Last Breath
"Don't you see? I'm madly in love with you! And I just don't understand how you say you love me too, and yet you keep me at arm's length! You have no right to do that to m-..."
"I'm HIV positive," she stammered.
Ilze wasn't expecting what happened next. She hadn't planned on cutting off, nor had she intended on blurting it out so carelessly. She braced for the very worst. She knew he was angry; how could he not be. She braced herself, expecting him to lash out at her or worse ... turn around and leave without saying a word further. Instead, Patrick threw his arms around her and pulled her into his chest. They stood there for what felt like hours. She sobbed silently into his hairy chest while he stroked her hair, stopping only to wipe the tears streaming down his cheek from his own eyes. She drew back and looked into his dark, hazel eyes. Ilze lifted her hands to his face and brushed his long blonde hair to the sides, tucking them behind his fleshy ears.
"You have beautiful eyes," she said.
"I love you," was Patrick's response. He leaned in and kissed her passionately.
Minutes turned to hours, hours turned to days, days turned to years and, still, Patrick never forgot their first kiss; nor did he ever let her forget it either. He gestured to Ilze to move aside as he climbed into the hospital bed beside her. He cradling her in his arms and kissed her on the forehead, not wanting to remove her oxygen mask. Ilze slowly reached for his hand and pulled it towards her left breast, where she cupped it over her heart. She nestled her head into his broad chest, resting it over his heart, and listened as his heart beat slowed to match her own.
"How was your day?" she asked, letting her eyes close and savoring the sound of his thumping heart.
"Same old," Patrick said. "Nothing really changes in the world of capitalists and murderers. I found a half-eaten packet of Doritos in my drawer. I had my doubts about it at first, but they still tasted pretty good."
Ilze started laughing, but broke out into a violent fit of coughs. Instinctively, Patrick sat her upright and made to call the nurse, but she waved him down. Ilze squeezed his hand as she took in deep breaths until the coughing spell subsided. Feeling it was safe to do so, she gave a little chuckle before speaking again.
"You're disgusting!" she gasped.
"Says you with spittle dripping down your front," Patrick laughed. He removed her mask, wiped the corner of her lips and planted a swift kiss on her lips before placing it down again.
"Dis al weer jy op die bed wat met die mask speel, Maneer Pilkin!"
Patrick sighed and climbed out of Ilze's bed as Mrs Kotze - the ward matron - stormed in with a tray of medication. He found her to be quite entertaining. She never spoke English even though she knew he still struggled with Afrikaans, and he wasn't entirely sure she understood him when he spoke in his heavy East-African accent. Mrs Kotze reminded him of Ilze's grandmother - particularly the way in which they both walked too fast for women of their age and girth, and how neither ever had anything nice to say to him.
"Hello, Mrs Kotze," Patrick said pleasantly.
"Jah," was her curt response. She spoke in a heavy Afrikaans accent. "Visiting hour is verby, Maneer. I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave now."
"It's all right, I was just on my way out, ma'am." He said to her, before turning to Ilze once more. Her eyes smiled, a gesture that she would be okay. He ran a hand through her short, dark hair. He kissed her on the forehead once again before setting off.
As he left her ward, Patrick turned around to see Ilze force down her medication. It had been four years since they had first met, and three since that first night they kissed. The night everything had changed for him. He made the decision to stop that night, and he hadn't had any contact with most people from his life before he met Ilze ever since. His phone rang.
"Hello?"
"Patrick, my old friend. It's been a while." The voice on the other end said. Patrick stopped walking when he recognized the voice. It was a voice he had once revered, but now detested with all his being. A voice from a long time ago.
"I'm hanging up." Patrick said.
"Not if you want your diseased bitch to die in peace," the voice said. It gave a deep, humorless laugh and hissed, "you forget, I know you, Patrick. I know you.
"What do you want from me?" Patrick was now shaking, startled by the man on the other end of the line.
"You thought you could rat me out, run away and I'd let it go? You thought you could run from me? No! You thought I wouldn't find you?" The voice laughed again. "But no worries, Patty. I bear no grudges or scorn. It's all yesterday, old friend. Today, we start a new chapter in this life. Today, I release you from your guilt."
"Erm, thank you, Ali." Patrick said. "That's a relief! Well, if that was all, then ..."
"That wasn't all, you self-righteous son of a bitch!" Ali spat. He breathed heavily for a moment and then continued speaking. "Don't be so hasty to cut me off, Patty! I almost didn't get to say the best part ..."
