I wake to the beeps of a heart monitor and the squeeze of the blood pressure cuff. Sobs and platitudes regarding my safety, Richard's betrayal, and the financial future of the family are being discussed over my head. I even hear Tom, not only talking coherently, but cursing out my deceased employer, calling him a "Moferfucking sonofabif". (I had no idea Thomas could speak in complete sentences, except for: "I'm hungry." and "I'm sorry! Please don't punish me!"; this is because, well, Emily's the only one to claim to have heard him say anything else, and, due to her severe auditory schizophrenia, both Kelsey and I thought she was simply hallucinating.) I try to speak, but I can't. My wife, crying, is telling the doctor, a man around 40, to "pull the plug" on my life-support. Do I really want to die and leave my family to fend for themselves? Or should I make some attempt to get their attention? I contemplate. Doing my best to make the latter happen, I try to squeeze my lover's hand, then move any noticeable part of my body; finally, I am able to kick my legs out–something I haven't been able to do since I turned about 8 or 9 years old. The sudden movement catches the doctor's eye, stopping him mid condolencing sentence. Kelsey turns to face me abruptly. I gaze into her dark grey eyes, and she stares into my dark brown one's. I blink once. Then twice. She smiles numbly, as though in a dream. This isn't happening. It's just your denial kicking in, her face reads. Despite her doubts, she leans in to kiss my pale lips. It's not a 'goodbye' kiss, but a 'welcome-back' kiss. However, there's an air of morbid reservation about this single peck that cannot be overlooked or shaken off.
YOU ARE READING
PTSD
RomanceWhen a father's faith causes his gay daughter's Hell, she is forever left with the scars. Her wife, loving and understanding, will try her best to help, but will it be enough?
