"I don't have any interest in you anymore," you had said.
"I can be interesting," he had promised. Because it had been a promise.
So you had given him his usual dose, but he hadn't been interesting anyway. So you had given him a double dose, and a triple dose, and he had cried out your name.
He still hadn't been interesting so you had left him trashing about on the floor, crying in agony.
When you came back, he wasn't moving any longer. He wasn't moving and his face was twisted with fear. He didn't react when you called his name so you left him.
You lost count of how long you were gone for, but when you came back you had forgotten he was dead.
You put a hand to his forehead and he was cold. Then you became cold, too.
You didn't like the cold so you drew a bath. When you undressed him, you noticed that he had soiled himself. You didn't mind.
It took so long to fill the bathtub that you lost count again.
His body was covered in love bites, bruises and bondage marks. All of them were old and none of them were interesting. His face was too horrible to look at, especially under water, so you made him sit up. He wouldn't stay up so you got in behind him. It made your clothes wet but you didn't mind.
His skin was warm again but when you kissed his neck he didn't shiver.
You lost count of how long you sat there, but the water was cold when you woke up breaking the surface. He had slipped out of your arms. When you pulled him close he was cold again. You were cold, too.
You didn't mind that. Being like him. Being with him. You liked that thought.
The next time your face went under you were awake. It looked like crying down there. Perhaps that was something you should have done. It hadn't even occurred to you.
When you closed your eyes, you could hear your heart beating. You could pretend that it was his heart and that felt good. Your lungs started to burn and that felt bad. The good felt better, so you stayed. Just for a little longer. Just for a little while.
You lost count again. You didn't mind.