Guilt and disappointment settle over me like a heavy blanket.
We eat in silence.Neither of us knows what to say.The jokes and teasing are gone now, and that’s on me.The Doctor doesn’t seem like someone who gives second chances, even though I’m here in his house and he’s taken care of me, even though he still looks at me.
The Doctor doesn’t want me anymore.
I don’t finish my soup, and neither does he.We both drop our spoons onto the tray.After making me take a few more tablets with water, he gets up, clears everything away, and heads into the kitchen.I let myself fall back onto the bed, with no strength, no breath, and no real wish to wake up in the morning.I know what’s waiting for me, and I don’t want to face it.
“Are you tired?”he asks on his way back to the bedroom.
“Yeah”
“It’s the meds.Maybe you should lie down and try to rest.”
“I’m not sleepy.I slept most of the day.”
“Do you want a hand to get to the sofa?There’s a TV in the living room.”
“Why don’t you read to me instead?”
“What?”
I reach for the book on the bedside table and hold it up to him.
“Wasn’t it just a romance?”
“It’s not that bad.”
“Does the Captain like love stories?”
“It’s not just a love story.”
“Then you were reading very carefully.”
I shrug.
“You can keep reading it if you want.I have at least a dozen other books waiting for me.I can read something else.”
“I’d like to hear you read it.”
The Doctor looks a little uncomfortable, but when I hand him the book, he takes it and sits on the bed, intentionally leaving space between us.I hate that distance.It frightens me, and the worst part is, I’m the one who caused it.Now I don’t know how to fix it.
“Sit next to me.”I shift, making room for him.
“Are you sure?”he asks, doubtful.
I nod.
He moves closer and leans back.He stretches out, crosses his feet, and opens the book to read.I lean back too, my head just touching his arm.The smell of his body wash, mingling with the warm scent of his skin, fills my nostrils and becomes my worst obsession in an instant.I want it on my T-shirts, on me, every day and every night.
He reads slowly, each word clear and distinct.His voice lulls me, drawing me towards oblivion.
“Where would we be without tomorrows?What we’d have instead are todays.And if that was the case, with you, I’d hope for the longest day for today.I’d fill today with you, doing everything I’ve ever loved.I’d laugh, I’d talk, I’d listen and learn, I’d love, I’d love, I’d love.I’d make every day today and spend them all with you, and I’d never worry about tomorrow, when I wouldn’t be with you.And when that dreaded tomorrow comes for us, please know that I didn’t want to leave you, or be left behind, that every single moment spent with you were the best times in my life.?1”
I close my eyes and surrender to his words, to his breath.I savour this moment and, for once in my life, I let myself hope, praying it never ends, because it is the last we can share before tomorrow tears us apart.
I knowI have to go.Now.While he sleeps.While he still dreams and hopes.While he still believes.
Because that’s how you do it when you’re trying to prevent someone from being truly hurt: you hurt them little by little, so the pain is diluted over time and becomes more bearable.
