He's awake.
I can hear the sound of him pulling down the covers. Or maybe that's the leaves from his flowers by the window brushing against one another.
Lord, don't let him be awake. Hold him asleep for just a little longer.
"Collins?"
Damnit. I stand up and move towards the doorway. If I keep him in the bedroom, than everything's okay.
"Yeah baby?" I try to make my voice sound reassuring.
"Where are you?" His own voice trembles, and I see his unsteady form as it enters through the doorway.
"I'm here…" Damnit. He sees the swath of blankets bunched up on the couch. In an instant, his liquid amber eyes fog with puzzlement, before lifting to look into mine. One hand is gripping the doorway, and his entire body has slumped against the wall for support.
Oh Lord, he can barely walk.
"You…slept in here last night?"
"Yeah…" I crossed over and swept him up in my arms, holding him steady.
I was pushed away.
"You promised you'd stay with me."
"It's…better that you sleep alone baby. That way you're free to stretch out more, and aren't confined to one space."
"You promised you wouldn't leave me."
"I'm sorry. I just figured it would be better."
He takes a cautious step towards me. I take a hardly noticeable step back.
He sees.
I know it. I can see it in his eyes.
"You're frightened of me," he finally murmurs, shaking.
"No-"
Yes.
"Yes, you are." He paused, warm breath bated. His red lips are parted, mouth hanging slightly. "Why-"
"I'm not baby." Once again, I try to make my voice sound reassuring, and force myself to take a step forward.
I go back. My legs aren't listening to their instructions, and take another step back.
"Because I'm sick?" He questions, then softer: "Because I'm dying?"
"It's not-"
"Of course…" He's talking to himself now, it seems. His eyes have drifted off
to some unseen thing, and his mouth moves, making barely intelligible sounds.
"What other explanation is there for you sleeping on the couch?"
"Baby-" I reach out again, and manage to take a few steps forward. Tentatively, I touch his cheek.
He recoils as I had hit him, and staggers unsteadily on his feet before grasping onto the wall again. "Don't touch me. You're frightened of me. You're afraid of me because I'm dying."
I am afraid of him.
I'm afraid that as soon as he dies, I will too. I'm a coward. He's the only thing keeping me alive, and as his body deteriorates, as does my heart.
I'm petrified of him. I can't sleep beside him. I can't eat with him. I can't look at him anymore. I don't want to look at him anymore.
"I'm sorry," I murmur, hand falling back to my side.
His amber eyes fill with pain as he crumples to the floor.
I turn away.
"I thought you loved me." His voice is at a whisper, and I can feel one of his hands reach out to grasp the bottom of my pant leg.
I shudder at his touch.
He feels it, and shrinks back.
The room is suffocating, and almost stifling. I can't breathe. I can't breathe. I can't breathe.
I've got to get out.
I start towards the door, legs jerking in a mechanical walk away from his shivering, weak, thin form.
"Tom!" He shouts as loud as his hoarse voice can manage. Then his voice drops, and his body goes limp. "I love you."