should've kissed you

II

"You can't leave me, not like this," she whispered against his lips, being careful as she could not to hurt him. He was so fragile and small. He was dying. Her heart ached at the thought. The love of her life was dying out, fading away, slipping through her fingers, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

"I'm sorry," he whispered back between kisses that tasted like tears. "I'm so sorry."  He couldn't stop kissing her. His moments left with her were limited, and he wanted so badly to be hers, all hers, for every second he had left.

"You're even pretty in the dark," he murmured softly through the pitch black. His hand found her bare hip in the darkness and he caressed the soft skin there, sweetly tracing loving patterns beneath her t-shirt. She felt that she could hardly breathe due to the sensation of his warm, gentle touch.

Slowly, and with difficulty, she was rolled over beneath him and he stared down at her a moment before his lips met hers once again. "Be careful," she warned him. His breathing was labored and his heartbeat fast, and she knew his energy was faltering. "Don't overwork yourself or anything. Please," she continued gently.

"Like it better when you're under me," he explained as his lips traveled to her collarbone. "Can take care of you better this way."

His hands were cold and shaky against her hips and she shivered beneath him as he left a trail of kisses down her neck before nipping softly at her skin. She was overcome with sadness at the thought of the reminders of him that would be left on her skin once he was gone, never to return. Tears slowly fell down her cheeks as she threaded her fingers through his hair. He knew she was crying, though she tried her best to hide it. He kissed away her tears, begging her not to cry. He hated it when she cried; he hated seeing her this way. "You'll be okay, my love. I promise," he said, and she was too distraught to argue.

He lay his head on her stomach, wrapping his arms around her and closing his eyes. "'M tired, petal," he murmured weakly, his voice shaking. "So tired."

She began running her fingers through his hair, comforting him. "I know, baby," she replied softly. She was tired, too, but she was afraid that if she slept, he would be gone when she awoke. Oh no. Sleep would have to wait. She could tell by his pale complexion and shaky hands that it wouldn't be much longer. He wouldn't last until morning.

She'd tried to convince him to go to the hospital so that his passing would at least be as painless as possible, but he'd refused.

"I don't want to spend my last moments in a room that smells like disinfectant, hooked up to a bunch of machines," he said. "I want to spend them with you." And how could anyone expect her to fight him on that?

She was startled as he slipped his fingers through hers, bringing her hand to his lips. "Need sleep, love," he whispered, caressing the back of her hand with his thumb. "Wish I could just sleep."

"You can," she replied, giving his hand a squeeze. "It'll be okay. Just try."
He sighed a little sigh, looking up at her. "Might not wake up," he confessed, but she already knew.

"Shh, I know, it's okay," she assured him, but it wasn't. "Sleep, baby."

"Love you so much, petal. Don't have the words. 'M just so tired," he said in a voice that was so quiet and shaky that she could barely understand. With that, he let out another sigh and closed his eyes.

And he was right. He didn't wake up. When the sun rose and shone through the window, he was gone. She couldn't do a thing but hold him and weep and hold him even tighter, begging him to come back even though she knew he wouldn't. He'd died out, he'd faded away, he'd slipped through her fingers, and there was nothing she could do to change it.