He'd been holding her for hours, quiet, the urge to pee the only protest in the serenity. But holding her…he couldn't deny…it felt useful. Life was still sweet. And he couldn't care enough, desperate as he was to feel it. Why had he moved out of the fog? There, it had been painless at least. But now…with her…oh God…life became tragic once again. To him…she was beautiful. Her skin, her dark brows, and hair, her sweet lips. To him, the rise and fall, the thump of her heart, the way her hands moved in her sleep and she mumbled, and she quieted becoming aware, again and again…she wasn't alone. God, what are you doing to me, he thought more than once, and though he was bitter, he was not just that, he was asking a question, like a student, like someone open to learning, and he didn't want that…to learn. He'd quit asking. He'd quit. He held her and that was the thing. He let himself feel her weight, her need. What was she doing? Who…? He'd seen the indent on her ring finger, he knew it had been there recently, and for a good while, maybe it belonged there still.
