“Did you fall asleep?” she asked.

He made a joke about how, yes I had, and now I was still dreaming. He hovered over me, saying slowly, “None of this is real. You’re still dreaming.”

I just smiled and laughed and told them, no, I had not fallen asleep.

No, I hadn’t fallen asleep. I’d leaned my head against my fist and closed my eyes. I slouched in my seat and let the time pass. I had been standing. But the weight became too much. I felt exhausted. Terribly exhausted. Finally we were able to sit and I pretended to sleep. I’d leaned my head against my fist because my neck didn’t have the strength to hold it up. I’d slouched in my seat because the weight in my chest was suffocating.

Did you think I wouldn’t notice?

Oh, but shouldn’t you know me better than that? I’m me. I notice everything.

I guess it’s officially started, hasn’t it? I guess you’ve officially began the surgery. I guess you’ve finally signed the consent form. I guess they’ve wheeled you into the room. I guess you’ve finally began the surgical removal of me from your life.

And you didn’t even have the guts to tell me.

There are so many passive aggressive responses dancing through my mind. They’re tempting me and tugging my arm and begging me to do something. Anything. But I’ve decided not to. I’ve decided to let this occur. To fall on my sword. I’ve decided that if you don’t want this to happen, you have to be the one to stop it. In the meantime, the blade will split my skin and pierce me through. Falling on your sword doesn’t feel as noble as it sounds.

I have two fears: One. That you won’t stop this from happening.

Two. That four years from now, you will be gone and I will regret not doing anything to stop you. Just like I regret not stopping the last person who left me.

I’ve been good. I haven’t let the pain consume me. I’ve pushed it to the side and pretended it’s not there. But when it becomes physical, it’s hard to ignore. And when it becomes physical, my very body becomes exhausted.

As I sat there with my eyes closed today, I wondered if you could die from heartbreak. I wondered if the emotional pain became to much, if I would just die in that seat.

I know this isn’t about me. It’s about your struggles right now. But how the hell could you do this to me?

Did you think I wouldn’t notice?



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