Chapter Thirteen

JULIAN

June 14, 2022

I haven't journaled in a long while. Strangely enough, I've forgotten how much comfort tracking my thoughts brings me. In this current moment, however, I need a bit of consoling—if even from my own words. As of late, my brain has been incredibly foggy. It's reached the point of occurring several days each week. And as a result of my progressing disease, I've just taken almost three whole months of medication, in the hopes it will whisk me away from this pain. And from the fear of my past converting into such a distant memory, that it'll be damn near impossible to retrieve again.

On my good days, the fully lucid ones, they're great. I cherish each one I have been graced with. But the bad one, when my mind is held captive in a sea of grey dust, I'm done with them. I've grown tired of feeling helpless in the moments when I can't even remember how to wash my own hands. But today, my mind has been graced with so much color that I want to take my last ride remembering what it's like to be left with my own devices.

And my Grayson Carey Welles. This man has been obligated to take care of me in ways he shouldn't have ever needed to. In the beginning, I only required help finding where I last put my glasses, or my iPad. Or encouraging me to feel less insignificant when it takes me an hour to wash a small sink of dishes. Without his help, I'd scrub the same plate twelve times. Nowadays, he bathes me when he showers. And in those helpless states of grey, he helps wipe me clean when I've finished on the toilet.

However, today's brilliance hasn't been bereft of struggle. I've been reminded of an argument between him and I from a couple of nights ago. Of which was my last truly good day before now. We'd been watching an old classic film on TV when I noticed I was without his company. As I scanned the room, I heard him back in the hallway on his phone.

"It wouldn't be every single day," he said to the person on the other end. "Just until six or seven at the latest, and if he's having a good day, you wouldn't even need to do anything but play cards—or a round of Scrabble helps exercise his brain when he's lucid."

I wondered who he could have possibly been talking to, but it occurred to me that he'd been on the hunt for some type of home care aid. Just knowing he was looking into a helper gave me a futile sense of how much a burden I've become on him. And I don't want that. I don't want the man I've loved for the past thirty something years to think of me as dead freight. I can only imagine he's dealing with so much already. So, I must take action now. While the sun still shines on Manhattan. If I don't, tomorrow could be the day when I wake up without so much as a fond memory of who I am. Of who we are as a unit.

Once his call came to a close—of which he'd set up an interview for next week—Grayson shuffled back into the living room, reclaiming his spot next to me on the couch. I reached out to squeeze his hand, studying how it seemed less reflexive than usual. This right there confirmed my suspicions. He was growing exhausted taking care of me. Honestly, I couldn't blame him. He's been my hero since we were both eighteen. So, he was bound to tucker out at some point.

"I'm sorry," I said.

Grayson broke his concentration on the television to meet my pitiful gaze, something he only does with Miles, Alex, or myself. "Whatever are you sorry for, meus amor?"

"That I'm not getting any better," I admitted. "That you're doing everything for me most days."

A tear slid down my cheek as I squeezed his hand even tighter. I could detect a struck chord within him, I'd perhaps even triggered a little anger. In that single moment, I honestly couldn't tell. But for as long as he sat there with the same confounded expression, I knew he was speechless.

"It's my fault, Saccharo Ferre, not yours," I clarified, hoping he would say something.

"God damn it, Julian," he finally replied. "Nothing is your fault?—"

I interrupted him. "No," I retorted. "It is."

He leapt to his feet from the couch, forcing Boo Radley to lurch away from his lap. "These things happen."

"Yeah," I began. "Maybe they should in forty years from now," I added while jerking in my seat to find a new position. "But if it's already happening at fifty-one, it must be from something I did."

Grayson's voice bellowed so loudly, I'm sure everyone in Washington Heights could hear his wail. "Just stop talking, Jules!" He paused with an outstretched hand. "Just stop."

All I'd intended was to explain the guilt imploding within my core. And that our lives headed South way too quickly. If I'd have known my brain would evolve into a carrot, I could have better prepared myself for these excruciating times causing such tension in a relationship which once flourished with perfection. These moments where I'm on the cusp of oblivion.

