by Joe Couture
On their final drive home, Jon resolved to collect himself upon noticing that with each sob he gave, Iona’s body would quake and shiver. No matter how difficult it was, he would abstain from his sorrow until after she passed. He wasn’t about to let her die a worried woman. He swiped at his eyes, played the Benjamin Boone playlist that they often danced to, and tried his best to hum along until they reached home.
Iona knew what Jon was up to. She could feel his devastation, and, although it pained her to breathe, she, too, was determined to keep poised for Jon’s sake, by taking deep, panting breaths, to alleviate her body’s shaking, and, for good measure, she slapped her tail emphatically against the passenger’s seat.
When they got home, Jon carried Iona to bed and wrapped her in her favourite heated plush blanket. Next, he excused himself for a moment to send his last email, informing his long-time employers that he would not be returning to work. Then, he jotted a note to his parents and sister—nothing overly sentimental or authentic, but rather a cliché proclamation assuring them of the things that would make his death less conflicting. He could endure the world for them before, but not now—not without Iona. Finally, he returned to the bedroom where she lay still, panting softer than ever. He was carrying two six-foot leashes, which had been knotted together, and the end of one was tied in a noose.
Iona was nearly gone, and he knew it. He leaned in, petting along the bridge of her nose with his forefinger, as he did on stormy nights, to help her fall asleep. While he told her about their forthcoming adventure together, to the place that shared her name, his tears fell in steady droplets onto her face. He could no longer hide his heartbreak. Iona was breathing in the quiet manner of a fish out of water, and he knew that in a moment, she would be gone.
Iona knew she was going, and as she tasted the salt of Jon’s destruction, she knew he was going, too. In her last act of love, she mustered the little energy she had and jerked herself toward him. She could not leave Jon to wander alone in the wild, where cruel death and misery were sure to find him. When the bite came, he knew at once what was happening. The blood surging from his throat and the sights that dwindled from his eyes were rapidly replaced by a feeling of such profound ecstasy that he hardly noticed his lover had died.
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