Desperation - [h.s.] - Short Story {COMPLETED}

"You're not going to leave me, are you?" I asked as I looked ahead at nothing, focusing on feeling his breathing on the back of my neck.

"Never," he whispered. "I'll be here until you get tired of me."

He was holding me in his arms, with his back to the wall of my bedroom. Both of his arms were wrapped around me, and I could see the prominent cross tattoo on his right hand. I had had another attack, feeling like the world was caving in on me. As soon as I felt that familiar pang in the bottom of my stomach reaching up to my chest, I would call him. Almost immediately, I would hear a knock at my door. He would always drop what he was doing if he received a call from me, telling him that it's happening again. He would be on my front step, always, with a few pints of ice cream and comfort. He was my rock. He was my sedative. My cure.