Fog

January came fast. Too fast.

A week had passed since the hospital incident, but Michael was still angry with me.

It was a new year, but the pain was still there.
The fact that I lied to him about something so grave was still there.

I want him to forgive me; I don’t want our last days together to be centered on anger and guilt.

Yet every time I apologize, he doesn’t respond.
Yet every time we go to bed, he leaves the room and sleeps on the couch.

Yet every time I try to touch or even get close to him, he shrugs away.

I fucked up our relationship so much in such a short amount of time.

New Year’s Day was spent in silence.
Michael hadn’t said a word, and I didn’t dare to speak to him.

Nighttime fell, and I decided to go outside – wrapped in two blankets – and sit on the back porch.

A small amount of fireworks – some were probably left over from last night – exploded in the distance, taking my mind off of everything for a short moment.

The door opened behind me, but I didn’t bother to look.

“What are you doing out here in your underwear? It’s freezing.”

I guess he stopped giving me the Silent treatment.

“I’m watching the leftover fireworks…”

He sat down next to me and – surprisingly – rested his head on my shoulder.

“I don’t want to be mad at you anymore…”
He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me a little close to him.

“Yes. You lied to me, about a very serious matter too. But pretending that this illness doesn’t exist or being angry all of the damn time isn’t going to solve anything.”

He sighed.

“We can’t ignore it anymore, Tyler. There’s nothing we can do but accept it.”
“I know…”

He lifted his head to look down at me.
I looked up at him, tears instantly spilling from my eyes.

He wiped them away before pressing his lips against mine.
I couldn’t help but pull him closer, deepening the kiss as best as I could.

It was only a week, but I missed his touch so much.

How am I going to survive when it’s gone forever?

“Let’s go inside. The bed is warmer than those two blankets of yours.”

I mumbled an “Okay” as he picked me up – blankets and all – and carried me into the bedroom.

We didn’t sleep.

Our bodies were naked and covered in sweat.
Our legs were tangled together as our arms wrapped around each other.

His mind was in a fog as he played with the strands of my hair.
But there was nothing I could do except mumble apologies against his neck.

“Did I tell you that I loved you today?”
A small mumble, as if he was asking himself.

I bit down on my lip.

“No…You haven’t all week.”

I placed a kiss to his jawbone as I let the tears fall again.

“But it’s okay. You’ve told me that enough. I love you too, Michael.”

| . | . | . |

“That’s a beautiful ring on your finger. Are you married?”

It was the third week of January.
Eleven days until the inevitable.

And the sad thing was that I wasn’t fazed by Michael’s question.

“No. I was engaged recently.”

I didn’t bother to fake a smile as I played with the silver metal that was wrapped around my finger.

“How did he propose?”
He propped his elbows onto the table and looked at me, like he was a kid waiting for a bedtime story.

“Well…there was a fair going on in town and he decides to take me there for a date. We were supposed to go to dinner at a nice restaurant afterwards, but when we got onto the Ferris wheel, we were trapped on there for an hour because of technical difficulties.”

I let out a small laugh.

“He was so anxious, and I thought it was because he was uneasy with heights. Turns out, our reservation at the restaurant was canceled because we didn’t show up in time. I told him ‘It’s no big deal. We can get some pizza on the way home and chill out.’ He agreed with me, but he still seemed upset. We arrive at our favorite pizzeria, order, and sit down. He still seemed bothered by something. I asked him what was wrong. He mumbles a ‘nothing’ and pouts like a little kid. I ask him again, but he excuses himself from the table and walks to the bathroom. Of course, I’m worried about him; he’s my boyfriend, after all. He comes back, quickly walking towards the table. He tries to kneel down, but he ends up tripping and falling onto the floor – my klutz of a boyfriend. I rush to his side to make sure he was okay, seeing a small box next to him on the floor. ‘Here, you dropped this.’ I literally said that and gave it back to him without thinking. He starts bursting into fits of laughter. ‘I was trying to propose to you…! And somehow, I managed to fuck that up twice in one night…!’ I could only stare at him in shock, trying to take in what he just said. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if you said no. This was all one huge fuck-up.’”

I sighed as I looked at him.

“What happened next?”
He was smiling and waiting in anticipation.

“I told him yes. I didn’t care that he ‘fucked up’ his proposal. I was just happy that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me as my husband.”

“That’s amazing. When are you two getting married?”

Never.

“When he comes back home.”
I lied and tried to hold back the tears that were threatening to spill from my eyes.

But I could tell that he didn’t hear my answer, since he was already staring off into the distance.

I bit down on my lip.

“I love you, Michael…”
“What was that?”

“…Nothing.”

| . | . | . |

Seven days have passed.

Seven long, agonizing days of watching the love of my life slowly waste away.

Slowly losing all of the memories that he held so dear.
Slowly losing sight of the light of day.

“Michael?”

I called his name with a hoarse voice, knowing that I wouldn’t get much of a response.

He continued to stare at the ceiling from his place on the bed – he hasn’t moved for three hours straight.

At least he’s still breathing.
He’s still breathing.

I walked over to the bed and lie down next to him, resting my head on his chest as I gently grabbed a hold of his hand.

I let a couple of tears fall as I heard the beats of his heart, still going strong.

“Michael, do you think we could have stopped this? If the doctors worked hard enough, if we fought hard enough…Do you think we could have beaten that fog of yours?”

I gently squeezed his hand.

“Did we give up too easily?”

I was a little shocked to feel him squeeze my hand back.

“Right…Sorry for thinking that. Of course you fought. You fought hard, but I know that you’re tired now.”

He moved his arm a little.

“I…I shouldn’t…I shouldn’t be…lying around…We…we have…have a…”
He paused to think.

“…We have a wedding…that…that we need to plan for…”

There was a pang in my chest as he mentioned that word.

“Wedding” – a future that could have been, but won’t be.

“I-It’s okay, Micah. We can think about that later…”

A moment of silence.

“Did I…Did I tell you…that…that I loved you today?”

More tears fell.

“Yeah, you told me,” – it seemed easier to lie to him about that now – “and I love you. So much.”

“I…I…love…I love you…too…Tyler.”

He squeezed my hand again, and the room fell silent again, save the rhythmic beating of his heart that assured me that he’s still alive.

Four days – but he’s still alive.

Three days – but he’s still alive.

Two days – but he’s still alive.

One day – but the inevitable came early.

Because everything doesn’t always go according to plan, does it?