Together [BL]

10

Then the beating rhythm locked inside my rib cage changes. On the monitor, it says 191. The nurses and doctors rush in to help me and take you out.

You grab onto my hand, refusing to let go. But eventually you did and your hand leaves a cold imprint on mine.

The lights flicker and I can feel my bed changing room after room. The noises never cease until suddenly everything is silent. I can feel the void sucking me in.

I wonder how my life could've ended up differently if I rejected your marriage proposal. What if I never met you. What if I married someone else. Perhaps then we both wouldn't be hurt in this way.

Warmth is leaving my body now. I can't feel my toes or fingers anymore. Ah, is there an afterlife? Is there reincarnation? Or once I get sucked into the void that's it?

This existence, my existence, is as pointless as the endless and finite universe. No one will remember me or my pain. No one will remember that you once was mine. No one at all.

If there is an afterlife, I'll wait until the day I can become nothing and one with nothingness.

If there is reincarnation, I'll become an insect. I know that I was not a good person. The corporation I started had exploited many and served few.

If there is nothing after this, I wish it comes quickly. I am tired of the simple moments on this earth. The goods didn't not outweigh the bads. Let me be gone soon...

I've accepted this end a while ago. There is no such thing as a satisfied death, every death comes with big and small regrets. There is no such thing as a fulfilled life, only a content one.

My breaths are much quieter now. I can feel it ending soon.

"Papa! Papa!" A small voice calls and the little giant steps rush toward me but quickly backs off. "Papa, the finger is moving! Will he be okay?"

"Stay here and wait a bit for papa. Papa will be right back."

Even if it's a blur, I can see the unsatisfied expression written all over a small and pouty face. This little person is shorter than the bed, so when the little person comes closer I only see the top of their head.

I move my eyes about the room, trying to make out my environment. Focusing on the blurred lines and shapes eventually allow the light to define what I'm supposed to be seeing.

My bones are weak and my muscles won't budge. I couldn't speak even if I wanted to.

"Hello," the little person grips onto the edge of the mattress with both hands and a foot. "Would you help me get up? Papa usually helps me but—"

The little person almost slips off but I somehow manage to help even though I couldn't move a damned finger earlier.

"Thank you," the little person smiles and sits by my side.

This little person is cute. My child would be this cute too—I grab onto my stomach and can't feel anything. It's flat without any movement...

"Papa said I came out of your belly," the little person stares at me with flushed cheeks. "Does it hurt?"

I shake my head.

"It must hurt! No lying. I'll kiss boo boo away."

"Wow! He's awake!" The doctor barges in and begins asking questions and checking my vitals. He wears a joyous smile like he's happy for me but it's probably just an average day.

I hold my child in my arms, listening about the three and a half years that I was gone and how glad they were able to save both the child and I. I see your face and somehow I knew you weren't so happy initially. You weren't happy about how long this dragged on. You must be relieve that I'm somehow alive to continue to be an after thought.

Once the doctor left, the little person reaches toward you. When you ignores the little person, the cries come and rip my arms away.

The little person clings onto you while looking back at me with guilt and pity. The little person is uncomfortable with me.

"Leo, this is our daughter. She's usually brave and isn't picky but I guess she's a little surprised today."

The tone of your voice is gentle like the few first years that we were married, but your face has more lines than the three and a half years that I left you... My daughter looks a lot like us.

I turn my head and see that the fake flowers are still by my bed side. They're well maintained as no dust can be seen on their leaves and petals.

"Why didn't you leave me to die? It would've been easier for the both of us, you know?" I avoid your intense glare, "Please leave."

"Leo, everything happened more than three years ago! Why are you still angry?"

I sigh and pushes the vase of fake flowers further away, "To you, everything is more than three years ago. To me, everything happened a few hours ago. I can't possibly face you yet."

"Then how long until you're willing to meet with me... With us, our daughter and me?"

My chin raises, and I see the bright little eyes that are a little wet and a little red from crying. My heart aches, so I answer, "She can meet me whenever she wants to."

"And me?"

"I don't want to see you at all."

"Papa. This person is mean to papa. This person's not nice," the little person whispers to you.

I turn my head away, "Please leave."

The little person tugs at your sleeve and takes you away.

I tell myself that I've mourn enough. I must be firm in my grief to let you go. I cannot come back because you care now.

Yet the very next day as I am beginning my physical therapy, you bring our daughter to see me. You both watch and wince at my pain as if it is yours. Then we get ice cream in the cafeteria.

And the day after next you both come back, so on and so forth. I can't seem to shake you off because you're attached to my daughter.