I laid awake in the middle of the night. I was exhausted from sex, but that didn't mean I was tired in a sense of actually sleeping. First night in a long time I couldn't sleep. Maybe because I was still ecstatic about what happened. Pete stared up at the ceiling of the tent. His eyes were wide open. He whispered, "You may be asleep, but you may not. I can't sleep. Each time I breathe in, my chest feels as if it's going to concave. My heart is pounding against the skin of my chest like it's trying to get out. It hurts to breathe, but hurts even more not to breathe. I can already feel that it's going to be one of those days again. My depressing days. I feel like I shouldn't be alive because it already feels like I'm dying. When I'm dead and gone will my memory carry on? Would you be my savior to the broken, beaten, and damned?"

I finally spoke to interupt his train of thought, "You're not dying. Even if you were I wouldn't want to live anymore. Your memory will carry on, I promise. I love you, Pete. Let me be your savior."

He managed a smile, "I love you too. Those are some song lyrics of a few songs stuck in my head that I can't get out, but fit how I feel perfectly."

"Please don't ever want to die, Pete. Don't let this win. Don't let it take over your thoughts. I don't know what I would do without you..."

Of course he would let that happen.

"I would never die on purpose. I will try for you. No matter how painful or hurtful it can be to me I will try for you."

I didn't want him to try so hard if he was in pain or hurting....I just wanted him to be okay. That's all I really ever wanted. I asked, "Have you been taking your medication?"

He nodded, "Yeah, but I think it's just making things worse."

"I'll take you to the doctor's, baby. I'm just worried about you. I just want you to be okay."

He wrapped his arms around me, "I'm okay as long as I'm with you."

I was madly in love with him. I knew it deep in my heart. It ached when I was away from him. It beated faster when I was near him. Time stands still when we are together. Being far from each other felt like eternity and thank god that doesn't happen often.

I intertwined my fingers with his, remembering what those fingers had done to me last night. I whispered, "Thanks for the memories, Pete."

He kissed my cheek, "They were so great."

I couldn't help, but to smile. He spoke again, "I'm already feeling better in your arms."

He breathed quietly against the back of my shoulder. I said, "I always feel better in your arms."

It was true everything about those warm strong tattooed filled tan arms was comforting. We laid there for a little while. Pete fell asleep in no time. I was still awake, thinking. I was so worried about him. I didn't want anything to happen to my little Pete. I wanted him to be okay. I do. That's all I wanted. If he's broken and tortured in this world by his mind or by his heart I can't be the one to be holding him back from letting go.

I can't and I won't.

I won't stand here watching him fall apart. To only be trying for me. Even if trying is the hardest thing he could do, even if it hurts to breathe. I plan on leaving him. Not because I don't love him, but because I love him more than anything.

After I take him to the doctor's to see what's wrong I'll leave or stay according to what he says. Tears formed in the corner of my eyes. It was painful just thinking about leaving him, the love of my life just for him to die in peace. Which made me sob even more. Pete woke up and shook me, "Patrick, wake up...honey everything is okay. Just wake up you're having a bad dream."

My eyes opened and I looked at him. I wished this was all a bad dream, but it's a nightmare in my reality. He wiped my tears with his thumbs, "It's okay. Shhh. I'm here. What were you dreaming about?"

I sniffled. He was perfect in every way. The way he comforted me with genuine concern. I was going to miss this.

I was going to miss him. I shook my head, "I can't sleep...You get some rest I'm going to go on a little walk."

I kissed his lips lightly and began putting on a pair of shorts and Pete's soccer hoody. He only nodded. He didn't say another word. I think he knew it was best not to.

I jammed my fists into the pocket of his hoody. Each time I wiped a tear from my cheek I could smell Pete. His sweatshirt smelled so strongly of his essence. This would be the only item I would want left of him. I would surly steal this. Just as most girlfriends would steal their boyfriend's hoodies.

I walked along the edge of the small cliff to the creek. All the way down to the rope swing. I sat beside the swinging rope in the wind. I kept rubbing my eyes and sniffling. I wasn't sure which one would hurt more. The possibility that Pete could be dying or that I might have to leave him. He would be leaving this world and I would be leaving my world, my everything, my Pete.

I threw a stone into the water. I watched it plop in the rushing small waterfall and disappear into the ripples. I leaned my head back onto the grass. My legs hovered over the cliff's edge. I stared up at the moon. It was full, beautiful, and bright. I sang quietly to no one imparticular, "You're eyes are the size of the moon."

It was a reference to Pete's big brown eyes. I didn't know where the line came from, but I knew a tune that worked with it. I closed my eyes and listened to the rustling of the trees. I began sobbing. No one was there to hear me. I just started mourning. It was as if I had already lost him. If I couldn't pull myself together now how was I ever to?

I buried my face into my hands. Everything hurt. My stomach churned with sickness. My chest beated with pain. My heart ached with hurt.

I wished I was the one who might die and not him. Of course I don't even know if he is dying or not. I couldn't stay here and wait another day to find out either. Maybe we could leave everything and go to the doctor. Then come back here. No one comes here anyways. I liked that idea. Of course there is always the possibility of animals so maybe not.

I stared up at the tree in which held the rope. I had a sudden urge to climb it. Being reckless is a new quality of mine. Not like that was even reckless. I started climbing it. My hands wrapped around each branch as I pulled myself up. I finally reached the high branch that held the rope. I wondered who put it here if Pete says no one comes here.

I heard a twig break. I was startled and turned to see Pete walking towards me. He smiled and laid down in the grass where I had laid. He looked directly up at me. He said quietly, "Patrick, are you okay?"

I looked down at him. I didn't know how to answer that. I wasn't okay. I was broken inside. I lied through my teeth, "I'm fine."

