“Don’t, Imogen. Please, just don’t,” he said, almost angrily.
I squeezed his hand hard. Maybe too hard. I wasn’t being delicate. I was feeling sort of wild.
“Why can’t you?” I demanded.
Yoss’s green eyes burned. “Because you have a life, one that doesn’t include me. I won’t mess that up. I can’t. So just drop it, Imi. Because I’m not strong enough to say no to you. You need to be strong enough for both of us.” He turned his face away, towards the darkened window.
I reached out and touched his face. “I have a life, Yoss. That’s true. But it’s never been the life I wanted. Not really. I have a job. I have a house. I have friends. But it’s never felt like enough.” I gently gripped his chin and pulled his face back towards me. His cheeks were wet. It shattered me slowly.
“I have to know I did the right thing,” he implored so quietly that I had to strain to hear him. “Don’t tell me it was all for nothing.”
“I need you, Yoss,” I told him simply. Truthfully.
He shook his head. “No you don’t. You don’t need the horrible things I will bring to your life. I’m a fucking homeless guy with hepatitis and a shot liver who will probably die at any damn moment. Why in the hell would you want anything to do with my shit life, whatever’s left of it?” His voice quavered and his hand shook in mine.
I leaned in. He met me halfway. I rested my forehead against his. “Because I love you, Yoss.”
He let out a tiny sob. It seemed wrenched from somewhere deep down inside. “You love a memory, Imogen,” he argued.
I cupped his too lean face in my hands. His skin was rough under my fingers. “You’re still my Yoss. Years haven’t changed that.”
He closed his eyes and took a shuddering breath. “You won’t love me when you see who I’ve become. I’m not the boy I used to be. I can’t give you sunsets and fairytales, Imogen. I’m dying. Because of horrible choices that have ruined me. I’ll only ruin you too.”
I kissed him carefully, in case he rejected me. I was prepared for him to pull away at the touch of my lips on his.
But he didn’t.
So I lingered.
As long as I was able to.
“You’re not the same. Neither of us are. But I know that I will love the man as much as I loved the boy.”
I kissed him again. More urgently. He wouldn’t open his mouth. It was a pressing of lips. Scared and unsure.
“Come home with me, Yoss.”
I saw it. The softening. The moment when my words hit him exactly where I wanted them to.
“I don’t want you to do this because you think I need someone to take care of me,” he replied roughly, swinging his legs to the side and throwing off the blankets.
“I wouldn’t dare think that,” I said seriously, with only the hint of a smile.
“I’m terrified to want this,” he whispered.
“Don’t be.”
“I shouldn’t. I made a choice once. I thought it was the right thing. What does it mean if it wasn’t?” He seemed to be talking more to himself than to me, but I answered him anyway.
“Then we’ll pave a new way together. Make new choices. The right ones this time. The ones that end up with us together.” Yoss looked at me and I knew he’d come with me.
It was written on his face.
Longing.
Desperate, heartfelt longing.
“How can I say no? I’d always do just about anything to see you looking at me like that.” He smiled and then looked down at himself. “I can’t leave wearing this though. I mean, I’m used to the cold, but this might be pushing it.”
I regarded Yoss’s pale green hospital gown. I got up and started opening the cabinets underneath the counter looking for the clothes he had been admitted in. I found them in a pile. Someone had laundered them but it was easy to see how worn and tattered the material was. I ran my hand over the threadbare cotton.
“I’m surprised they weren’t burned,” Yoss remarked. He took the clothes I handed him. “I’ll just be a minute. That should give you enough time to come to your senses, right?” He tried to laugh. It sounded harsh.
“Go get changed, Yoss. I’ll go start the discharge paperwork. But we’re leaving here together. Okay?” I needed his agreement. I needed to know we were doing this.
Yoss nodded, a strange look on his face. “Okay.” He slipped into the bathroom and quietly closed the door behind him.
I walked out to the nurse’s station. Jill was behind the desk, typing on the computer. “Hi Jill,” I said to get her attention.
The woman looked up at me and smiled. “Imogen, hello! Another late one, huh?”
“Actually, I’m here to help with Yossarian Frazier’s discharge. Can you start the paperwork?”
Jill looked confused. “Dr. Howell hasn’t said anything—”