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She sat silently beside the small bed. The bright white of the room made it seem like such a cheerful place to be. Yet, the small room contained all her greatest fears; needles, IV’s, that irritating beep that had to be there, and the one person she loved more than anything, laying, dieing, in that hospital room. She never wanted to have to sit and watch her love suffer knowing that he would just continue to fade into nothing. He was so near that point at that moment, the steady beep of his heart slowly fading by the day, his breathing becoming more and more shallow. She had sat in that same chair for months, every day, just to spend his last days with him. A tear slid down her face, she knew it could have all been prevented, yet she had kept silent, and let him gain that horrid disease he now lay dieing from. She gently touched a large tattoo on his skin, and thought about how that simple piece of art could start something this horrific.
***
The streets were too crowded, but to the young couple it didn’t matter; they were living their dream: New Year’s Eve in New York City. He wrapped his arms around her back; so much had happened over the last year, so many fights and hardships with money and family; the New Year would be much better, he promised himself that. Their wedding was just months away, and neither of them could be happier. He slipped his hand quickly into his jacket pocket to be sure that the little slip of paper was there. He had drawn it months earlier, even before their engagement; and that night, it was being put permanently with him. The sketched angel, and animated version of his fiancé, was being tattooed on his upper arm. He had found a tattoo parlor open all night, and after the infamous ball drop, they were going there.
“Ten…Nine…Eight…Seven…Six…Five…Four…Three…Two…One…Happy New Year!” The crowd rang with the sound of celebration, a welcome to 1990. He pulled her close and kissed her.
***
The crowd began to slowly thin as they made their way toward a dark street. Snow began to lightly fall into the blackness of the alleyway. He wrapped his arm over her shoulder as they walked, slowly nearing the red neon sigh that screamed “Tattoo” into the night. There was a sudden nervous flutter in her stomach, but she kept silent; who wouldn’t be nervous about someone they love having needles stuck into them?
They entered the bedroom-sized shop and she hated what she saw. Unpackaged needles covered a small countertop along the opposite wall, along with open ink bottles and bloody rags. A few chairs were sat near the door, she assumed for people like her, too nervous to get a tattoo, but still willing to come with a friend. A single black chair sat near the counter, and beside it stood a perfect stereotype of a tattoo artist. Barley any of his arms were visible skin, but instead they were multicolor murals that could easily tell a novel.
He showed the artist the drawing, and the artist nodded in response, motioning for him to take a seat in the black chair. He sat and the artist began to search through the piles on the counter. She watched as the pulled a needle from the counter and raised it into the light, making sure the coloring on the end was black, just as her fiancé wanted it. The artist rinsed the needle under water, she assumed to clean it, and began. She sat in the chair nearest the door, the nervous flutter still in her stomach through the entire event.
***
As she sat beside the hospital bed, she thought about that day. She knew now why she had felt those nervous butterflies; the needle had been dirty, and not the typical ‘just some dirt’ dirty. The kind of dirty that held disease.
That day almost three years earlier was what had placed her beside his bed the night. She carefully brought his hand to her lips and softly brushed her lips against the gold band which circled his finger, “Forever” and their wedding date were engraved onto the inner of the band, just as it was on hers. The happiness that should have been their honeymoon had instead been full of tests and doctor’s visits. The forever that they had promised has become less than three years. The steady beep that had become his lifeline was fading faster, farther apart. She began to cry again. It seem to her like that was all she had been doing lately, crying. She wished he could come out of the disease. She wished she could see his green eyes again, hear the soft whisper of his voice again, feel the warmth of this embrace as she fell asleep one last time.
The soft beep of his life faded into nothing. She sat there, beside the body, all that was left of her love, and cried. She vowed that the empty space in her heart left by him would never be filled. She would never even try to replace him. She hoped she would soon die of the same disease that had killed him. The HIV that he had given to her, his had turned so quickly into AIDS, and she hoped that it would soon do the same for her. She hoped she could soon be laying in that bed, waiting to join him in their deaths.