The sound of a pained and exhausted
inhale rang in his ears and he closed his eyes. The male nurse in the
room lowered his face and stepped back, disappearing behind the
opposite cloth barrier.
“Eu . . . gene . . . ?” a weak voice
muttered.
He toppled forward, his face pressing
against the speckled linoleum tiles on the floor, gasping for air in
insufficient quantities.
“Eu . . .” the voice trailed off,
being replaced by the sound of the respirator; the pump exhaled into
her again, “gene . . . ?”
He squirmed and writhed about on the
floor, wailing; “We were supposed to have another year!” he
shouted, twisting onto his back to stare at the ceiling, “A blasted
year! Not two hours!”
The nurse knelt beside him and put a
hand on his shoulder, somehow helping him regain his composure.
Agonizingly, he rose to his feet and straightened his face.
“Eu—” the voice was cut off and
sent into a fit of coughing and wheezing, “Eugene?”
The constitution of his face faltered
momentarily, but was quickly reaffirmed. He took a long step forward
and into her view. She never turned to focus on him.
“Terr?” he beckoned quietly.
Her face turned slightly in his
direction and he saw her once-brown irises, now coated in a silver
film, flutter back and forth, searching for him, “Gene?” she
whispered back.
He turned to the trash bin and fell to
his knees, emptying the contents of his stomach. He began slamming
his forehead into the cabinet. The nurse urged him to stop, but
didn't force him to until a trickle of blood began to stream down
from his hairline.
He shoved her back and stood again,
taking his wife's hand in his own, fingering her ring, and pulling it
to his lips. He pressed a couple fingers to her temple and caressed
the height of her face, down to her jaw.
