The walk seemed to last forever after that revelation. It felt like the sidewalk stretched on into infinity, until we came to the hospital. Its harsh outdoor lights and grey cement walls made it the very picture of cold. I didn’t think, I didn’t care, I just walked into that place like one would a grocery store, because that was the only way I could stand myself. If I was going out, I would go out brave and strong, like I had always wanted to be in life.

I was taken into a small room, while my family waited in the hall, with an unfamiliar nurse who was, at least, human. She attached wires to my temples and my arms, and I thought: just get it over with, already. She took a blood sample, a saliva sample, and cells from my cheek. My stomach felt like a stone, hard and miserably hopeless. It felt grey. When my eyes started to prick with tears, I thought of you, and they disappeared. I thought of you and me together, older and living in a cozy apartment, where we would spend whatever time we could in each other’s arms, a little black Scottie cuddled on our laps. It sounds silly, but I didn’t really care about being silly anymore.

Finally, I was wheeled out into the courtyard. My family was already out there, smiling down on me with nothing but kindness, no sadness, no worry. Except my sister, she had tears in her eyes, and I smiled to reassure her, though the gesture seemed strange and awkward.

I looked up, but I couldn’t see the stars through all the lights. I couldn’t see the stars. Suddenly, the restraints seemed too tight, the lights too bright, and my heart started to pound. But I saw your face, for real. You were peering through the fence, like I had so many years ago, your eyes wide. You must have followed us. You smiled, not fake like my parents’ or the doctor’s, yours was genuine. It said one thing to me: I’ll see you soon.

The needle broke my pale skin, entered my bloodstream, through my veins, to my heart. I let it flow through me, closing my eyes, I slackened. Then darkness.