“I can’t live without you isn’t some fucking cliche,” I said, drying his tears as his eyelids drooped and his hold on my jacket slackened. “But I’m going to do it, anyway.” “I’ll find you,” he said, fighting sleep. “I…love you.” “This isn’t love, Clint.” I cried for all three of us, weeping all over him. “Not anymore.” “Then what is it?” he mouthed more than spoke. “Poison.” The low dose, slow-killing kind, and we’d reached the death end of it.