"Oh, okay. And that is?" Patrick asked.
"Merry Christmas, Patty!"
The line went dead. Patrick was still shaken when he reached the parking lot. The phone call from his old business partner Ali Shabal had rattled him. Patrick wasn't aware that Ali had been released from prison. They were in the trucking business together back in Ethiopia some years back. Patrick learned that Ali was running a secret Arms and Narcotics route supplying rebels with guns and drugs in exchange for a sizable profit. Patrick was stunned the morning Ethiopian officials came knocking on his front door. He had somehow become entangled in Ali's entire affair, and the only way he could save himself would be to testify against his best friend. He had done so with hesitation, but what followed he had no way of expecting. A couple of days after Ali's sentencing, he found himself staring into the chamber of a loaded pistol pointed directly at his face. Had it not been for the miraculous intervention of a surprise visit from the detective in charge of the investigation, Patrick would have died that day. That was the first of three attempts on his life before he decided to leave his country of birth and seek asylum in South Africa. Months later he met Ilze van Wyk, who had just started as a new clerk at the post office where he had found work. The two of them became very good friends after a while, and soon both had fallen deeply in love. However, there was something keeping them apart. At that time Patrick had no idea what it was, until she confided in him months later that she was HIV positive. He did not care; all he wanted was to be with her. He swore she made him a better person. Patrick smiled as he unlocked his car and entered. Even though still startled by the surprise call he had received moments earlier, he could not help but smile every time he thought of his beloved. He put the key in the ignition and turned it.
Seconds turned to minutes. Minutes turned to hours. Ilze cried at the realization that Patrick wasn't coming back to her. Tears slopped down her cheeks and flooded her sheets. Mrs Kotze held her down as she sobbed hysterically. It had happened so suddenly. Minutes after he had left, a loud explosion erupted and all the wards had been evacuated. Chatter of a car-bombing soon found its way to her tired ears, but the news only got worse from then onward. She now lay in bed, shaking hysterically as wave after wave of thick, pain-filled tears flowed from her red, swollen eyes. Her breathing came in short, shallow gasps, until they came no more. Her eyes, still red and puffy, stared on without seeing at the face of Mrs Kotze, who now lifted a hand to Ilze's face and closed her eyes for the very last time.
"I'm HIV positive," she stammered.
Ilze wasn't expecting what happened next. She hadn't planned on cutting off, nor had she intended on blurting it out so carelessly. She braced for the very worst. She knew he was angry; how could he not be. She braced herself, expecting him to lash out at her or worse ... turn around and leave without saying a word further. Instead, Patrick threw his arms around her and pulled her into his chest. They stood there for what felt like hours. She sobbed silently into his hairy chest while he stroked her hair, stopping only to wipe the tears streaming down his cheek from his own eyes. She drew back and looked into his dark, hazel eyes. Ilze lifted her hands to his face and brushed his long blonde hair to the sides, tucking them behind his fleshy ears.
"You have beautiful eyes," she said.
"I love you," was Patrick's response. He leaned in and kissed her passionately.
Minutes turned to hours, hours turned to days, days turned to years and, still, Patrick never forgot their first kiss; nor did he ever let her forget it either. He gestured to Ilze to move aside as he climbed into the hospital bed beside her. He cradling her in his arms and kissed her on the forehead, not wanting to remove her oxygen mask. Ilze slowly reached for his hand and pulled it towards her left breast, where she cupped it over her heart. She nestled her head into his broad chest, resting it over his heart, and listened as his heart beat slowed to match her own.
"How was your day?" she asked, letting her eyes close and savoring the sound of his thumping heart.
"Same old," Patrick said. "Nothing really changes in the world of capitalists and murderers. I found a half-eaten packet of Doritos in my drawer. I had my doubts about it at first, but they still tasted pretty good."
Ilze started laughing, but broke out into a violent fit of coughs. Instinctively, Patrick sat her upright and made to call the nurse, but she waved him down. Ilze squeezed his hand as she took in deep breaths until the coughing spell subsided. Feeling it was safe to do so, she gave a little chuckle before speaking again.
"You're disgusting!" she gasped.
"Says you with spittle dripping down your front," Patrick laughed. He removed her mask, wiped the corner of her lips and planted a swift kiss on her lips before placing it down again.
"Dis al weer jy op die bed wat met die mask speel, Maneer Pilkin!"
