He had left shortly after our very emotional, visceral conversation. With his eyebrows half plucked too. He had business to take care of, and didn't say anything other than:
"I'll be home in a bit."
I could still taste his lips and it still gave me butterflies the way he called my place 'home'. It was all so surreal, all so out of nowhere but the last thing my brain could do was complain. She hugged onto every single one of these moments like they were coming home after a long long time away, blanketing me as the harsh reality of leaving my apartment door punched me in the gut.
"I don't need those things, I feel better already," she complains, waving me off with her hand. Even though she claimed she was fine, I had to go through with it. It hurt to see the side effects it gave her (nausea, chills and sometimes drowsiness) but it kept her from going to a hospice.
