Before Izzy leaves, he needs to say goodbye to someone.
“Izzy, what’s wrong? Why are you crying? I’m okay.” How wrong you are. You’re not okay. You’re wasting away, killing yourself, and I can’t save you. I’m still crying, holding you and sobbing against your chest. “Izzy please, you’re scaring me…”
I take a deep breath and move to sit beside you, pulling you close to me, petting your hair and rubbing your back. You’re gone, nothing but a shell; skinny, pale, tired-looking, unhealthy, and empty. I finally kiss you. You barely respond.
I have to know.
I begin to kiss your neck and grab your ass. I nibble on your ear and slip my hands under your shirt to rake my fingers up and down your back. I’m doing all the things that turn you on so much, but when I reach for your cock, you’re flaccid.
You’re gone. You love your drugs, not me. You’re gone. I break away from you and stare into your eyes. They’re clouded and empty, no longer shining with happiness and love.
I help you lay down, helping you out of your clothes and making sure you’re safely tucked in and comfortable, before I lean over and give you a gentle kiss, probably for the last time.
I try to get up, but your shaking hand grips my wrist, and your wide eyes stare up at me, as you whisper, helplessly. “Izzy, stay, just for a while…” you take a shaky breath, “please…”
I can’t say no. I lay down and hold you. Your shaky breathing against my neck is calming and torture at the same time. That you’re alive, but that you’re empty, gone inside with no chance of recovery, no matter what I do to try to save you.
Holding you as you drift off, I try to think of better times and recall a few. Resting against you in the park, holding your hand, staring up at the clouds, talking softly, occasionally kissing when no one was looking. Feeling you curl up behind me in bed, kissing my neck and slipping you hand down my pants. Lying on the couch in front of the TV, holding each other, kissing sometimes, just enjoying the closeness the rest of the time. The incredible sensation of feeling you thrusting inside me as we made love passionately whenever we could get a hotel room to ourselves, simply joining you in the shower when we didn’t have the room to ourselves, letting you take me against the wall, or 69’ing in your bunk on the bus the nights we weren’t in hotels.
All the cuddling, gentle kissing, sweet talking, whispered confessions of love; all the wonderful moments of quick gropes and secret hand-jobs, and the wild, passionate, love making sessions that could last for hours on our best nights. All gone. Just like you.
You’re asleep now. I kiss your forehead and make sure you’re safely and comfortably tucked in. I clean the room a tiny bit before going to the door.
I look at you. You’re still asleep, and you look oddly at peace. And so beautiful, even now. Even skinny, pale, and so horribly unhealthy looking.
I have to leave. I love you to the very depths of my heart, but I can’t save you and leaving would hurt so much less than waking up to the ringing of the phone, someone calling to tell me you were dead, or waking up to you cold, one horrible morning. At least this way, I get to say goodbye.
Before I reach for the knob, I can’t help but wonder, will you miss me? Will you even notice I’m gone? It doesn’t matter much either way, now. I turn the knob and step out, taking one last look at you and shutting the door.