"Sit down, Grayson," I pleaded. "Can't we just talk about this?" I asked, uncertain if he would be receptive to conversing civilly. "I'd rather go to a home than have you feel you need to hire a babysitter."

"No—Momo," he bit back. "I don't wanna have this conversation right now, and I don't wanna fight," he added, his incensed emotions pouring from the lids of his usually keen spirit.

I rose to my feet just as quickly as he had done a moment prior. "When would you rather have it?" I asked. "When you've had hours to prepare like it's some deposition?" I added, swinging my arm. "Or when I can't remember what to say, or God forbid I have my faculties intact to speak at all?"

Grayson shook his head with a palm planted into his riled visage.

My emotions stirred up in the heat of the moment when I persisted. "Fuck this!" I bemoaned with a finger pointed to the floor. "We're gonna talk about it right fucking now," I demanded. "While I still can."

Boo Radley scurried to the bed inside his kennel as if he felt he'd been punished for something he did wrong. I sauntered over to Grayson standing in the corner of our living room before revealing his discontented mug.

"I've become a burden on you," I said, feeling a tingle at the cusp of my eyes.

And then with tears in my eyes, I continued pleading my case. "Put me in a home," I added. "Have me put down like a sick dog." I added, pausing to draw in a quick breath. "Anything that takes the responsibility off your shoulders."

His stare narrowed, piercing my heart. "Have you killed?" He asked in disbelief. "You honestly think not having you here is gonna make my life—" he paused, resting his hand at his waist with a shaken head. "—Fuckin' easier?"

"It's become too much," I proclaimed. "Wiping my ass, aiming my dick into the toilet?" I emphasized with both hands. "Is that what you signed up for?"

Grayson extended his arms to my shoulders with a glint at the corner of his left eye. "When I committed my life to you, I meant it," he avowed. "You're not a burden on me, meus amor."

I heard the words which fell from his mouth. But I could also feel the weight of all that responsibility sink to his overworked, heavy-laden heart like the Titanic. I felt pure guilt. All I could think about was how unfair it was for him. A home care aid wouldn't relinquish his care of me entirely. A babysitter would only escalate my opinions of how dehumanized it would make me feel.

After leaning into his strong embrace for minutes, our argument seemed to melt away with each minute passing us by. Then, he bent over to grab the fold of my knees, while tilting my backside into his right arm. I stared into his determined gaze as he carried me down the hallway into our bedroom. I laid on the top of the bed in complete darkness with his lips sealed against mine. They followed Grayson's lead, even though I haven't yet forgotten how to kiss.

I enjoyed settling an argument with intimacy. Especially since I was in enough of a lucid state to enjoy the experience. But I wanted my words to be taken seriously. I wondered if my concerns crossed the barrier of Grayson's obstinate mind. After all, he is a Taurus. His hands traveled the length of my upper body while our tongues slid against each other. My arms wrapped around his shoulders before I tugged his head down to my neck.

"Don't be mad at me, Saccharo Ferre," I whispered into his ear.

He licked the length of my neck up to the base of my chin. "I'm not mad at you, and I never could be."

We held each other for the remainder of the night. Or until the nighttime meds summoned me to hours of slumber. While the recesses of my memory are wiped from yesterday, I remember waking up in Gray's arms this morning. He whisked me away for a hot shower. I sat on the bench of our walk-in, observing his facial expressions as he wiped the soapy sponge across my body. Then he concluded by cleaning his own self.

So, in the clarity of this day, I can see perfectly well that I'm better off leaving now. While I can do it on my own terms. I know deep down, it's for the best. Meus saccharo ferre will understand one day, after feeling the initial sting of losing me. And in time, I hope he realizes that I didn't want to let another day pass by where I worried if it would be the last one which I'd ever remember again. To that end, my Sugar Bear—tu es toto vita meus.

Ambo te ignosce me, amor.