You're dying, you know.
You remember Emily? She's a doctor now. Every time she comes over now she looks over at you and lowers the number. 8 months, 5 months, 3 months, 6 weeks if we're lucky…
She and Sam are married now, you know. They have two kids. I keep telling her we'll visit, but she knows the truth. I'm rarely in a fit state to go anywhere anymore, and you, well, you're never in a fit state.
Did you know that I used to think of you as a superhero? My own personal superhero.
That only lasted a few weeks. I discovered the truth after the funerals. That was a few years ago
Marti's loss hit you the hardest. I see how your eyes cloud over with pain if you ever even see a brother doting on their younger sister.
That's another reason we haven't gone to visit Emily and Sam. Jeremy always dotes on Eliza.
I'm looking at you over in your corner. You're lighting up again. I'm waiting for you to take three slow drags, then look up at me and offer.
I used to turn you down. Every time you offered I'd shake my head and leave the room, trying to get away from your pleading eyes. I always wondered, you know, after I left the room. I always wondered what would happen if I stayed. If I said yes, and took the homemade cigarette you offered.
It was your eyes that wore me down you know. They were pleading and sorrowful and lonely. I think the loneliness hit me the hardest. I had tried to give you your space. Instead I made you feel alienated.
I couldn't apologize to you. You probably wouldn't have understood what the apology was for, or what it meant anyway. So when you offered, I took it.
It's practically a ritual now. I'm not nearly as addicted as you. But you know how I like to control things, how anal I am about routine.
Every day I come home from a shitty day at work. I lock up the door six ways to Sunday, hang up my coat, and then come into the living room.
The meaning of that room has really made more sense to me since we got this place.
You with your cane, and broken dreams, with more pain medication than I've ever seen. That used to be how it was. Until the doctor's decided you didn't need so much morphine anymore. Until they stopped prescribing the stuff that made you forget about what you couldn't do and couldn't be anymore.
That's when the old Derek came back for a while. You went out and got a job. It wasn't much money, but it helped. You spent most of it on street stuff. But you were lucky. You never got cheated and you never got busted.
Now we have system. I pay and you share. But it's never enough for you.
I found it the other day you know. The hard stuff. The stuff that all the horror stories that people tell their kids about drugs are made from.
I had wondered where the money was going.
Emily just came over today. You didn't even see her. She says you have three days.
You don't offer me your cigarette. You only look up at me with your sad, hurt eyes.
I'm going to miss you when you die. I'm going to miss you a lot.
You don't mind sharing your sofa tonight. I think you're afraid to be alone. You know you're dying. You know that when you die, it'll kill a piece of me.
Before you went to sleep tonight, you handed me a big manila envelope. I'm afraid to open it.
But I will open it. I will. When you're dead and gone and your ashes are scattered over their graves, I'll be lonely.
We're just lying next to each other, now. Our hearts beating steadily and our breathing soft, shallow, and pained. Being asleep is so much like being dead. We're like pretending. Or at least, I'm pretending. I can never tell with you anymore.
You're very cold. But that's not new. And your heartbeat is irregular. But that's not new either. Your breathing is shallow, and you're coughing a lot. But I think that might actually be an improvement.
You're holding my hand in your sleep. An apology, I think, for leaving me.
I'll miss you, my superhero.
You're dying, you know.