She heard the steady "thump. thump. thump" of his heartbeat, consistently letting her know that he was still alive.
Her cheek squished against his steadily rising chest.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Peace.
She gripped his waist tighter, holding onto him for her own life, like he could save her if she never let him go.
His eyes opened.
Sad eyes, filled with grief.
So sad.
Sad and green and beautiful.
But sad, mostly.
A few tears fell out, and slid delicately down his toned jaw.
They stained his shirt.
They stained her heart.
"I love you." She whispered.
He cried more.
He wanted to end his life.
Depression is a sickness, they said.
Depression is life, he retorted.
Depression is temporary, she promised.
He curled up into himself, into the fetal position, into denial, into the wrinkled sheets of their bed.
She followed.
Her arms tightened around him.
He didn't try to fight.
"I love you. Forever." She promised.
He cried.
Everything hurt.
He curled up tighter.
She was gone.
He didn't know where she'd gone.
But perhaps it was time to take all of those pills.
Perhaps it was time to take out his gun.
Perhaps it was time to pour kerosene about his apartment.
Perhaps it was time to drop the lighter.
Perhaps she was gone for good.
The door opened.
She walked back in.
His heart lifted for a moment.
Perhaps it wasn't time.
She wrapped her arms around him once more.
She pulled a stick out of her pocket.
"It's time to get out of bed, Eli." She said.
The stick had a tiny plus on it.
"It's time to get better, Eli."
Her belly grew.
And grew, and grew.
And grew.
It was round and hard and fascinating.
He stayed in bed and rubbed the bump.
Rub, rub, rub.
"Is today the day, Eli? Can you come to the doctor's with me?"
He cried.
No.
She cried.
"My feet hurt."
His heart hurt.
No electricity.
No money for bills.
She packed her bags and waddled away.
Perhaps it was time to take the pills, the kerosene, lighters, guns, dead.
But the bump…
She screamed.
Squeeze.
Scream.
Agony.
She screamed his name.
He wasn't there.
Doctors and nurses and Alli Bhandari.
But no Eli.
Push.
And push.
She closed her eyes.
She opened her eyes.
He was there.
His beard was long.
His hair was messy.
His eyes were green, and beautiful, and sad.
"I love you." He said.
She cried.
Push.
Push.
Push.
"Push." He said. "A little more."
A different cry.
The cry of new life.
He kissed her.
She kissed back.
They cried.
"Are you going back to bed?" She asked.
He cried.
He shook his head.
He held his son.
He placed a finger on the baby's chest.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Depression is a sickness, they said.
Depression is temporary, she promised.
Depression is temporary, he echoed.
Peace.
I have depression. I've been struggling to write. This is all I had. I'm sorry. I'll update my stories as soon as I can.