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i had tried everything to interest him. i brought his cat back from the dead, i helped him study for his exams, i showed him the secret of life itself, but he still falls back into the safety net of his comfortable life the minute i let him go.
i know what interests him. i am not deaf to the creak of the bed, the shaking of the walls, and the breathy noises of his distraction. meg. i fear i cannot describe my feelings towards her, other than the damning sense of jealousy i get whenever i see her slip her hand into his.
so i will tell the truth. i was not in withdrawal that night. my shaking and staggering were half a facade. i was simply longing, yearning, for a chance to be touched by him. for him to trace his callused fingers over my veins, our hearts pumping in unison. for him to sedate me with his brown eyes and firm forearms, before the needle even enters me. for a chance to feel like meg for a second in my life, vulnerable on the bed, touching and being touched, loving and being loved, the way the anatomy books teach you.
———
by the time it was over, i couldn’t think of anything but him. i can’t tell if it was my reagent affecting my neurochemistry, or if it was the effect of the bruises he had left on my arms while holding me down during my shuddering. either way, i don’t think he could manage to love me through my morbidity.
a good doctor knows when to stop.