Lay With Me

No More (Steph's POV)

"I love you."

Those three words were among the last I ever said to him. To my loving husband.

To Matthew.

I wish I could have said more, like 'Matthew, you've made my life better than I could have ever imagined' or 'Matthew, you mean everything to me' or maybe even a simple 'thank you' for everything that he has done; a thank you for his encouragement, his support, his admiration, and all of the love that he held for me. But, my words failed as my world, everything I ever loved, laid, dying, in my arms. All I could muster was a meek 'I love you'.

That was not enough.

There was so much I wanted to say, so much I wanted to do. We had so many plans, so many open opportunities for us to reach out and take. Wasted. Completely wasted. Why didn't I say 'yes' to that date the other day? Why didn't I accept his offer to take a break from work and watch a movie with him? Why didn't I break that fight?

Why didn't I see this coming?

My hands were stained red with the blood that oozed from his stomach, the same stomach that I used to kiss and slowly rub my fingers against in soft, tender circles while we laid together, tangled in our warm bed sheets, on lazy Sunday mornings. It used to tickle him. Now, he felt nothing as he coughed crimson liquid from the inner depths of his body. He shook in my arms, desperately clinging onto whatever thread of life he had left within him, but we both knew he wasn't going to make it.

He didn't stand a chance.

I pulled his body closer to mine, bowing my head, placing my forehead on his as beads of sweat fell from the sides of his face. His skin was cold. His body was limp. His breathing was sporadic. He was dying. He was dying and I refused to accept it. This was not happening.

But then, he placed his blood stained palm on my cheek, and I knew that this was a hell that I couldn't escape. This was real.

I was losing the love of my life and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it.

I grasped his hand in mine, tears falling from my bloodshot eyes, rolling down his cold, slender hand. I tried to speak again, hoping that this time I could express just how much I loved him, but, there was a disruption between the thoughts in my mind and the movement of my mouth. That disruption? Fear. Fear, sorrow, heartbreak, terror, depression, pain. Pain. Death. Something that I could never comprehend. A concept I never wanted to experience for myself.

It's funny how life works, isn't it?

Matthew's life was slipping from my grasp and I all I could do was hold his mortal body in my arms. I could not speak. I could not move. Neither could he. We sat in silence, staring into each other's eyes, longing to embrace each other once more, for one last kiss, one last dance, one last laugh, last pun, last playful punch. But, we were frozen; unable to feel, unable to think, unable to express our emotions. Unable to express our love in the form of words because of the thought of death looming over us. Looming over me. Taking away my husband, draining his life, slowly, painfully, right before my eyes.

These are the experiences nightmares are made of. Unfortunately, for us, this was not an illusion we could wake up from, in the middle of the night, unable to keep us from running into each other's arms for comfort. This was our reality.

No more late nights, no more movies, no more dates, no more conventions, no more dances, no more kisses, no more cuddles, no more happiness, no more joy. 

No more Matthew.