As the anticonvulsant, antidepressant, and anti-inflammatory cocktail hammered through my bloodstream, I felt my facial muscles gradually unstiffen from their disbelieving grimace. Sleep, the voices around me said, at least for the first week or so. It’s easier.
On our third date we did some petting. She said she didn’t mind my nose that drooped like burnt wax and was porous with puss. She coiled her hands into my chest hair which was whitening with the withering days. I couldn’t afford to pay her much, hence she only gave half-assed blowies. Out of pity she called this encounter a date. She knew I was dying, and I knew I needed to put that pity where my pennies weren’t.