanted to wince when she heard it click. Dread had found her once again.
“Please don’t fret, Ms. Marina. His breathing has steadied considerably. He won’t be able to speak with you, but you can stay for as long as you like… well, it’d be ideal if you kept it to four hours. At six in the morning, we do a more thorough report.”
Marina didn’t register a single word. She just absentmindedly nodded.
“Mr. Kujo is a fascinating man. Doctors and nurses alike are amazed about his survival. From the little I know about him, he seems to be a man with a strong sense of purpose. They’re the kind who fight as much as he has here.”
Teeth scraped the flesh of her inner lip. Marina picked at it, drawing blood. The nurse didn’t notice. She remained silent as they entered his room.
Then, Marina stopped walking. The nurse didn’t bother to wait for her, only turning a skeptical and weightless head. “Ma’am, do you still wish to see him?”
They were footsteps away from the man who slept in fragile slumber. To Marina’s left and right were two walls, one with another hideous door placed right on it. A bathroom, she figured—a perfect place to take refuge in with the way her stomach was so violently churning. Marina couldn’t bear to take another step forward. One more smack of her heels against the tiled floor would send her screaming.
Her heart was a traitor. “I have to. I won’t forgive myself if I don’t see him.”
The nurse, brows now pinched together, gave the woman before her a deep sigh. “Of course, Ms. Marina.” She focused her sight on Marina’s trembling legs but did nothing more.
Marina didn’t scream nor breathe when she felt her leg bend into a step. It was a quiet step that sounded nothing like the others.
The nurse gave her a faint smile. It wasn’t meant to last.
“As I’ve said, Ms. Marina, he is far from well but progress is progress, is it not?”
And there he lay with countless wires stretching off the bed and into blinking machinery. He was so pale, his skin looked like that of a corpse whose soul had long abandoned it. His veins were thin and ugly things that appeared colorless. White gauze and bindings were slapped atop half of his face, the faded smearing of blood stamped on the other. His once large and commanding body looked skinny under the bed’s thick sheets.
All she could do was stare helplessly at this shell of a man.
“He's on track to leave in about two weeks. It would be longer if Mr. Kujo did not have the assistance of the Speedwagon Foundation.” The nurse moved to the bed’s right side, checking the monitor. Her pen scratched against her clipboard. Her movements were graceful to a fault. Emotionless. “He won’t be able to see out of his right eye anymore. That, and he will need a steady diet of medication for his heart.”
Marina swallowed so thickly that it felt like she was going to choke on her own spit. Her voice quivered like a baby bird’s wing, but she was alone atop the tree. “Two weeks? That’s all?”
The nurse peered up from her clipboard with that same skepticism from earlier, although her head seemed to weigh like stone now. “Well, we can’t keep him forever… if that’s—”
“Look at him,”
Black hair bounced back in surprise. “What?”
“Look at him,” She had flown off the tree. Marina flapped her wings again. “Look at him!”
The nurse, petrified, clung onto her clipboard as if it were a branch. The gust threatened to send her spilling onto the ground. “Ms. Marina!” she cried. “If you want some time alone with Mr. Kujo, then just tell me. I have a job to do, and I can’t—”
“Go, then. Please go and don’t come back until I step out of that door.” She pointed a sure finger toward that rectangular blob of wood.
Not once did Marina raise her voice.
The nurse promptly left.
Feeling herself rock from the aftermath, Marina gathered her torso into her slender arms. The tips of her fingers left little red circles on her now pale flesh.
Her eyes had nowhere to go but back towards the man whose name, for now, only belonged to a door and papers detailing his medical history. He was just another responsibility to attend to. Nothing more than an obligation.
Marina knew that that was a disgusting lie.
***
Once upon a time, the man laying on that bed told his then-wife that she was strong. This all started when his wife asked him if she cried too much. He, of course, became puzzled by her sudden question. They were taking in a day that could pass for spring, after all. Tranquility was all they knew in those days when the wind gave gentle, lovely little kisses.
As soon as his wife hid her face from him, the man bid farewell to his curiosity; suddenly, the world only encompassed them and the wind of spring’s eve.
Doubt held her prisoner, and hope was what set her free. The man gave his wife of ten years hope in the form of one answer.
Now, this answer might’ve displeased another; that he knew. But this man also knew that his wife of ten years was uniquely her. There was no one quite like her, really. Those one and only eyes of hers? Oh, yes, there was no one quite like her. He answered her in a way that could set her caged hope free.
And it was not by calling her strong, although he did, in fact, say that. No. What came later made her one and only eyes shine so gorgeously, that he felt like he’d seen everything beautiful that this life and the next would ever offer him.
Then, let’s not call each other weak or strong.
Hope took flight that day.
***
She had taken a seat next to him. Her knuckles brushed her bottom lip; they were covered in red lipstick. Marina didn’t know how long she'd kept them there, but she wasn't interested in an answer. She had to shuffle her legs around when they started getting numb. The only chair in the room was terribly uncomfortable. Its leather was peeling off, revealing a darkened yellow foam that made her almost wince. Time eroded even the most foolish of things.
