"Follow me."
These are the only words he ever says to me. Every time I come to him, he begins our night with those three soft syllables. We remain contentedly in silence until dawn. Our cries of passion remain suppressed, our endless promises of devotion go undeclared, and, as always, words are never spoken. It is simply him and I and the silence; the three of us feeling the warm skin of the other; the safety we gain from each touch surrounding us all in the dark, driving away the noise and the terror of tomorrow.
The sun rises without a sound, nothing to warn us of a new horrific day beginning, and we dress in pale light. His hand rests on my lower back when I'm led to the door as a reminder that this hasn't been our first time; it most assuredly won't be the last. A shine now exists in our eyes that wasn't there the night before and we resign ourselves to the fact that it will only last us a few days. His lips brush mine one last time before the door opens, the click of the lock the only sensation my brain will fully process until the next time I hear his quiet words.
"Follow me."