Gemotions

He stared at the hospital room, a sterile box of white and anxiety. The rhythmic beep of the heart monitor was a constant taunt. Sarah’s body was a battlefield, ravaged by the same relentless assault that had decimated his own. The doctors offered platitudes, but he knew the truth. They were powerless. He felt a sharp, icy pleasure at their helplessness.

He’d found her profile online, a desperate plea for understanding, for a cure. He’d recognized the symptoms immediately, the same slow, insidious unraveling. He'd pretended to offer solace, feigning empathy. He was going to watch her suffer, to ensure she felt the full weight of what he had endured.

He pulled up a chair and sat. He hadn’t slept in days. "How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice deliberately soft, filled with a false tenderness that he knew would make her feel safe. He enjoyed seeing her relax.