Death
Death. 502 words.
Rhys lies next to his boyfriend and strokes his hair until Joe falls asleep every night. Rhys then kisses him on the forehead and he prays silently that Joe will wake up in the morning.
When Joe begins to get sicker - coughing all the time, the shortness of breath - he goes into the hospital and the doctors pump him full of drugs. Steroids, they say, keep his heart and lungs going. Rhys only sees the way Joe winces in pain every time he cramps up, because they gave him too much.
Rhys goes to the doctor himself, and says he’s not sleeping well. He gets prescribed sleeping medication, with strict instruction to take only two before bed every night and absolutely no more. Two every night, no more.
Joe asks Rhys to not do anything stupid after he’s gone. Rhys promises and seals it with a kiss.
When Joe says he feels dizzy and he can’t breathe, Rhys insists they call an ambulance. Joe says no, no it’s not worth it; not this time. Rhys takes out his sleeping pills, the ones he’s stashed away since he got them, and he lies down on their bed, next to Joseph.
“I’m numb,” Joe whispers. Stroke. The doctor said it would happen, and there’s no going back now. Rhys just nods, emptying his sleeping pills out into his hand. There’s a bottle of water on their bedside table already - Joe dehydrates easily. “What are you doing?” Joe gasps for breath after he talks, and Rhys hushes him.
“The smartest thing I’ve ever done,” Rhys tells him.
Joe doesn’t object further, just lies completely still. Rhys looks over at him. Rhys looks right at his eyes, because they were once so vibrant; they’re now dull. And then Rhys leans over and presses their lips together and Joe tries to press back, but he’s not in a state to move. And when Rhys pulls away, Joe’s eyes are shut and his breaths are coming out in the smallest pants.
Rhys swallows his sleeping pills. They’re sticky in his throat, but that might just be one of those lumps you get, when you‘re trying to suppress tears, even after gulps of room-warmed water. And then he links their hands together and watches Joe through blurred eyes. Joe is wincing, as if he’s in the most incredible amounts of pain he’s ever experienced. He is.
His face goes slack the same time darkness washes over Rhys.
And Faris will find them the next morning, lying peacefully like they’re sleeping, fingers linked together. And he’ll know what’s happened, but he’ll check their pulses anyway, for good measure. And then…and then he’ll smile softly, albeit sadly, because it’s so very much like Joe and Rhys’ idea of romance to go out together in such a fashion.
He’ll stand there for a few moments, watching, and then he’ll go and make the appropriate calls, shutting their bedroom door behind him as he goes to the lounge, in respect.
When Joe begins to get sicker - coughing all the time, the shortness of breath - he goes into the hospital and the doctors pump him full of drugs. Steroids, they say, keep his heart and lungs going. Rhys only sees the way Joe winces in pain every time he cramps up, because they gave him too much.
Rhys goes to the doctor himself, and says he’s not sleeping well. He gets prescribed sleeping medication, with strict instruction to take only two before bed every night and absolutely no more. Two every night, no more.
Joe asks Rhys to not do anything stupid after he’s gone. Rhys promises and seals it with a kiss.
When Joe says he feels dizzy and he can’t breathe, Rhys insists they call an ambulance. Joe says no, no it’s not worth it; not this time. Rhys takes out his sleeping pills, the ones he’s stashed away since he got them, and he lies down on their bed, next to Joseph.
“I’m numb,” Joe whispers. Stroke. The doctor said it would happen, and there’s no going back now. Rhys just nods, emptying his sleeping pills out into his hand. There’s a bottle of water on their bedside table already - Joe dehydrates easily. “What are you doing?” Joe gasps for breath after he talks, and Rhys hushes him.
“The smartest thing I’ve ever done,” Rhys tells him.
Joe doesn’t object further, just lies completely still. Rhys looks over at him. Rhys looks right at his eyes, because they were once so vibrant; they’re now dull. And then Rhys leans over and presses their lips together and Joe tries to press back, but he’s not in a state to move. And when Rhys pulls away, Joe’s eyes are shut and his breaths are coming out in the smallest pants.
Rhys swallows his sleeping pills. They’re sticky in his throat, but that might just be one of those lumps you get, when you‘re trying to suppress tears, even after gulps of room-warmed water. And then he links their hands together and watches Joe through blurred eyes. Joe is wincing, as if he’s in the most incredible amounts of pain he’s ever experienced. He is.
His face goes slack the same time darkness washes over Rhys.
And Faris will find them the next morning, lying peacefully like they’re sleeping, fingers linked together. And he’ll know what’s happened, but he’ll check their pulses anyway, for good measure. And then…and then he’ll smile softly, albeit sadly, because it’s so very much like Joe and Rhys’ idea of romance to go out together in such a fashion.
He’ll stand there for a few moments, watching, and then he’ll go and make the appropriate calls, shutting their bedroom door behind him as he goes to the lounge, in respect.
♠ ♠ ♠
This wasn't meant to be sad, as such. It was meant to be...I suppose joyous is the wrong word, as well. Bittersweet, maybe?They died, but they died together.
=')
(Also, thanks very much to Fatma for reading over this for me.)