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We were kissing by the time we got in the front door. Even though I knew he wasn't cold, I bundled him up in the duvet, told him that help was on the way. Something that told me that I could do this, that I could help Yves ease from this life to whatever was to follow.But I insisted that he take some Tylenol, and go lie on the bed. I stroked his scalp, too, and he relaxed under my hands. By then, I knew this was not a headache or a migraine; I somehow intuited it was an aneurysm. I had always thought I'd be a panicked mess in a moment like this, but all I felt was stillness. I was numbed out and hyper-vigilant at once, waiting for some word, any word about what was wrong with Yves.
I lay in the bed, the light on the floor glaring up at me.
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But when I wrapped my arm around his waist and pulled him toward me, we both fell forward, my back hitting the vanity as I struggled to cushion him from the fall. I'm not sure what made me get in touch with Yves when I saw him on Salon personals.
He also said, maybe about 4 o'clock, that he had a mild headache.
So it didn't seem strange to me when he asked to skip the market and head home.