Prometheus (LGBT+) ✔

4. Ὁ ἰατρός (The doctor)

On Sunday, I feel so lightheaded that I decide I don't have any choice but to knock on the door of a neighbouring apartment. I prefer not to drink from people I know or might see again because there's a bigger chance they might remember something they shouldn't, but I can't bear the agony from the past days anymore. I felt out of breath if I walked to the toilet and back to my bed. Sometimes, I felt like I couldn't breathe and my chest ached as if it was battered inside and out.

It takes almost an hour before I have fresh clothes on because I have so little energy and I nap for ten minutes in between my shirt and my trousers. I'm also in dire need of a shower, but that'll have to wait. My pheromones are currently so overpowering nobody will think I smell bad anyway.

I knock on Charles' door. Even lifting my arm that far is exhausting. He opens.

"Dante! What are you doing here? You know your apartment's next door, right? Are you okay? You don't look too good, dude." His words clutter together and break into pieces in my head.

"Can I come in?" My voice is hoarse and bounces inside my skull. I swallow down the phlegm, but it closes up my throat. I stumble inside before Charles answers. I can't step without thinking, but I can't think.

"Oh, man. Fuck. Let's bring you to the couch, yeah?" He slides an arm around my shoulders. I'm only half a meter from his neck and even though I can't smell his blood, I do smell him and I am thirsty and he's close, so I don't wait. I can't think with this fog in my mind and my heart beating painfully slow. Painful.

I gulp his blood down as if it's a matter of life and death. It is.

Charles sags against me. He's breathing heavily, his eyes closed. My mind clears. Fuck. He can't- But no, I haven't. I lead him to his couch, lay him down and fetch a glass of water. Do I just leave him here? He might remember my coming to his door. That I was unwell. There's no logical explanation why he's suddenly the one unwell. I don't even know him. We only ever greet each other in passing.

Charles groans. It crawls in my stomach and nestles among the thousands of other people I've left weak and dazed. I flee, full of blood, but it was poisoned with something bitter and kills me from the inside.

***

It's three pm and there's nothing wrong with me yet. I don't believe it. I shower again. No abnormal spots. No headache. No nausea. No coughing. I don't believe it. I still have to blow my nose, but it's just a normal cold. As if anything is normal. I'm not. I'm a monster. I can only leave and leave and leave. If only I could leave this body.

It's eight pm and I eat. I read. I go to bed at ten. I wake up at seven. I don't believe it.

It's noon. I don't cough, don't pass out, don't sleep.

At six, I go out with lead in my veins. I wish I could skip this day, but I can't take the risk. Yesterday wasn't enough and maybe there won't be a tomorrow for this. It'll come back.

I dwell through the dying streets of the evening rush and lose myself, but I've already lost and I can't.

I recite Eliot in my head on the cadence of my steps.

Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells

Somewhere in the world, people die, and I am not one of them. I am condemned to life. To liberty, as Sartre would have said.

A few homeless people have sought refuge from cold and rain. I am jealous of them. It is the jealousy of a privileged man, but at least they can die. If I wanted to die, I'd have to take my own life, but how can I destroy what was given to me by God? Most days, it doesn't feel like a gift, nor like I am one of His children, but centuries of Christianity have moulded my mind and soul, and doesn't Israel mean 'he who fought with God'? Besides, just thinking about it seems like a hassle. I just want to fall asleep and never wake up. Cease to exist. Cease to think, dream, live. I'm just tired.