By
RD Larson
© 2005 RD Larson
Shaking like a cold Chihuahua I repeated my question, "What makes you think I don?t love you anymore?"
"I saw you with him. At Lido's. I went in for a beer with Donny but then . . ." He paused, his dear face white and drawn. I reached a hand toward him. He flinched away.
"He means nothing -- it's a -- need, like a drink of water," I said, my breath dying in my throat.
"I am trying, I've been trying to . . ." His eyes fell in shame and disgust at his inability.
"It doesn't matter. I love you, Justin. I LOVE you, the way you are, just you. Nothing matters but us. We'll get through this." I said it with a confidence that I did not feel. Hopeless that we would ever be together again, I tried to comfort him again. What had been a once-in-a-while had turned in to months and now, and now -- a year.
He slumped against the door jam, his hands tucked under his armpits with his arms making an X across his chest. He did not look at me. I didn't know what to say or do.
I turned away, considering whether to start dinner or not. Would he eat? I sighed.
"Justin, honey, please listen without -- well, just hear me out." I went up to him, putting my hands on his ridged shoulders, and looking into his face. His eyes kept staring at the floor. Feeling tears in my own eyes, I tried again to help him.
"Honey, Justin? There's medicine now and . . ."
He jerked away and spun out the door. When it slammed shut the whole apartment shook.
