My Policeman - A possible Sequel

VI - 4

My policeman and I spent Christmas together. Listen, together. Not just together in the same room. Really together. He woke me up that morning. He, not any CD playing. He placed little kisses all over my face and whispered: 'It's Christmas, Patrick, you made it till Christmas' over and over again and I could hear is big smile. His unshaved beard tickled me a little, so I let out a small giggle. And this made him look at me like a proud mum, whose child just made their first steps.

He got a book for me. But not a book with words and letters, because it's exhausting for me to read and most of them are tragedies and I really have had enough of tragedies. It was a book with a lot of beautiful paintings and sometimes we would just sit there together, admiring the paintings and talking about their messages. He said that he couldn't bring me to the art gallery, so he brought the art gallery to me. And maybe that's even better. Here it's just us and we don't have to pretend to be someone who we aren't.

My policeman told me that, even tho' being queer is legal now it's still not accepted and liked by everyone. As he bought the book the lady asked if it's a present and he answered: 'Yes, it's for my lover.' Lover. 'He's also been an artist'. That were the words that changed the whole situation. The lady got mad and called him things, he couldn't even tell me. I asked him if he regret saying that. And oh, I was afraid of that answer. DUM-de. DUM-de. 'I didn't say it wilful and I wish I wouldn't have said it, but regret? I will never be ashamed for you. Never, Patrick. But I'm ashamed for telling this bitch about you.' And then he took my hand in his and kissed all my knuckles. And I was happy. Very happy.

I didn't get him anything. And I felt so bad for it. I know that he didn't expect anything, but I want to shower him with presents and love. I want to protect him; I want to isolate him from all the bed things. But I can't. I'm weak. I could just hope that my love was enough. Enough for him.  My love makes me strong, but not my body. And I hate it. I hate being weak. Being dependent on my policeman and the medication. I only was alive because of them. I only made it till Christmas because of them. Not because I was strong enough.

As I started crying my policeman pulled me in his still strong arms. My tears wet his shirt, but he didn't seem to mind. He whispered lovely words in my ear until I stopped crying. I won't write them down here, because that's a thing just between me and my policeman. I don't want anyone else to know them. I want them to be a secret, even tho' I really have had enough of secrets. But I still kept my face buried in his warm chest. I didn't want to look him in the eyes. I didn't want him to see how weak I am.

My gaunt body pressed to his strong body made me feel even more weak. But he told me not to worry and that he loves me anyways. Then he placed a kiss on the tip of my nose (he knows that this always makes me smile), arranged the pillows for me again and wrapped me in two blankets. He always wraps me in two blankets, even tho' I told him that one is enough, but he didn't listen. Or probably he did, but he thinks that I might get cold in only one blanket.

After this procedure he put on music and left the room to cook something for us. Soup. As always. I really would like to eat something else, but I can't. And even tho' my policeman tries to always cook different soups (tomato soup, noodle soup, potato soup, ...) I'm really tired of soups. My policeman always eats soup with me. I told him that it's okay for me if he eats something else, but he didn't want to. He's really stubborn sometimes.