I put it down the instant I heard the knock on the door. I held my breath. I could feel him, as if he was standing in the back of my skull.
I slowly exhaled, feeling my lungs sink in my chest. I swung my feet over the side of my bed and quickly took another breath before putting my things in the drawer of my side-table.
He was still knocking.
I could feel him reaching down my spine now, controlling my legs as they moved noiselessly over the ground. When I came within reach of the door, he stopped, but I could hear him breathing. Pain radiated around my ribs. I could hear the sobs. I stood there, shocked by the sudden sensation of suffering. His breath was familiar and sobering, a sound I hated.
At the sound of my unlocking, he left me. I was once again aware of blankets lifting me and holding me. I knew I was protected.
He came in and walked immediately to my bathroom. I went to the kitchen for water, and then to the hallway, where I leant in a doorframe and watched him. It felt like a movie. His suffering.
He turned to me, over his bowl of sick, and pierced my glass with his eyes like ice melting in embers. I handed him my water and left as I heard him swallow, vomit and cough.
Back in the confines of my kitchen, I sank below my sink, crouched on the floor, and prayed.
I said Universe,
If you have made me thus
and him my equal
why are we not equally forgiven?
The stove responded in silence. The refrigerator dripped the song of leaking sorrow. And I knew this was the end.
As his breathing begun to rattle, I bathed him with a cloth, dressed him in my old lover's clothes, and brought him to bed. I told him of my mother and how she would lay beside me and tell me these stories and how I couldn't remember them or much of anything anymore and that I was worried. He rasped a response, but I don't remember much of that either.
We lay there until morning, his hand in mine.
I left when he did, but we didn't say goodbye.
