:: hospice ::

I don't know why I continued to do this to myself. It was beginning to get much too painful to bear anymore. I suppose I was just a glutton for this sort of thing.
I got a nod from the nurse to enter his room, her face attempting to mask worry. I knew better to fall for it. I frowned slightly at her fake smile, looking down to the worn tiles on the floor, then to the door. My breath hung painfully in my chest, stomach swirling.
I shouldn't be here.
He doesn't want me here.
Swallowing thickly, I pushed the door open, it taking all the courage I could muster to do so. Well, here's to progress.
He remained still, not even bothering to look my way. I studied his face, hands balling up awkwardly in a bit of a nervous fit.
I'm unwanted.
I should leave.
I padded towards him, eyes moving from him to the jungle of tubes that kept him conscious. A chill slithered through my blood, trying to look away from them. It was was nearly impossible to pull my stare from the machines and such, feeling sick the longer I looked at them, as if they were draining my life and putting it into him.
I wouldn't mind that.
What I would give to have him back to normal.
Out of habit, I checked his vitals. I wish I never started this habit, it hurt more than anything. I refused to believe he was worse. He couldn't be.
I finally looked back to him. He lay rather still in his bed, eyes trained on the ceiling. Curiously, I followed his line of vision. I poured my concentration into this, hopeful to tune out the mechanical orchestra of whines and cries that filled the room.
Unable to take his silence any longer, I couldn't help but break it. I opened my mouth to start to say something, only to find myself lost for words. This pained me, and I simply went back to watching the spot that held his attention.
Finally, his raspy and unstable voice cut through the room. "I don't want you here."
I sucked in a silent breath, wincing a bit. I was used to this, much too used to this. "I know."
"Then leave."
My eyes darted elsewhere, finding the corner. I wet my lips nervously, switching my weight to the other foot. My hand rest heavily on my cane, supporting what my bad leg couldn't.
I began to count the beeps, taking my mind off of the others words. However, they continued to play over and over in my head.
I knew this would happen.
I should leave.
After what I thought was a good amount of time, I looked back at him. He was still fixed on that spot. I sighed, chewing on my lower lip.
I built up the nerve to finally say something, "Any progress on your vision?"
I instantly hated myself for even asking. Why must I remind him he couldn't see?
"Any progress on leaving?"
I couldn't help but smile softly. I didn't know why, but that's all I could do. I guess it was better than crying. I had been doing a lot of that lately.
Drawing in a long breath, my face fell back to what it had been as of late. Almost expressionless, empty. Yet somehow it harbored so much pain. I ran my free hand down my face, resolve crippling some.
No, not here.
I can't cry here.
I closed my eyes, attempting to calm myself. It didn't help much.
His voice droned over the machines, sounding almost as lifeless as them. "I hate you."
I didn't even think about a response, it came out instantly. "I know."
"Leave."
"I will."
I bit the inside of my cheek, moving to his hospital bed. I fought back a dam of emotions, swallowing roughly. I clawed at the top of my cane, other hand covering my mouth, as if to muffle any sounds that would come out.
I didn't care anymore. He couldn't see. He couldn't see me like this, and never would. He'd never see how torn up I was, how much this all pained me.
I allowed myself to cry, but quietly. I let go of my cane, hand clamping down onto the railing of his bed. I hung my head, other hand falling along with my cane.
This was the first time I cried around him.
And I knew it would be the last time.