Clinging to fear

     The sweat drenched people surrounded me, no they engulfed and suffocated me. Their large forms took my tiny body hostage. I was getting so battered and brusied that my stomach was cleaching in pain. I felt the strong need to vomit so I forced my way out of what seemed to be a never ending sea of hot, moving human bodies. There I stood, looming over the toliet, awaiting that painful moment when my last meal would greet me. I started to hyperventilate and my fingers froze stiff, I didn't know what was happening to me. "You need to go to the hospital," she said. I cried and I begged and pleaded not to go, that I was okay. I blacked out, everything was okay.
     "We need to talk..." he began, with a tone of seriousness that I was quite unfamilar with.
     "I'm listening to you, begin when you're ready."
     "I can't be part of your life anymore, not with the way things are going."
     "What are you talking about?! You can't just leave my life, it's not that easy."
     "Anything can be made easy. It just has to be done."
     "You don't have to do this! We can be friends, we always have been."
     "No, it's what's best for you. And it seems like you don't really care anymore."
     I thought to myself, "Would I be standing out here in this terribly cold weather if I didn't care?" But instead I said, "I do care. How can I not care?"
     He sighed, "Look you don't have to worry about me, I'm going to be gone. Out. Of. Your. Life."
     "How am I not going to worry about you?" I stammered, warm tears flowing gently down my face, "I won't see you now, not more than a glance. I won't know what you're up to or anything... How could this make me worry any less? If anything it'll make me worry more."
     I watched the tears form at his bottom eyelash, but he didn't let them proceed any further. "What do you want me to do?"
     "Be my friend... Don't just leave my life."
     "We both know I can't do that. How will I be able to resist the urge to hold you, to be with you? Anyway you have something good going for you. I don't want to be that one slip up."
     "Just..."
     "Just what?!"
     "Stay."
     But you don't stay, you walk away into the cold night and I retire into my home. I cry into my dinner and fear that there's nothing left, that there will never be anything ever. And you're going to forget about me like I've always told you you would. I'm going to sit on my soap box and mourn for you even though you're so close I could touch you.
     How does this end? Where is the "dude" at the end of our converation? I guess there isn't one, but I can hope there is, can't I?