Marina sat in her invisible box. It was a quiet box that blocked out the beeping machinery next to her and the shallow breaths that came from his trembling chest. She kept her hands right against her mouth. They blocked out the words that could have spilled out. Unnecessary, maybe, for she had not an inkling of what to possibly say.
Wanting to distract herself, Marina drew her eyes away from him. She noticed that the blinds were closed. If she squinted her eyes just enough, then perhaps the faintest glitter of starlight would’ve winked back at her.
She looked away.
The last time Marina stayed in a hospital room was when her daughter caught a terrible fever. When the cupboard pills didn’t shake off Jolyne’s sweat and ragged breathing; when she yelled for her mother in the middle of the night, tears spilling out of her eyes, mouth red and screaming, “I’m on fire! I feel like I’m on fire, Mom! It’s awful. Please make it stop!”, Marina took no chances. She received her fair share of blaring horns on that night's frantic drive.
Jolyne was admitted quickly, but Marina wasn’t allowed to see her until she ran blue ink across what felt like an entire tree’s worth of paper. Her handwriting was the messiest it had ever been. She remembered shoving the clipboard into someone’s chest, their grunt falling on deaf ears. Her heels made too great a noise against the white tiles.
The only other time she stayed in a hospital was when she had given birth to Jolyne.
Her then-husband was only present for that but not Jolyne’s possibly life-altering fever. Some children lost their eyesight or were left in such grave condition, that it took a potential year for them to recover—a year is stolen from their life, never to be returned.
After days of intensive care, and when the next day became night to start anew, Jolyne was finally able to return home. She raced towards her room to embrace the stuffed animals that she so dearly missed, peppering a particular starfish with kisses, for example. Marina’s heart threatened to grow one size too big at the sight. After a minute or so, however, it had shrunk to the size of a trivial speck of dust. With blank yet thoughtful eyes—eyes that had no right being screwed onto a child’s round face—Jolyne asked her mother a chillingly simple question.
“Why did daddy never show up?”
Both Jolyne’s question and expressionless expression have haunted Marina for quite some time, ghosts hellbent on making someone yelp with fright. Marina had yet to but her blood froze solid at the memory’s resurfacing.
Marina’s sight lowered toward her lipstick-covered knuckles. They had gone cold.
There was an entire collection of memories that did such a thing to her; all courtesy of the man who remained in his fragile slumber.
Marina shut her eyes for just the briefest of moments. In that tight window of time, a perfect picture flashed in the darkness. She shuttered, opening her eyes as quickly as she had to close them, like the lens of a camera. Her picture crafted a pleasant scene where spring’s wind played with her chestnut-colored hair. Chilly, it was, but next to her was the warmth of a thousand suns. It was the kind of warmth that could beckon any anxious bird to stretch its wings to fly in brilliant blue. No longer caged in its own fears but set free.
Her knuckles were now bunched up against her chest, clutching her aching heart. He once told her she was strong; all for the simple fact that she allowed her tears to fall. His voice was wistful upon realizing that he couldn’t do the same.
She couldn’t accept his self-doubt. Not when he pressed his hand against her skin and smiled that rare smile of his. He was her equal; they were each other’s protectors. And so, Marina told her then-dear husband that such a thing as “who’s weak or strong” was negligible. Neither of them was stronger nor weaker than the other. They affirmed this notion with a tender embrace.
Her hands snuck up to her shoulders, fingers creeping down her back. She stared at his frail body for some time. He was indeed weak now, the weakest he’s ever been.
Marina stared and stared at him; once again, Jotaro Kujo brought a tear to her eye. Her lips stretched into what was possibly the most improbable smile of her life.
His resting face, the slight twitch of his hand, and the rise and fall of his chest… all so beautiful in their strength. He was still so beautiful.
This moment was precious through its imperfections. In a few hours, her smile will disappear and this strange attraction will burrow itself back into hiding. Marina very much knew that the best of things were often the most fleeting. She wasn’t wearing the ring he bestowed on her twenty years ago, after all.
Her lips parted as she leaned close to him. “I’m here, Jotaro.” Marina’s smile remained. An innocent little smile. “You’ll be okay,”
Quiet, he was.
“You once told me that we shouldn’t call each other weak or strong. The day Jolyne was arrested, all I could think about were those words. I also made a wish that day, too, but seeing you like this tells me it never was supposed to come true.”
A hand reached his marred face, the side stamped with dried blood. “Why’s that?” she said once. Marina stroked his face, thinking this was all a dream. She drew herself closer and closer… until… until…
“Why’s that?” she whispered, eyes closing in the perfect silence that followed. Bright red clashed with his dim skin, Marina’s lips brushing ever so slightly against it.
And like a bird, her heart soared to a place beyond the horizon; like the sun, it was destined to return to it.
The best of things were often the most fleeting.