Nothing changes

© by Elsa

His eyes are closed, his face finally calm and relaxed. The darkness in his bedroom is like a deep blue, velvet blanket of blisfull oblivion. The tiny light in the corner is not enough to show the ugly gash that crosses his forehead and runs on, deep into his curly hair, but I know it's there.
And I know the knife that did that, would have slid me into two, if it hadn't been for him.

All that blood everywhere as he sank to his knees... I sat there, holding him against me and feared he'd die right there and then. The chill that washed over me is something I'll never forget.

"I wanna grow old and have ten kids," he whispered.
"You will grow old and have kids," I promised.
"Ten?"
"No, you moron. Ten kids. Who d'you think you are? Superman?"
"You think I'd be a good dad?"
For God's sake, if the paramedics don't arrive any time soon, you'll be dead before you'll be a dad, I thought. "You'd be a great dad."
He clutched at my shirt, moaning. "Will you be godfather to my kids?"
"Only if they look like you."
"I better raise them well then," he croaked, obviously hurting a lot. His eyelids fluttered and he sank away in quietness.
You better raise them well, I repeated to myself, unable to shake the vision of panic in the blue eyes that flashed up just before they rolled away.

I cover him with the blanket that has fallen to the floor. There's a good chance I might actually live to see my children, thanks to him. And as far as I can help it, I'll make damn sure that he gets to see his own kids as well. Nothing changes. Except maybe the realisation that we are what we are - who do we trust? Right. Me and thee.

The End

Elsa, July 2004