I'M EXHAUSTED.

My legs feel like lead. My head feels like it weighs one-thousand pounds. My entire body smells like a trash field. All I want is to soak up in a boiling bath and will the cramps and knots on my back, arms, and legs to go away.

Finally getting to my destination, I open the door and head straight to the bedroom, surpassing Angie's sleepy form on the couch. It's weird seeing her alone, she's usually crazy glued to Devin. My lips turn into a soft smile.

Their interaction, whenever she's not trying to hump his leg, is sweet, making me imagine how Devin will be like with a child.

Our child.

How would it be to cuddle up next to someone Devin and I created out of love? A little of him and a little of me. Someone that will forever link us together. The feeling warms my heart into melted chocolate.

Reaching the door, I give it a slight push.

Darkness.

Nothing can be seen in our bedroom. The curtains are drawn all the way. Not one slip of ray illuminates the room. Devin's soft whistles are the only sign that someone is in here. If I had more strength in me, I'd go check up on him and give him a kiss, but I'm way too tired to move any further than I need to.

Needing a shower right away, I ignore the urge inside me demanding I give him a kiss or swipe a hand over his forehead like I do every night. I enter the bathroom and let out a sigh of relief.

After spending the entire day packaging the many items I have—the many items I now find useless and have no idea what I was thinking when I bought them in the first place—the apartment downstairs is cleaner than ever before. Hence the dirtiness in my body.

Hot drops of water kiss my naked flesh with urgency. I close my eyes and delve into the steam covering me and the feel of my bones relaxing. Mindlessly reaching for my coconut shampoo, I squeeze a gradual amount into my palm and massage my scalp. Moaning at the feeling, I imagine Devin cleaning me just like he did back in Cuba.

His hands on me. My hands on him. Touching every single curve of his muscles. Exploring his whole body as he did the same with mine. His touch will never get old. The warmth that spreads through my core with his simple kiss will never lessen.

And that's why. Because his kisses are never simple. They're the water in my life, nourishing my senses.

Where's the shy girl who blushed when she talked about sex? Or the girl who had never been kissed by a man?

That girl is gone. That girl doesn't exist anymore. That girl has now flourished into a woman. A strong woman, not just for others but strong for myself. All of this, I owe to Devin. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't be the person I am today. He's taught me to be strong, to grow up and step out of my comfort zone.

He's taught me to live.

It's something I'll forever be grateful for. Now, it's my turn to show him how strong he is. I don't need to teach him because he already is strong. He's the strongest person I've ever met, he just has to see it.

He has to believe it.

Wanting nothing less than to be close to him, I turn off the shower and swiftly dry myself. As I'm drying my hair, I hear the strangest noise coming from outside. A too familiar voice. It's the most staggering pain I've heard in my life. Almost as if your soul is being ripped from your body, like someone reached inside and removed it from you when you just started living.

Devin.

I drop everything and rush out of the room.

Turning on the bedside lamp, almost tripping in the darkness, I see the sheets turn and shift dangerously. I'm afraid to reach for him, fearing he might involuntarily hurt me.

The noise pierces my heart once again.

"Devin," I call his name.

The veins on his neck pop out. His face is tainted red and his teeth are clattering, about to break, digging into his bottom lip. I've got to do something. I've got to save him.

"Devin!" I scream as loud as I possibly can and rip off the sheets from his body.

His eyes open wide.

The green is gone, replaced by enlarged pupils. His chest rises and falls as he familiarizes with his surroundings. Beads of sweat gather in his hairline. He's drenched in sweat. When his eyes finally reach me, he lets out a strangled sigh.

"What's wrong?" He doesn't speak. He just shakes his head, avoiding my eyes.

I crawl on the bed. My back resting on the headboard as his body covers mine. His arms automatically fold around my torso, his head rests on my stomach like a father hearing the kicks of his unborn child.

Running my fingers through his wet waves, I ask, "Where does it hurt?"

As if his arms were made of iron, he points to his chest, stabbing a finger deep into his heart, breaking my own. Never would I have imagined that I would be so close to a person that his pain would be my pain. That I would have the power to feel his hurt. That I would feel handicapped because there's nothing I can do to alleviate his anguish or my own.

"This is where it hurts," he whispers. "Right here is where it has always hurt. Where the pain feels ten times its size. No medicine will ever be able to cure it. I fight every day to live my life and I'm tired of it. I'm tired of fighting. It shouldn't be this hard. It shouldn't be an everyday struggle.

