The One With the Pill Collection

“Did it hurt?” I whisper.
“Not for long.”
I’m having a hard time keeping my eyes open now. Hugh seems to be moving up and down with the breathing of the bed.
“They’ve been awful since you left,” I say. “Like they have nothing to live for.”
Hugh looks at me strangely. Cocking his head and curling his lip like I’ve just said something ridiculous. I forgot that look. Forgot that it ever existed even thought he must have given it to me a thousand times.
“You’re the one with the pill collection,” he says.
I can’t sit up straight anymore. I lean over and put my cheek on the pillow. It has the perfect coolness of your first few seconds in bed.
“I want you to come home,” I say.
“I know, buddy,” he says. “I can’t do anything about that.” He stands up and pulls the covers over my shoulders, tucking me in.
Aren’t you supposed to be saving me?” I say.
“I can’t,” Hugh says, very softly. “I’m not really here.”
-Lisa Carey, Every Visible Thing