"Your T-shirt is inside out."

I looked down on it.

Yeah, and full of holes and two sizes two small.

But I didn't say that.

"Thank you", I said instead.

I didn't try to fix it. The veterinary, an elderly man that should probably have retired a good while ago, put his hand on my shoulder.

"I'm so sorry", he said.

It's just been us, I wanted to say but didn't because what made my case so special? It's just been us. For so many years. And now, it will be just me at home.

She had been so bad in the car, I had been prepared that they wouldn't try to do anything. Even so, I had begged. Begged. Begged for them to please try, to please operate, to please do anything to spare her life, I would pay any money, double, triple.

"It's not humane", the veterinary had said. "She's suffering, son."

"But she's not human!" I had said pathetically. "She's a cat!"

I knew that he was right and I was wrong.

I looked down on her, her fur tousled with blood that had come from her intestines. She had used every last bit of power fighting me in the car, trying to bite, trying to claw. It was the first time I had been angry with her.

"You shut up and stop biting because I swear to God, I don't have time to go to the doctors and get antibiotics for a bite!!" I'd screamed, upon which she'd reduced herself to pure resentment, ignoring me.

God, I had wanted to comfort her. I had wanted to comfort her so badly. To put my fingers in her fur, to clean away the blood, to nuzzle her, but I knew she wouldn't let me and I had too much respect for my life partner to even try. And beneath all of this, another emotion so strong, you could probably have extracted it from my heart and collected it in a glass in liquid form.

Guilt.

"Has she had any change of foods or eating habits lately? Any stress?" the veterinary had asked.

Her sensitive stomach combined with the delayed dinners as she refused it for so long before eating as well as the stress I'd put her through had caused her this.

"Have some alone time with her", the veterinary said.

"I'll be quick", I said; I didn't want to see her suffer like this for longer than necessary.

The door closed, and we were left to it, me with my inside-out T-shirt, and my beautiful white cat, the one I'd taken from the shelter because she'd been there for the longest, so ugly in her lack of fur, so pure in how she clung to me, desperate for human contact. Tears burned like acid in my eyes as I thought of how desperately she'd trusted me, and how grateful she had been for the normality I had provided her. That was the best thing I could have given her, really. Normality. So many of us strived to live extraordinary which made us dissatisfied with our normal ones, not being able to see the beauty within it.

"I'm sorry", I told her.

That, somehow, must have created a spark within her because she opened her eyes wide and turned her head looking at me, as if she'd been an outdoor cat scavenging for mice and had just heard a rustle in the leaves.

"I'm so, so sorry, Betty." Her ears flicked at her name. "I have loved you. I still do. I always will."

And that was the final straw.

I broke down to my knees, burying my face in her fur.

And she let me.

She let me and she started to purr, forgiving me.

As the veterinary came in, I held her paw with one hand, stroke her head with the other. I knew I always turned red and blotchy when I cried but I didn't have the headspace to care.

"Do you want to be with her when it happens?" the veterinary asked. "Some people prefer not to see."

The thought of abandoning Betty when she was put under, of her wondering where her master had gone, why he had abandoned her in her last moments of life, tore my heart apart.

"I'm staying", I said.

And I did.

She fought to keep her eyes open, looking straight at me, but I noticed it became harder and harder for her.

But I was there.

For the last time her eyes made contact with the world, I was there.

For the last breath she took, I was there.

For the last moment she suffered, I was there.

I was there with the love of my life when she was put to sleep. 

Coming home was unbearable. Even if she'd avoided me for what felt like an eternity, I had known she was there.

Now, however, she was not.

I walked around my apartment, put my hands behind my head. God, how fast life could change. God, God, God, how fast life could change. I would have to get rid of all of her things. All of her little toys. All of the food I had stocked for her. The thought tore me apart.

I suddenly stopped, looked in the windowsill in the living room next to my pottery wheel. I frowned, picked up the piece of paper that had caught my attention.

Izuna's drawing of Betty.

I looked at it for a long time.

Then, I went to the hallway, put on my shoes without even caring to change out of the outrageous clothes I had put on in my haste to get Betty to the vet, took my car keys, and walked out.

I took the car and drove. It was time. Now was as good a time as any, and I couldn't stand being home, anyway.

When I arrived, I got out, closed the car door, locked the car, a sense of hurry bathing my muscles.

"Nate?!" I called, opening the door. "Nate!?"

"Jesus Christ, mate, what the hell is happening?"

Nate was a hidden goldmine because he was the country's best tattoo artist by far but still not half as booked or pricey as he should be because he himself had all of zero tattoos which made some people unable to trust him with their skin. But he had done the crying cloud and my back piece and I would trust the man with my life.

I just handed him the paper.

"This is..." he said. "This is really good." He looked up at me. "Who did it?" I shook my head, making him understand it hurt too much to tell him. "Okay, where do you want it?"

"I thought my pec, but..."

Nate furrowed his brows, looking down on my body, thinking, imagining.

"Deltoid", he said.

"Deltoid", I agreed.

"Do you want it in my style, or..?"

"No", I said. "I want it exactly the way it is."

