in his arms
Chapter 65
The sixth day I went without eating was the day nobody left my side. We all sat in the living room together as Anthony recited a book aloud to us.
It was Stained, by Jennifer Richard Jacobson. As he retold the story, I was sort of swept back to San Salvador, where Anthony and I first lived together, where we first shared the same bed. Reflecting back, I realized those sixteen days were the happiest days of my life.
All because of Anthony.
My head was in his lap, and a warm blanket covered my body.
I wasn’t listening to his words anymore; rather I was focused on his face.
I remembered when Billy died, and how I spent days in my room, crying and alone. I hoped Anthony wouldn’t be like that over me. I hoped he wouldn’t cry over me. I spent the last four months of my life working so hard just to make him happy. I didn’t want to make him unhappy in any way now.
I’d seen him cry plenty of times since I became like this. He tried to be secretive with it, but wasn’t always successful. Even now I swore his eyes looked slightly glassier than they normally did.
I wasn’t afraid of death anymore. I guess in some respect I was, but not nearly as much as I had been. I’d grown to be accepting of it, and almost appreciative of it. It was some sort of escape from this pain.
I felt my breathing turn raspy, almost like my throat was closing. I tried to remain calm and slow my breathing. I hoped nobody would notice.
Of course, Anthony did. He only looked at me shortly. I tried to force a smile to tell him that I was okay, but my lips couldn’t manage a twitch.
I felt his breath on my face. He was warm and enchanting. I closed my eyes with the delight of his breath on me.
I heard him put the book down as he cradled me in his arms. I was in his arms, and I was okay.
I loved the feeling of being in his arms. His arms felt like home, like I belonged there, like they morphed perfectly to my body. Like they were made just for me. In his arms, I was fit. Invincible, even. And I loved it.
In his arms, I felt healthy, and he felt healthy beneath me. I felt no hindrances of chemotherapy or of leukemia, and every breath I took seemed fresher than the next.
I was strong again. I was resilient and focused, and life was breathed into me. I was vigorous. I had confidence.
I was safe. I was protected. Nothing could get at me; I wasn’t afraid. In his arms, I was fearless.
He created a shield around me by simply letting me swim in the perfection of his touch. In his arms, I was sheltered.
He took the weight of the world off of my shoulders by simply wrapping his arms around my body. We were okay now. I was okay now. Not even the illusory fear of death could penetrate the wall of protection Anthony’s arms created.
I loved his hugs. I felt needed, wanted. In his arms, I felt loved. Like I had a purpose. Like I was someone’s reason to smile, laugh, fight, live, even. I loved the feeling his arms brought over me.
He had a way of making me feel like I was on air, like I had no problems. He created a world of his own by wrapping his arms around me.
And I became breathless, weightless. I hadn’t any problems. I was lost again. It was amazing, how I felt in his arms.
And in his arms, I had purpose. I wasn’t worthless anymore. He filled the vacancy in my chest with an infinite love. He completed me.
In his arms, I was important. He made me feel special. His arms were weak themselves, but they made me feel so strong.
I was in his arms, and I was okay.
And just like that, the pain was gone. I felt healthy again, like I did the night we spent on the lake. The night I fell in love with him.
I was in his arms, and I was okay.
I couldn’t feel his touch on me anymore. I could only feel the water that surrounded me. It was warm and gentle and dark. It reminded me of the waters of San Salvador, and I imagined that the beach there would be my heaven. I bathed myself in the water.
I inhaled gently. My last breath.
I was in his arms, and I was okay.
The End.
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