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“You’re beautiful like this, John.” I ignore him and continue to press the damp cloth against his forehead. He hadn’t meant for me to catch him like this; doped up on something. “John,” he repeats my name slowly, drawing it out into two syllables. “You’re golden. You’re beautiful,” his voice grew softer; almost a whisper. “John, marry me.”
My heart jumped. He was watching me with such clarity in his eyes that I could have believed his proposal if it weren’t for the way his face flushed, or his heart pounded from the drugs he’d taken; If he hadn’t spent the last forty minutes going on about nonexistent spiders trying to climb under his fingernails; If I hadn’t had to restrain him forcibly on the couch while the drug worked its way through his system. I could have believed him.
“Marry me,” he repeated. His voice was hoarse, dry. “We can be husbands, John.” His eyes fluttered shut, I swiped the cloth over his eyelids. “You can buy the milk and take care of me, I’ll keep you entertained and frustrated.” We already did that. I didn’t say anything, just let him talk. He was calmer when he talked. His eyes stayed shut and he stayed silent for so long I began to wonder if he’d dozed off. His long, thin hand found my wrist and latched on. “You’re beautiful; marry me.”
I shushed him, pulled him close, kept him close, as close as possible. “I can’t,” I told him. “I can’t.”
His lips found my neck; didn’t kiss, only whispered over the skin: “You love me. Leave her.”
My heart twisted. I found my way to his lips and kissed him hard; deep; how he wanted me to kiss him.
"You love me."
"I can't."