Oscar sighed heavily. She had always been difficult. She was honest and emotional and direct. He couldn't tell her what to do. He couldn't tell her how to feel. He couldn't control her and the most frustrating part was that he didn't want to. He just wanted to touch her, to kiss her. When she brought up his longevity, it felt like a hit to the chest. He pulled her closer, resting his hands on her stomach, holding her tightly. What she didn't understand was that he had to live the rest of his damn life without her. It didn't matter how long she lived. Eventually she would wither into an old woman and die, and Oscar would still be there, without her. A short life span would be preferable to watching the people he loved die.
"What do you want from me, Rimmie? I can't change things," he said, finally letting her go. "You know this is how it has to be. Come on, you'll feel better in the morning," He took her by the hand and headed for the house. He looked up at the front door and knew he was heading into trouble. Maybe he needed a drink too. "I'll make you warm milk and whatever it is you people use to go to sleep..." he chuckled, "Put a little vodka in there. That'll put you to sleep,"