Communion (On My Knees Duet 3)

I pace around the room, looking at framed pictures. They wanted him to have a wife, and not a husband. His mom's been nice and stuff, but that may be more resignation than anything. She wants Luke happy. I look at a framed shot of him as a little kid and think about our future kids. Where will they even come from? We'd need an egg donor, a surrogate. What if we can never get those details worked out, and we don’t have kids? How can Sky be happy?

He'll be happy, V. He'll be happy because he'll have you.

That's what I tell myself, but fuck me. I rub at the shoulder. Then I'm so fucking stressed, I have to get a puff of my inhaler.

I think about my body when I got out of the hospital. How weird and pale and thin I was, and how McD didn't want a thing to do with any of it. He was good when we were there, but after we got home, he didn't want to touch my dick or be close to me. Because he felt so guilty.

There's so much buried underneath the surface with him. It feels like I'm out on a limb in this whole situation, even though I know I'm mostly worrying for no fucking reason. He tells me all the time how happy he is. But...doesn’t he kind of have to now? I did a martyr sort thing, even though I didn't mean to, when I shoved him out of the way of that goddamn car. If I hadn't done that, where would we be?

He had already said he wanted to be with you, dumbass. What is this, the pre-prom jitters?

I rub a hand over my still-short hair and keep my eyes on the rug as I walk back toward the bedroom. Luke's room. Our room.

Before I get into the bed, I set my inhaler on my nightstand, cover it with a clean wash cloth that's lying around in case we need it. Then I pull out my pill bottle, taking one of the new pills I got back at the hospital for my post-ventilator lung fuckery. That’s yet another way my work could go south; since the hospital, my asthma is so much worse, sometimes I worry that the sanded marble particles might fuck me up.

When I climb in bed and settle close to Luke, he turns toward me, pulling me close. It hurts my fucked-up shoulder, but I don't care. I need it. I need to know he wants me. That he's going to stick with me forever. Even though he hasn't worn that ring a damn time out in public, and he didn't mention anything today about stopping by the courthouse.

That shit doesn't matter, I tell myself as exhaustion tugs my eyes shut. All that matters is the weight of him pressed up against me...

I hear him from inside of dreamland.

"No...God. Please! No, no, no!" It's Luke, and it sounds like he's sobbing. There's a bolt of panic—what happened?—and then my eyes are open and I'm blinking, my heart pounding till he makes another low, soft sound and I realize Luke is wrapped around me, and he's sobbing, moaning, quaking as he holds onto me.

"Hey there buddy..." I stroke his hair, gripping his arm lightly. "Sky babe?"

He lets out another sob, his body rigid.

"McD...what's the matter?" I'm stroking his face when he opens his eyes, and his mouth trembles as he squeezes them shut.

"Sky..." I cup my hand around his forehead, which feels damp. "What's wrong, baby?"

I tuck his head against my chest, and he lets me. He doesn't move, except some trembling, as I stroke down his neck and rub his back between his shoulder-blades.

"It's okay, man. I got you. We're okay."

He nods, and he hugs me tight. "Could you turn on the light?" he rasps.

"Sure I can."

I reach over to turn it on, noticing he doesn't let me go as I do. In the light, I see his red eyes and his pale, splotchy face and pull him close, onto my side of the bed. I kiss his cheek as he lies on his back, and I on my side, facing him.

"You wanna talk about it?" I whisper.

He shakes his head. Then he frowns at the wall behind my shoulder. "What's that on the nightstand?”

I glance over and my stomach flips. The wash cloth I tossed over my pill bottle has fallen off, so he can see the prescription label. "Oh, that? It's my asthma pill."

His frown deepens as he sits up and reaches over me to grab the thing. "An asthma pill?” He frowns at it. “When did you get it?"

I can barely breathe as he checks out the bottle, making me feel like a fucking kid who's been caught by his dad with drugs or something.