Their routine at home replayed the same record of any other night. Jane put a few forsaken dishes away and then washed her face before slipping into bed next to Rick. They hugged. They cuddled. He begged for her to stay awake with him. To watch a show with him. Any show. She just needed to stay holding him in the consciousness of this ever-waning time. He raged against the dying of the night with mewling howls.
Jane went to work pulling up a random episode of You’re the Worst. Rick was asleep before the theme song even played its first defiantly plaintive chord at the two-minute mark. The next day would be a waste. It might take until evening before he could eat. Monday until he could properly communicate.
She kissed his acerbic-scented forehead. “Goodnight, sweet prince. My beautiful fool. I’ll see you in a day or two.”
On Sunday she would be left with a shell for a husband. She would hold onto their pearls until he returned.
Alex S. French writes from Montana, USA. His words can be found in X-R-A-Y Magazine and Collective Unrest. He is online at www.alexsfrench.com and tweets at @asfrenchaf.