This is from the story called Feed by M. T. Andersen.
" ...I won't remember what's really going to happen, that nerve-silence spreading over the whole of my body, like a pruple cloud, that emptiness, that inactivity. I won't remember watching you stand by my bed when I can't move, watching you staring down; I won't remember you apologizing for not coming sooner; I won't remember you standing there bored by my bedside as I slur words, standing there waiting to feel like you've stayed long enough so that you're a good person and you're allowed to leave. I won't remember any of that, because it won't happen..."

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