"You can only discover your own light in the darkness."
I've been in the darkness. There is no light to be found in it. But I don't argue with him. Light doesn't come from darkness, but from something else… from kindness and understanding, the kind he showed me. In sharing his pain, he took mine away. In sharing his nightmares, he showed me just how endless the darkness can seem. By letting me chase away his nightmares, we both learned how to find light. Together.
I wish I could find words to tell him how much he means to me. But I've never been good with words, and if I try to talk, I might end up speaking of stars, just like he has. But I'm not the one who is delirious, though the pain and fear of losing him may have spurred a delirium of their own.
I just say, "I love you, Tristan," and kiss him anew.
"You'll be all right. You'll do your best. Promise me," he whispers between kisses, tightening his hug even more. He still wants to protect me, like always, despite the fact that death is knocking at his door. He can't protect me from the one thing I fear most: his death. I want to tell him I won't be all right, that I can't be all right in a world where he is no more. But when we stop kissing, his eyes are burning with an urgency that sparks awareness as if the only thing keeping him in this world is the thought of knowing I’m safe. I’ll give him that peace. It may be the last time I'll be able to offer him any kind of peace before he’s ripped from my arms.
"I will take care of myself." Before I kiss him again, I add, "I promise." Internally, I scream, making myself a different promise altogether, hoping that nature—begging nature to side with me.
If he's a star and the night is claiming him, I want the night to take us both.
I undo the buttons of his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against mine, to take some of the tremors shaking his body upon me. I kiss him again.
"Aimee, stop. I shouldn’t kiss you… I don't want you to get sick… please."
"I won't. Kiss me, Tristan. It’s the only way I will be all right."
I lose myself in the warmth of his lips and the weakness of his body as he kisses me sweetly, though it feels more like goodbye to the thousands of kisses that will never be ours. I kiss him again and again, hoping to catch his disease. Hoping that whatever will keep him from opening his eyes and drawing a breath tomorrow morning, will take me as well. Maybe his disease is not from the mosquitoes, but from something he can indeed pass on to me.
I hope so.
Later, I rest with my head on his chest, neither of us speaking. The sound of pain fills the silence. It's less intense than before, and I think I know why. Fear numbs it now. I remember the power of fear of the unknown. I remember waiting, crouched on my bed, for news of my parents after I learned the revolution had begun. I needed to find out if they were all right. It terrified me, imagining scenario after scenario. I wanted to know what happened to them. If they were still alive. I thought nothing would be worse than the uncertainty.
But the pain of losing them was a million times worse.
I wish I could pour some of my life into Tristan. Maybe that could buy him a few hours, a few days. Since there is no way I can do that, I hold out the hope that my own life will trickle out of me at the same time his leaves him. People enter and leave your life all the time; I've learned that long ago. But I've also learned that their loss makes you feel as light and meaningless as the wind yet at the same time your whole existence has an unbearable weight. When they leave, they punch a hole in your existence, and you never feel complete again. The memories they've left you with turn to shadows. You always carry them with you, but they are never whole, and you can never touch them. I've lived surrounded by shadows since my parents died. I can't live in a world where Tristan becomes a shadow too. Without the man who taught me what it feels like to be whole, I become a shadow myself. How lucky to be the one who leaves, and not the one who's left behind.
Everything crumbles inside me when sleep finally overcomes him and he closes his eyes. With every breath and every heartbeat he slips farther away from me. All I can hope for is one more breath, one more heartbeat. So I stay perched above him, listening, drinking each heartbeat in.
My last thought before sleep claims me is that I won't get to hear his last heartbeat.
I dream of a clearing inundated with light with Tristan, healthy and smiling, calling my name. "Aimee." Again and again. I don't open my eyes, too afraid of the reality where nothing more than darkness and silence await me. And no Tristan because, while last night the heat of his feverish body was burning me, there is no longer warmth around me, though I fell asleep in his arms.
That's when I realize he's no longer next to me, but he’s indeed calling my name. "Aimee."
I sit up, opening my eyes. Through the dim light I see Tristan hovering near the water basket. I leap toward him. Unable to utter a coherent sentence, I wrap my arms around him, gluing my ear to his chest, hungry to hear his heartbeats. Every muscle in my body mollifies when his rhythmic beats reach me, each one more precious than the last. I burst into tears as the realization of how close I was to never hearing it beat again seeps in.
"It's all right, Aimee. I'm fine. I feel better."
I just cling to him, sobbing.
"Your fever is gone," I say, pulling myself together.
"Apparently so."
"Do you still feel sick?"
"No, just hungry."
"The fever… will it come back?"
"Hard to tell." He shrugs. "No idea what disease I had—my guess is it was caused by a virus transmitted by mosquitoes. I might have a relapse, or I might be immune now to whatever I had. Do you feel all right?"
I nod, beaming. "I just want to stay in your arms for a long time."
So that’s what I do.