As I sped down the highway and watched my thoughts melt over the road, somewhere in my mind I thought he was right. Most of my consciousness was occupied by the rushing of the empty road towards me and me gliding to reach it. But the rest of my mind was getting convinced by the minute that it was all well that I had finally listened to him. He was right in trying to find answers before we had more questions. He was right about not putting up the house even though we had too much money, and I was too eager. He was right in not pandering to my fears. I was grateful that he was not afraid of them unlike me. I went along, and this night I thought he knew what he was doing.

The radio played an old song and I looked at the digital clock on my dashboard. I would be home sooner than anticipated. I would get into the bed beside him and not tell him how I’d suddenly decided that I didn’t want the house anymore, nor did I want us to pursue common dreams. I wanted some time off, I thought of telling him. Just some time to think things over. Did I really want to let death take away what we’ve always soared for? Did I want an old disease to gnaw away at what we could have? So what if I was dying and he didn’t have the tenacity to make self-sinking decisions? So what if I squandered all my money in living the moment and he watched me dance my slow dance? So what if he didn’t take my hand to hold and yet, was at my bedside every time I faded in and out of this world? I pushed the accelerator down one more time and out him out of my mind doing that old thing I did on the steering wheel – touch speeds that would scare me as well. I didn’t like touching my fears, but that was the only way I could tell myself that I had touched death and I was back. I’d still keep coming back.

I pulled into bed beside him, and he was fast asleep. Inside me, I formed words that wanted to tell him I’d changed my mind. But I didn’t wake him up nor whisper in his ears. I wanted to tell him that I would go to the institute he had chosen for me, and I would stay there until he felt it was okay to bring me back. It was up to him to bring me back, and somewhere inside me I was scared he wouldn’t. Just like my parents hadn’t. I was afraid that he would leave me and not come back, and that I would have to live without him. For once, I didn’t even consider it would be demanding for him to live with me, and difficult without me. I just didn’t think of it at all. I just thought of myself. I may have been selfish to think of myself, and not him, and that’s what kept me quiet. Although I had decided to trust his decision, he was right, after all, I didn’t tell him so. I knew I was wrong, but I didn’t admit it. Like most of us never do, just to cling on to stubborn pride.

I held him close and wrapped myself next to him. I would try to tell him the next day.

Or may be the one after that.

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