She started pulling down my boxers. “Mel, you’re drunk. I think we should go upstairs. Check your blood sugar levels.”
“I don’t need insulin, I need your dick inside me.”
My erection throbbed painfully. Goddamnit.
“I want you to make me feel good, Nick. Can you make me feel good, baby?”
She never called me that. Never.
“Okay, c’mon,” I said, trying to pull her up gently.
She flung herself at me. “Mel, stop.”
“You don’t want me?”
“No, that’s not it. I’m not going to fuck you while you’re belligerent.”
“Why? Could be fun.”
“I told you—I want you to remember when I fuck you, Mel. So let’s get you to bed.”
She shoved me, hard. “I’m fine.” She took a few steps and crumpled like a marionette with cut strings.
“Melanie!” I was at her side in an instant. Her skin was cold and clammy. She was fading fast.“Where’s your insulin pen?” I asked, my voice cracking.
She pointed upstairs, her words barely audible. I shook her gently. “Where is it, Melanie?”
She mumbled. I couldn’t understand. My heart was pounding, a violent drumbeat of panic. I carried her to the couch, laid her down, and brushed her hair back.
“Hang in there, princess. I’ll be right back.”
I sprinted to the kitchen. Cabinets flew open. Nothing. My hands shook as I yanked drawers open and searched blindly.
Gunfire. Helicopters. Agonizing screams. The smell of brining flesh. Chaos’s sharp bark. Flashbacks ripped through my skull. My body moved faster, my breathing ragged.
She can’t die. Not her. Not now.
I bolted upstairs, tore through drawers until I found it. Rushed back down. Hands trembling, I filled the syringe, prayed, and injected it into her abdomen, praying it wasn’t too late. I stepped back. And waited. I began to pace the floor when anxiety turned into fear.
“Please, God. Please.”
Five minutes. Six. Seven. Every second was agony.
Then, she moved. A groan slipped past her lips. I dropped to my knees, cradling her, pressing my lips to her forehead like it was the only way to tell her I was here.
“I’m thirsty,” she whispered. I brought her water, held it to her mouth, and when I turned to walk away, I heard it.
“No… please stay.”
I turned to face her. She was hugging a pillow, already drifting off, her hair wild around her face like a halo made of fire.
I lay beside her, curling my body around hers, spooning her, shielding her from every demon, real or imagined. For the first time, I held someone not because I had to, but because I wanted to. She felt like home. Just as I started to slip into sleep, I heard it.
“I love you.”
My eyes flew open. My body went rigid. And I couldn’t help but wonder if she was dreaming. I continued to feel her chest move up and down in a rhythmic pace as I held her.
Sleep never came after that.
