“It will turn, I promise. It will become easier.”
Thomas nodded and tried to believe her. And, when she had gone, he climbed the stairs to Micha’s room and went inside.
Micha was curled up into a shaking, gasping ball. His face was wet with sweat and tears, but he half-raised his head to look at Thomas, and his bruise-dark eyes were almost clear.
“F-fuck,” he said. “F-fucking kill me, Thomas. I want to f-fucking die.”
It was the most coherent thing he had said for days, and he sounded almost like himself.
Thomas flew across the room, dropped to his knees, and drew Micha gently into his arms. The other man groaned weakly.
“I s-said kill me, not f-fucking hug me.”
Micha smelled, frankly, appalling, sickly-sweet and sour at the same time, fetid and human. Thomas covered his face with kisses. “Micha, I’ve missed you so much.”
“Ow, ow, ow, stop it. It h-hurts. Everything f-fucking hurts.”
The next day, he was considerably worse, delirious again, restless and self-destructive, but it was still a turning point. Gradually, though not consistently, less-bad days began to creep amongst the bad days, and then, at last, came good days. Micha’s body began to right itself, the pain lessened, and he was able to keep down some sustenance. Thomas was once again able to take up the mantle of his neglected duties about the parish, but he knew he performed them ill. His mind never left Micha. Micha, who was still so weak he could hardly stand, who could not sleep and could barely eat, and who was, in many ways, little more than the shattered remains of a man. But Thomas could see him, day by day, moment by moment, putting himself back together. Sometimes it was nothing more than the faintest tug of his mouth, half-smiling, half-sneering, or theglitter of his eyes, but Micha was still there, still fighting and coming back to Thomas, piece by piece.
Nights were the worst. Thomas spent them at Micha’s side, holding him close, whispering love words, and telling him stories, but Micha was disordered through lack of sleep and terrified of the nightmares that still haunted him. He wouldn’t tell Thomas what he dreamed, only that he hated it, and that was all that mattered. In time, however, they began to fade, and, even if he did not sleep, Micha was able to pass some hours untroubled within the circle of Thomas’s arms.
“Fuck,” he said, one night, his voice cutting harshly through the darkness. “I’m a fucking wreck.”
Thomas kissed the back of his neck, offering lightly, “Much less than you were.”
“Oh, that’s fine then.” Micha twisted his body around. “Am I some sort of fucking charity case to you now?”
Thomas winced. “You never were.”
“Ah, yes, because you wanted to fuck me.”
“Micha.”
“Sorry.” His head dipped into the curve of Thomas’s shoulder. “Sorry. I just ... I think I’ve spent our entire acquaintance being repulsively ill.”
Thomas slipped his fingers into Micha’s messy curls. “I seem to recall a brief space in the middle where you did and said many wonderful things.”
But Micha was clearly not of a mood to be teased or comforted into better humour. Although he did not pull away, his body was tense against Thomas’s. “Every time I think I can’t fall any lower, I do, and it’s always in front of you.” He sighed, his breath hot and slightly stale against Thomas’s skin. “How can you possibly still want me?”
“For better or for worse, in sickness and in health.”
“Yes,” snarled Micha, with something of his old ferocity, “but it’s always fucking worse, isn’t it?”
Thomas tugged lightly on his hair until Micha lifted his head, and then he kissed his scowling mouth. “You put yourself through hell to be with me, when you could easily have made another choice. How can you say that’s the worst of you?”
Micha was silent a moment. “I love you. I want you to look at me and feel pride, not pity. And,” he added despairingly, “I’ve just spent the best part of a month lying on your floor, weeping and babbling, covered in my own shit and vomit.”
“It was the bravest thing I think I’ve ever seen anyone do.”
“I don’t feel brave, I feel ... bestial. Less than human.”
Thomas caught Micha’s thin, ravaged face between his hands. “Don’t talk like that. I love you. I want you. I’m proud of you. I’m proud for everything you’ve suffered and everything you’ve done, and that you want to be with me.”
Micha drew in a shuddering breath. “I feel too fucking much. Everything hurts.”
“The pain is back?”
“N-no. I mean ... being alive. I’m nothing but new skin. I’m happy and angry and ashamed and frightened and so in love with you I don’t know how I’m supposed to stand it without opium.”
