I close the door behind me, locking and bolting the it in  a
pathetic attempt to keep the world outside. The room is
dark, little street light filtering through the half open
blinds of the window. Lines of black and yellow chase each
other along the walls and ceiling with a passing car down
the street. A yellow line crosses her face and I can see
her, looking even more feverish in the sick yellow light.
Her skin is grey, pale. If it wasn't for her chest rising
with every breath, her wheezing, I would have thought I am
too late. I walk across the small room, my feet tapping the
barren floor. Before I kneel by the bed I lean forward and
kiss her forehead. She slowly opens her eyes and it is
immediately obvious that my little baby can hardly see.
Perhaps it is for the better. She groans softly and I hand
her a glass of water from the floor by the bed. She can't
lift her arm, so I gently lift her head in one hand and
serve the glass to her mouth. Her lips part, forming the
tiniest crack and she drinks, only a thimble. I let her head
rest again, noticing my hand stained the pillow and her
yellow hair.
"I am hot, Daddy. It's hard to breath."
She knows it's me without seeing or hearing me talk. The
same way I knew I had to be here tonight. You cannot
understand it until you feel it. That's why they didn't
believe me. It doesn't matter now, I am by my baby's bed.
"Everything will be alright," I say and feel my eyes
watering.
"I know Daddy, thanks for coming," she says, "I am sorry,"
she adds in a whisper.
"It is not your fault, none of it is. No one can stop it, no
one controls it..." I start to say but noticing the
bitterness in my voice, I stop. "The important thing is that
we are together. We'll see this thing through together," I
try to encourage her.
Her lips bend to form a little smile, "I am not a little
girl anymore. I know I am going to die. I am happy that you
are here with me, I don't want to die alone." Then she
almost laughs but coughs instead and says, "I mean I don't
want to FEEL alone when I die. After all, everyone dies
alone." Cynical like her dad. I look at my baby and I cry.
There is a great big waterfall of pain pounding, racing down
my throat, chest, heart and stomach. At the end of the
waterfall my stomach feels like a rock. It is so
overwhelming, I suddenly realize I can't feel the pain from
the bruises on my back, hands and face. Not even my probably
broken rib. There is a bucket of water by the bed. I apply
some water on her face with my hands. The blood and the
water create the illusion of blush on her face. I smile
bitterly, images of her childhood surface in my mind. I wipe
the tears from my face with the back of my hand, letting out
a loud sniffle. She knows I am crying.
"Don't be sad Daddy, I - " She coughs and hacks, blood and
spittle on her chin. I clean her with the blanket, the
cleanest thing in the room. "Don't speak," I say,"Everything
will be alright." Now my tears flow freely, gathering on the
tip of my nose and the bottom of my chin.
"There is no other way I would rather die, than with you by
my side," she whispers quickly, fearing another coughing
fit. I can not control myself any longer. I hold her in my
arms, trying to engulf her in my body, trying to create an
impossible shield against the world, against our lives. "I
love - " she starts, but the cruel coughing stops her. She
tries to talk, to say the full sentence. All she manages is
to repeat these two words, before the coughing continues.
Her body shakes with every seizure, and she pushes me back
so I can see her eyes.
Her eyes are a blaze. As the coughing grows more fierce, her
eyes suddenly relax and I see a calm. For an eternity we
stare at each other's eyes, saying more than we ever did in
our entire lives. Her eyes glaze and I squeeze her to me
with all my strength. "I love you," I say repeatedly in her
ear. We remain like this till sirens from the street light
the little room in red and blue. They have come to take me
back, this time for I would not get out. I no longer have a
reason. They would not understand it. I will rot in their
cell or on the chair.
I reach for the gun in my belt, and cock it. The sounds of
boots storming up the stairs. I hold her hand in mine, and
press the gun to my temple.
I don't want to die alone.