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Her fingers fumbled with the needle and her hands shook in volcanic trembles as she milked the blood right out of her finger. “Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry,” she told herself, over and over in her head. The physical pain was minute, but the sense of foreboding her unstable fingers gave her hurt more than anything. 42 mg/dL. She sighed.
She felt a hand on small of her back, comforting and firm. “How are you?” He mumbled into her ear. She bit her lip. Grasping the meter in his hands, he let out a low whistle. “Baby, sit down.” Scrambling through her bag, he eventually found her glucose tablets- sour apple flavored, her favorite. “Here, sugar, have some sugar,” he grinned.
Rolling her eyes, she turned away.
“Baby, c’mon, take it.”
He sighed, kneeling down to her level.
“Look at me.”
She bit her lip, gnawing at her raw flesh. His finger brushed along her jaw.
She stood up. Brushing his hands away, she escaped to their bedroom.
“Sweetie,” he started. “Don’t be like this.”
He received a sob.
He slid down against the off-white door, listening to her heavy breaths on the other side.
“Why won’t you let me take care of you?” He mumbled, tracing his fingers around the door handle.
He heard the click of the door unlocking. Slowly, he pushed on the barrier between them, the sighing of the wood echoing the sounds of the girl.
He found her, sniffling.
“I don’t want to be so dependent on you,” she whispered. “I can’t stand it.”
His thumb brushed against her knee, burning her skin.
“I love you.”
Her eyes widened. “What?”
He met her stare. “I love you,” he repeated. “And I’d trust you with everything.”
She sniffed again.
“Don’t do this,” she muttered. “Stop it.”
His eyebrows drew together. “But I can’t.”
She suddenly looked up. “You don’t get to love me,” she urged. “You get to love a normal person, someone other than me. Just go.”
He took her hand, which remained limp.
“Sugar,” he laughed, “eat your da** sugar.”
She gently grabbed a tablet.