Patrick sighed and climbed out of Ilze's bed as Mrs Kotze - the ward matron - stormed in with a tray of medication. He found her to be quite entertaining. She never spoke English even though she knew he still struggled with Afrikaans, and he wasn't entirely sure she understood him when he spoke in his heavy East-African accent. Mrs Kotze reminded him of Ilze's grandmother - particularly the way in which they both walked too fast for women of their age and girth, and how neither ever had anything nice to say to him.
"Hello, Mrs Kotze," Patrick said pleasantly.
"Jah," was her curt response. She spoke in a heavy Afrikaans accent. "Visiting hour is verby, Maneer. I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave now."
"It's all right, I was just on my way out, ma'am." He said to her, before turning to Ilze once more. Her eyes smiled, a gesture that she would be okay. He ran a hand through her short, dark hair. He kissed her on the forehead once again before setting off.
As he left her ward, Patrick turned around to see Ilze force down her medication. It had been four years since they had first met, and three since that first night they kissed. The night everything had changed for him. He made the decision to stop that night, and he hadn't had any contact with most people from his life before he met Ilze ever since. His phone rang.
"Hello?"
"Patrick, my old friend. It's been a while." The voice on the other end said. Patrick stopped walking when he recognized the voice. It was a voice he had once revered, but now detested with all his being. A voice from a long time ago.
"I'm hanging up." Patrick said.
"Not if you want your diseased bitch to die in peace," the voice said. It gave a deep, humorless laugh and hissed, "you forget, I know you, Patrick. I know you.
"What do you want from me?" Patrick was now shaking, startled by the man on the other end of the line.
"You thought you could rat me out, run away and I'd let it go? You thought you could run from me? No! You thought I wouldn't find you?" The voice laughed again. "But no worries, Patty. I bear no grudges or scorn. It's all yesterday, old friend. Today, we start a new chapter in this life. Today, I release you from your guilt."
"Erm, thank you, Ali." Patrick said. "That's a relief! Well, if that was all, then ..."
"That wasn't all, you self-righteous son of a bitch!" Ali spat. He breathed heavily for a moment and then continued speaking. "Don't be so hasty to cut me off, Patty! I almost didn't get to say the best part ..."
"Oh, okay. And that is?" Patrick asked.
"Merry Christmas, Patty!"
The line went dead. Patrick was still shaken when he reached the parking lot. The phone call from his old business partner Ali Shabal had rattled him. Patrick wasn't aware that Ali had been released from prison. They were in the trucking business together back in Ethiopia some years back. Patrick learned that Ali was running a secret Arms and Narcotics route supplying rebels with guns and drugs in exchange for a sizable profit. Patrick was stunned the morning Ethiopian officials came knocking on his front door. He had somehow become entangled in Ali's entire affair, and the only way he could save himself would be to testify against his best friend. He had done so with hesitation, but what followed he had no way of expecting. A couple of days after Ali's sentencing, he found himself staring into the chamber of a loaded pistol pointed directly at his face. Had it not been for the miraculous intervention of a surprise visit from the detective in charge of the investigation, Patrick would have died that day. That was the first of three attempts on his life before he decided to leave his country of birth and seek asylum in South Africa. Months later he met Ilze van Wyk, who had just started as a new clerk at the post office where he had found work. The two of them became very good friends after a while, and soon both had fallen deeply in love. However, there was something keeping them apart. At that time Patrick had no idea what it was, until she confided in him months later that she was HIV positive. He did not care; all he wanted was to be with her. He swore she made him a better person. Patrick smiled as he unlocked his car and entered. Even though still startled by the surprise call he had received moments earlier, he could not help but smile every time he thought of his beloved. He put the key in the ignition and turned it.
Seconds turned to minutes. Minutes turned to hours. Ilze cried at the realization that Patrick wasn't coming back to her. Tears slopped down her cheeks and flooded her sheets. Mrs Kotze held her down as she sobbed hysterically. It had happened so suddenly. Minutes after he had left, a loud explosion erupted and all the wards had been evacuated. Chatter of a car-bombing soon found its way to her tired ears, but the news only got worse from then onward. She now lay in bed, shaking hysterically as wave after wave of thick, pain-filled tears flowed from her red, swollen eyes. Her breathing came in short, shallow gasps, until they came no more. Her eyes, still red and puffy, stared on without seeing at the face of Mrs Kotze, who now lifted a hand to Ilze's face and closed her eyes for the very last time.
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