Eric

When you were 18, you had a boyfriend. Eric. You shared an apartment with him. You were going to college. He was studying to be a programmer. You were studying to be a teacher. Eric worked part-time as a car mechanic, and you as a waitress. There wasn't much money. But you had enough. You had different bills, but sometimes he'd give you his money. He bought food, too. Sometimes you did. Well, in short, you liked everything. On weekends, you often walked in the park. Or went to the movies. You had a lot of interests. Until one moment, though.

One evening, you went to a bar. There were a lot of people you knew there. Eric got into an argument with a guy, and a fight broke out. They seemed oblivious to everyone else. Even your screams didn't calm him down. They were fighting hard. No one could break them up. Just like when seven men tried to break them up. The guy had a broken nose and a strong blow to the groin. And Eric had a strong blow to the chest and groin. The police and doctors arrived. They were taken away in an ambulance. You spent a whole week in the hospital with Eric until he was discharged. The truth was very difficult. His movements were stiff. He couldn't raise his arms or stand up or walk when he wanted to. Or anything at all. And talking was difficult for him. It took him a long time just to say something. The doctors said it was temporary. But maybe he will stay like this. You took care of him at home. He didn't talk to you. He didn't even look at you.

You were very tired. You studied in the morning, worked in the evening. That evening, Eric sat in the living room and watched TV, but his thoughts were elsewhere. He heard your sobs, and as you passed the living room, he asked. Slowly and quietly.

— Because...of me...Are you crying?