It’s too bad that I can’t tell her that there is no way on God’s green earth that she could ever get me sick. Nobody could. There isn’t a bug on this rock that could put a dent in me. It’s too late for that, I’m already as sick as a man can get. Pretty much. Once the Vyrus set up shop in my bloodstream, it made me uninhabitable for anything else. Any regular viruses or bacteria or germs come calling, they’re gonna get their asses kicked but good.

So I don’t mind the not-having-sex thing. That’s not true. I mind the not-having-sex thing a hell of a lot. Just watching her get dressed this morning was enough to drive me half crazy. But I can deal. I can deal because I have to. Not because of what she’s sick on, but because of what I’m sick on. I don’t know if the Vyrus can be sexually transmitted, but I’m not taking any chances. I’m not taking any chances of infecting Evie with an organism that will colonize her blood and strip mine it for whatever components keep it happy. A bug that is always hungry for more. A bug that, when your blood is tapped out, will send you hunting. And you’ll hunt, man, you will hunt. Because the alternative, the pain that will rack you and twist your body and eventually boil your insides? It’ll make anything Evie may have to go through in the next couple years look like child’s play. That’s just a fact.

Nevermind that if she was infected with the Vyrus it would cure her of the HIV. Nevermind that she could go on living pretty much just as long as she wanted to, as long as she kept the Vyrus fed. Nevermind that we could be together that whole time and fuck to our hearts’ content. It doesn’t matter. It’s still not the kind of thing you tell the woman you love. It’s not the kind of choice you ask someone you love to make. If you’re a man, you make it for them.

And now I guess we’ve settled what I am. Or at least what I’m not.

So yeah, the relationship is all fucked up. No reason why it shouldn’t be, it matches the rest of my life that way. Besides, yours any better?