I almost lost him today.

The warmth of his chest against my back through layers of clothing only chills me; his hands stroke the skin under my shirt, his breath is warm against my throat.

I know they don’t blame me. But I can’t help thinking; how long can they come back just this side of dead, alive enough for me to send out whenever the rift spews out something awful? What about the next time? And the next?

I know he senses my guilt; his lips line my neck with kisses.

He wants to take it away.

He can't.