THE END
1
“It’s OK, Baby. It’s OK.” Her fingertips ran reassuringly through the thick hair above his ear. “It’s nearly time.”
He reached his hand up to grasp hers but found only the bare skin at the side of his bald head, denuded since his chemotherapy had ended unsuccessfully six weeks ago. He stretched his arm to her side of the bed, but it was cold and empty. The sickening feeling in his gut kicked in, as it had every morning since the accident. He groaned and awoke fully. He brought his hand back to massage the pain in his belly and relaxed ever so slightly as it slid over the satin fabric of her nightgown. After she’d been taken from him, he’d begun holding it in bed next to him - initially to inhale her scent as he tried to fall asleep, but more recently, as her smell had dissipated, he’d taken to wearing it. It was the closest he could get now to feeling her by his side.
He dropped his legs over the side of the bed and slowly drew himself to a standing position. The nightgown, where it had bunched around his thighs during the night, dropped to his ankles and he welcomed its caress as he stepped gingerly across the room. The door on her side of their wardrobe was open - he was sure it had been closed last night - and the dress hung there, as though it was greeting him good morning.
“It’s OK, Baby. It’s OK.”
He knew now that she understood what he planned to do.
“It’s nearly time.”
It would be their wedding anniversary in three days. He’d do it then.
2
They’d met studying together at university. Between lectures, a group of them would gather in the coffee bar, swapping stories from the night before, or making plans for the forthcoming evening. He wasn’t the most garrulous of the group, but he had a quick, dry sense of humour, and his interjections often led to laughter. He’d noticed her then, giggling contagiously, looking at him from under those lashes of hers, and then shyly turning away when he returned her gaze. One day they’d been a smaller group - just him, and her, and two of her friends. When they’d got up to leave she’d stayed behind.
“Have you made any plans for the ball at the end of term?” she’d asked, casually.
“Erm, no…don’t think so…”
“Would you like to go with me?”
“That would be nice.”
He didn’t remember anything from any of the lectures the rest of that day.
When he’d picked her up from her flat that evening, she was wearing the dress. He’d thought she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. There’d been a salsa band at the ball and they’d danced, cautiously at first and then, as they both realized each was as talented as the other, with increasing abandon. Twisting, spinning, swaying, gliding, they spent the weekend in each other’s arms, pausing only to share their stories, dreams and passions. By the time Monday morning lectures arrived, they were inseparable.
About a month after they’d got together, they’d gone to the cinema to watch a Spanish arthouse film. Her favourite actor was playing a lead role which required him to cross dress, and she’d been fascinated at how convincing a woman he made. Back home that evening she’d dressed him in her lingerie and made up his face.
“My God! You could be my sister!” she’d laughed.
And he’d enjoyed it too, more than he cared to admit.
He’d waited impatiently for the opportunity, and it came a few weeks later when they were invited to a fancy dress party. He’d go as her, and she as him. That afternoon, she’d been working late in university, and by the time she came home he was waiting for her. His make up was perfect, he’d painted his nails and bought a wig in the same style as hers. He was wearing the dress and the way he moved as he came to greet her was so utterly feminine she couldn’t see anything of him behind the disguise. She’d burst into tears.
“Take it off! Take it off!” she’d cried, and he’d ran in a panic into the bathroom and stripped.
“I’m sorry, baby! I’m sorry!” he’d pleaded as she sobbed. “I’ll never do it again, I promise.”
And because he loved her so much, from that day forward, he never had.
3
The morning of their wedding anniversary he awoke early. He’d found the salon after a short internet search, and he’d spoken to them on the telephone to explain what he wanted. It was an hour’s drive or so into the city, a bag with a change of clothes in the boot, the wig box next to it, her photograph in his breast pocket.
The session took up most of the day. They’d denuded him of what little hair the chemotherapy hadn’t already taken and, at his behest, glued the wig in place. They’d made up his face to match the photograph; everything except lipstick - he’d do that himself when he got home. Already, by the time he’d left to walk back to his car he felt her strength with him. He’d taken the tracksuit she wore to the gym and a pair of her trainers. He’d thought he wouldn’t be strong enough to cope with heels but now, with her aura already enveloping him, he knew he’d have managed.
Her lingerie was waiting for him, laid out on the bed, when he returned. He sat at her dressing table, took out her lipstick and applied it to his lips. The strength of her presence increased. No longer could he simply feel her enveloping and supporting him through her clothing, but he could taste her now also. He was back at university, kissing her again for the first time.
He took the dress down from its hanger and fastened it into place against his body. He stepped into her heels and clipped her earrings into the holes that had been made at the salon that morning. He smoothed the fabric of the dress down over his thighs as he looked at her reflection in the mirror and, for a moment, he began to dance; twisting, spinning, swaying and gliding, and then laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. He felt stronger now than he had for months. With her with him, he had the strength now to do what needed to be done.
The pill that he’d bought, after learning how to use the dark web, sat in an innocuous looking clear plastic cup on the dressing table. He took it, and lay down on the bed on his back, smoothing the dress about his legs as he did so. He closed his eyes and she appeared immediately, shyly looking up at him as she used to, smiling softly. He raised his right hand to take hers, but as their palms touched, his fingers passed through hers, and where their volumes overlapped a cloud of bright particles appeared instead - like a tiny constellation of stars, or a shimmering of fireflies in a dark sky at sunset. He reached out his other hand, and the same happened, and he stepped forward, his knee and thigh merging into hers, his torso, his head and finally his trailing leg. They were one now, their shining particles dancing in the darkness like a murmuration of birds in the evening sky. They danced; twisting, spinning, swaying and gliding, and then slowly moved off towards the light that had appeared on the horizon.
THE BEGINNING