"You don't get it and I don't blame you. No one does. Your trying to get it reminds me I'm not normal. I understand you're trying to help. I get you're doing it because you care, but it doesn't feel like it. It feels like you're throwing it in my face that I'm sick and you're not. That you have to go above and beyond to understand me. Not even in my sleep can I escape this hell.

"I covered myself in tattoos, thinking that somehow I could hide this piece of me, but then the questions came. Why did you get a tattoo? Why so many? Did it hurt? Why so dark? It's like the universe will never forgive me for having an illness I never asked for. I'm so tired. I...I can't anymore. Everyone around me dies. Everyone that's ever truly cared, dies. They die, and I don't know why. I don't know what I can do to stop it. Is it because they never loved me?

"It must be because if you know someone needs you, you would do anything in your power to stay alive for them. You wouldn't kill yourself in front of your child. You wouldn't stop breathing. Is it so hard to love me that no one knows how to? You will, too, you know? You will get tired and leave me. I know how this story ends. What will come of me when that happens? Where would I go?"

"What are you saying, Devin?" I push him off of me and angrily stab his chest. "Don't you dare say that again!"

The man saying these things isn't him. He's gone too far into his brain. His eyes are vacant, losing the light green he always holds whenever he's with me.

I stand up and quickly walk to the bathroom. Turning on the sink's faucet so that he can't hear me, I slide down the tile walls and begin to cry. I'm the one that should be tired of his illness having a say in our relationship. I'm the one that should be running away from his mood swings but I'm still here because I love him.

I find it selfish and cowardly of him to give up so easily and insinuate suicide. It's true that I will never understand what he goes through, but that doesn't change the fact that it doesn't matter to me that he's bipolar. He might have been a burden to others but he has never been one to me. The day he understands that will be the day he will accept himself.

Hitting my head against the wall, I reprimand myself for not standing my ground when I said I wanted to stay here and help him cope with his grandmother's death. What the heavens did Camila tell him? Could the death of his grandmother impact his mood so fast?

I know I should go back to bed and be there for him, comfort him and tell him everything will be okay, but I need time. I need to gather myself before I can look after him.

The bathroom door opens with a hard push to the door. My body jolts at the sudden intrusion. Devin is by my side in seconds. His eyes searching mine, for what, I'm not sure. Maybe for acceptance, forgiveness, I don't know. Whatever he's searching for he will find because I accept him and I forgive him.

"It doesn't bother me that you're cycling," I croak through a sniffle. "You aren't a burden to me, you're my fucking life."

He chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the sides. It's the youngest he's ever looked. "Did you just curse?" Oh. I shake my head, biting my lip. The action makes him laugh harder. "Did you just curse and lie?"

I laugh and cry all at the same time, my emotions linking together. I'm just happy he's laughing again. He kneels in front of me, cupping my face. "Promise me you will never cry because of me again."

"How can I make that promise when my heart aches to see those tattoos, imagining what you went through all alone? How can you expect me to promise that when you're hurt is my hurt?"

"Because I will make mistakes, Genevieve. I will hurt you. I'll intentionally push you away and I won't deserve your tears."

"Don't you love me?" I whisper, evading his eyes, I look at the floor.

"More than I will ever love myself."

"Why would you intentionally hurt me then?"

"I don't know..." He sits on the floor next to me. His back hits the wall as he closes his eyes. "Fuck! This is so fucked up!" Seconds pass by in silent wonder, turning into minutes. Devin finally breaks it when he asks, "Will you still love me tomorrow?"

This is the core of the problem. The root of his childhood. His biggest fear.

How can I show him that my love for him surpasses all understanding? My love will never frail, it will only build and build. Whether or not he has his moments, I will stay with him through it all. I will love him today, tomorrow, and in the days to come. And if I could find it in me to travel to the past, I will love him even there.

"I will love you forever." Guiding him to our bedroom, I extend my hand to his. "I want to show you how loved you are by me. You don't ever have to feel alone. I'll always be here to love you."

In our bedroom, I motion for him to sit on the bed as I open his drawer and look for what we both know I'll find inside. I pull out a condom with a shallow breath. The first time I saw them in here I was surprised and a little mad, but then I realized that Devin was single before he met me. He could do whatever he wanted with whoever he pleased. Now that person is going to be me.

"Wh-what are you doing?"

"I want to make love to you."

"Genevieve, no," he says with conviction, though by the tick of his fingers, I know he's about to break.

"No?" My brows frown as does my heart.

He shakes his head. "I don't want you to do something you'll regret. We can wait until we're married."

"I don't want to wait any longer. I want to make love to you. I don't ever want you to doubt my love for you. Ever." I tug on his white shirt. "Let me love you."