I didn't like coffee, but I had learned. Mostly because the inconvenience of drinking the disgusting liquid was much more manageable than the inconvenience of people's stupid reactions when you said you didn't drink it. Unfortunately, despite my dislike, I was now addicted to it.

It was exactly one week after Betty had died, and I was in the library, reading about landscape painting while drinking coffee. I wanted to make an actual collection of shit and see where I could go with it. If anyone would want them.

My phone ringed. I was too exhausted to feel tired about it, just picked up without thinking.

"It's Roland."

"Hi", I said, feeling glad it was him.

"I heard you're getting into directing."

I thought about it.

"For a bit", I said.

"Do you want to?" Roland asked. "Start directing, I mean?" 

"No", I said. "But I need to. No, scratch that, I don't need to, but I know several people who need me to."

"Are you doing something that's not egoistic?" Roland asked, feigning surprise.

"Yeah, just like when I ensured your child could get her life-saving treatment." I bit my tongue and cursed myself. "Sorry, that was rude."

But Ron just laughed.

"But does this..." Ron suddenly became careful. "Does this mean you don't need me anymore?"

I thought for a bit.

"No. I want you to find me films to direct. And I'll give you one year to find a new job." Actually, having been my agent, people would fight over Ron, but I didn't tell him. I would let that be a pleasant surprise for him. For his wife. For his sick daughter Cornelia. "One year should be enough for me to shake things up a bit before leaving the industry." 

It was a pleasant feeling; trusting I would be able to do something like that. Shake things up a bit. And leaving the industry.

"Thank you", Ron said.

Suddenly, I saw a figure outside the door of my room in the library. A cute boy, short, with chopped, blonde hair and glasses. He wore a very preppy blue shirt that he hadn't tucked in and marine chinos.

"I need to go", I said as the boy opened the door.

He was looking away shyly. He was, when I saw him, incredibly pretty. I suddenly became very curious about the new life I could lead now I'd realised I had the capacity to fall in love with men as well. I wondered what the boy wanted. Borrow the computer? He would've chosen a less intimidating person to bother then than me, surely?

"Can I help you?" I asked.

The boy looked up at me for the first time. I frowned. That's...

"It's me."

No fucking way in hell.

"Izuna..."

"You didn't recognise me, did you?" he asked, daring a small smile. He had pierced his eyebrow, I saw.

"May I sit down?" he asked.

I broke down and burst into tears in our little library room. 

His hands burned my skin to ashes.

I had never even considered him to be capable to do such things, even if I had seen so many things he was capable of.

Maybe, that was the thing. That he was different off camera, himself.

Entirely himself.

I was an emotional wreck, so different from my usual, steady self. I was afraid my usual, steady self was gone forever now, that I had become forever fragile. How else would he have me on my back? How else would he sit on his knees, towering above me as he masturbated me. I was in my T-shirt but bare from my waist down for him, him fully dressed, and he could pin my entire heavy body down just with his gaze alone. He didn't look at my dick; he kept his eyes steady on mine. I tried to look at him but couldn't; it was just too intense. I closed my eyes, lips parted, panting as all of my nerve endings detached from their spots and re-attached themselves in my groin so I could feel his touch a million times stronger.

"Don't stop", I breathed. "Don't stop."

"Don't worry", he said softly. "I won't stop."

He beat me until I started screaming but he still wouldn't let me come. He released me, pulled his trousers down, made me watch as he stretched himself first with his fingers and then with a toy. Then, he sat on my lap and started jumping, his hands on my shoulders, loving moans escaping his lips. After his hand-job I was a sensitive mess so I came almost immediately, and Izuna pulled out, grabbed my hair, put my mouth to his dick so I could suck. I did until he came, too, and then I sucked him dry until he was a trembling, whimpering mess and in doing this, I finally got him back to me, I finally got myself back to me, hugging him close to my chest, both of us panting as we'd worked so, so hard for each other.

"I don't want you to go", I said.

"I don't want to leave you, either", he whispered.

"Yes, you do", I said.

He didn't say against me, just stayed quiet.

"Come with me", he suddenly said.

I looked back at him, brows furrowed, considering this possibility. It doesn't have to end here. I can move with him.

But it was just a game in my mind. I didn't actually consider it.

I shook my head.

"You need to do this alone", I said. "And I need to fix things."

Like myself.

"I want you closer", he said suddenly, tearing his own T-shirt off, going for mine. "What's..." he began, fingering my shoulder. "You have a new... Oh..."

He gasped as he saw my tattoo, not yet fully healed and deep in colour. His design of Betty.

"I hope you don't mind", I said, suddenly worried. "Shit, I should've asked you first before using your art."

He burst into tears. He clung to me, looked at the tattoo over and over, unable to believe his art was on someone's skin forever, just like I was unable to believe I was in his soul forever, which I must be, I just must, because this was worth so much to me that it had to be for him, too, or I wouldn't be able to stand it.

"Thank you", he snivelled, hiccupping. "Thank you from the bottom of my heart."

I kissed the top of his head over and over. We fell asleep in each other's embraces then. When I woke up the next morning, he was gone.

And I was completely alone, not even a Betty there to comfort me.

I walked out to the living room, saw the only trace left of him, the vase that I had helped him make, still unpainted. 

It would remain forever unpainted.

Just like I would remain forever fragile.