He sighed, "I don't think so."

His arm extended and hit the rope so it would swing forward and back to him. I asked, "How did this rope get here if you said no one comes here?"

He halfheartedly smiled, "My dad put it here."

I looked at him questionably. He continued, "When I was your age I ran away from home. I was still in Chicago, but I didn't know where to go. I was always on the run. I didn't have enough money for an apartment of any sort. My mother was worried about me, but at the time I didn't care. I had just joined a band. My life was turning around. We all slept in the van or in the basement of one of their homes. Life was pretty alright until they kicked me out. Then I was a kid on the streets again. My father came in contact with me, finally. I had never met him before, but he decided to reach out to me. Where I live now was his house. He took me to this creek one day. Of course I wasn't the little kid he thought I was. By that time I was nineteen. But he still insisted on saying we were going on an adventure. He put this swing up for us to swing into the water together. We would come here every weekend. I started a job of doing soccer. I had an offer for a scholarship in college. I don't know why, but I declined it, but that was before I even met my dad. Maybe because I didn't want to go through the pressure and expectations of college. My teaching children soccer business was really taking off. Then my dad grew depressed and ill. His mind was having an internal battle with himself... Our trips to the creek shortened. We didn't come here as often anymore. It got to the point where it had been five months since we were last here. I urged him to come here. To enjoy a good day for once...."

Pete's voice softened. You could hear the hurt in his voice. "We were having fun and joking, playing soccer and swimming. We spent the night here. The next day I took him home and left for practice.... When I returned I um...."

He started crying. His voice cracked and stuttered, "I found him laying on the living room floor with a b-bottle of beer in his hands and his c-container of pills spilled out beside his still b-body. He wasn't breathing and there was n-no pulse...."

I started tearing up. I could only imagine how Pete felt. He said, "Here I am now. A few years later, suffering what he might had suffered. It hasn't gotten to be as bad as his was, yet anyways.... You're really helping me, Patrick. You're helping me forget the ghost of a man I once knew. Helping me overcome this mental illness that is slowly eating me alive. Please don't ever leave...I need you more than any medication anyone could ever give me..."

I started tearing up again. What in the world was I thinking? I can't leave him. He needs me and frankly I need him too. I felt so bad for him. I don't think I had ever cried as much as I have tonight.

I climbed down the tree and laid against Pete. My head rested on his chest where I heard his pulse, every beat of his heart. It was like a symphony to my ears knowing he was still alive and breathing.

We laid there together. I finally spoke, "I'm not leaving you. I love you and don't you ever forget that."

His breathing changed from short breaths to now, long deep breaths. He had fallen asleep. I closed my eyes and fell asleep against him in the dry moonlit grass, waiting for morning to break.

*****

The sun was shining so brightly. I woke up in the tent. I had thought we fell asleep beside the rope tree and the creek side. I looked over at Pete who, thank God, was taking his meds. He must've carried me here.

I said groggily, "Good morning, sunshine."

He turned and smiled at me, "Good morning, love."

It wasn't going to be one of those days. I could tell it was going to be a good day or at least after the doctor's I will make it a good day. I crawled off the mattress to kiss Pete on the cheek. He turned his head and I ended up kissing him on the lips. Which was alright with me.

I clapped my hands together, "Okay looks like we have a lot of packing to do."

He asked, "So we aren't coming back for another night?"

I shook my head, "We can always come back any other night or every weekend."

He nodded, smiling and we started packing it all up. It didn't take quite as long as it did unpacking it.

After that we drove straight to his doctor's. Which reminded me, I should probably sign up there too because I no longer have healthcare from a doctor since I now live in Chicago.

The car trip wasn't that long. We didn't even make it into the downtown main city part. His doctor was even more deep into the suburbs. We pulled into the parking lot of a large bland gray building. It was no more than two stories, if that, but it connected to another building. Both medical places. I followed Pete inside.

The inner part was a lot nicer than the outside. It had shiny wooden floors with plants aligned the large hallway, along with a sunroof. As we walked along the hallways became smaller. The ceiling grew closer and the walls too. The hallway was now much smaller.

All you could hear was the echo of our shoes hitting the linoleum. We finally got to a large waiting room which was through double doors. Then the ceiling was higher in there with a sunroof. Clear, letting the sun seep through into the room. Other than that and the smell of rainforests with all the wood, it was any other doctor's office.

A receptionist sat behind a counter with a glass sliding door in front of her face. Pete went up to her and checked in. He had already scheduled the appointment. I sat in an uncomfortable chair next to a table of piled magazines. There was a small corner for children to play. When I was little I could never play in our children's corner because it might've contained too much germs.

The TV attached to the wall was playing none other than a news network. I hated the doctor's. I didn't know if it was because of my childhood memories or what, but I hated it.

Pete was soon called in. No one else was in the waiting room. Either they had no business today or everyone was late coming here.

I tapped my foot anxiously waiting for Pete to come out. I really really hoped he was okay. The wait was nearly killing me.

Pete finally came out. He didn't smile at me. He glanced at me, but wouldn't look at me longer than 10 seconds. He signed out. I completely forgot about the idea of signing up here.

Pete walked out and I followed him. "Pete, what did he say?"

Pete didn't say anything. His pace sped up. I was now basically running after him, "Pete!"

He stopped outside and was crying. I was breathing heavily, "Pete...what...happened..."

He didn't answered me.

I didn't find out what happened in that doctor's office until a few weeks later. What he told me now was, "I just want to have a fun day with you. Okay? Let's go do that."

I nodded and took the keys from Pete. He wasn't stable enough to drive. I wouldn't let him. He may always be reckless, but now was not a good time. At all.

I drove. It was a different ride. I didn't speed up like he did. I followed the rules of the road. It was different for sure.