made of dark, falling stairs, vertigo that swallows
me up in an immense nothingness.
I don’t know how long I slept, I only know I can
feel a fresh hand on my forehead that is refreshing
against a hammering headache I’ve had since I fell
asleep.
As I open my eyes, I blink a few times until I’m
able to focus on the image in front of me. I try to
speak but my voice doesn’t come out and I start
crying, which has sort of become my daily bread.
“Shh … don’t cry, everything’s fine,” Patrick
tells me.
“Wha … what are you doing here?”
“I didn’t want to wake you, I’m sorry, I just
passed by to see how you were doing.”
“I thought you were in London,” I say,
confused.
“I’m back,” he says, giving me a melancholy
smile.
“But surely you only left this morning?”
“Uh, yes, well, I remembered something I had
to do.”
I pull myself up to a sitting position and rest my
back on the headboard.
“It was something that is so important I had to
come back right away.”
“And what’s that?” I ask, still confused.
“This,” he says, before taking my face in his
hands and drawing in close to my lips. Then he
brushes them so slightly that I barely feel his touch
