Bramblepoint The Parting Glass

She stifled a quiet whine that sounded like a whistle as much as anything else. She knew she would do anything he asked — had to — but she was afraid of what he wanted to ask of her. She had no right to decide how things would end for him, just as she had no control over anything that happened to him now. Darkly, her mind veered without warning to think of how fortunate it was that his blood and fluids were poisoned and he couldn’t, no, wouldn’t, ask her to end it for him. The very thought made her feel sick.

Her jaw was already clenched hard to fend off the intense emotional reaction that followed his request for her to swear she would follow through. She felt her eyes well up with fresh tears that she dared not shed, blinking them away fervently without fear that he could see her. She knew his vision was blurry and deceptive at best; she could tell by his every swaying movement. She swallowed hard perhaps four or five times before the constriction in her throat relaxed just enough for her to utter two horribly strained words she fought and contorted to sound as normal as possible: "I swear."