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”“THAT point I agree with!” Jocelyn growled. “When you left on Saturday it really hit me that we’d never make love again and never even cuddle in bed. I LIKE doing that, and I love doing that with you. And now we can’t. Or won’t. Or whatever.”“Are we making a mistake?” I asked quietly.“I think we made it years ago,” Jocelyn sighed. “Now we’re trying to figure out how to live with the aftermath.”“I know that. I didn’t mean when we were fourteen. I meant over the weekend. What’s happening now. Forget what happened before.”“Can we do that? Really? Can you really put aside the fact I can’t have children? That I didn’t trust you enough to tell you about that and tried to kill myself? You told me you couldn’t.”“I know,” I sighed. “My problem is I made up my mind what was going to happen, then after the accident and your suicide attempt, I changed my mind about what was going to happen. I’m just afraid I’m going to hurt you worse than I already have.”“I hurt you, too, Mik. And I’m sorry I. He could not understand where they came from as he was sure in this moment that they could not have come from his own life. None of those things could exist in a world where pain and agony were the only constants. Sometimes he felt as though he could hear someone calling his name, calling out in warning and despair. He could not understand what they said, only what they meant. They were telling him that he was in danger and this would always force his mind to wake and for him to search for that danger. Invariably, there was none and as his mind settled his focus was discarded and he forgot what it was that he was doing and why he was continuing. It was in these moments that he considered quitting. He thought of allowing himself to fall to the ground, never to arise from it again. The cries of warning he heard were the only thing that kept him from giving up and giving in. He was hearing such a cry of warning now. It did not bother him as it had before, but it did force him to sit up.
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