I sweep my tongue over my dry lips.
But I still ran onto that roof.
I still tried to knock Conor’s gun out of his hand because I couldn’t let anyone else get hurt or see anyone else suffer.
Too much blood has been shed.
Too much rage has destroyed lives.
I couldn’t stand by and let something bad happen to innocent people.
Makes me feel like there’s hope for me.
A sliver of good I can cultivate.
I’ve hurt a lot of people in my life. Extinguished a lot of lives.
Some of them deserved it.
But did they all?
I never got a chance to make that determination. I only got the orders, no questions asked.
No ability to decline the instruction.
Someone like Conor? It’d have been a pleasure to put a bullet between his eyes.
But I can’t be this person anymore.
I want more.
The good things I’ve missed out on.
I probably screwed up my chance for that, but I know I did the right thing and that’s a start.
I swallow but my throat is drier than the Mojave. “Water,” I mumble weakly. “But…I…can’t…reach,” I whine to myself since I’m alone in this vast space.
The door to my room creaks open and I slide my arm slightly away from my eyes to see who it is. Maybe a nurse? Someone who can grab me a straw?
But it’s not a nurse.
It’s Dante.
And as I look up into his concerned gaze, I remember something else…
At least I think I do. I was in shock, bordering on unconscious.
Maybe it was just a manifestation of my need to be loved…by him.
He smooths my hair away from my face. “How are you feeling?”
I make a pained face. “Not great,” I croak.
“Do you remember what happened?”
“Honestly, it was so fast, I only have little splotches of memories.” I point to the water on the nightstand. “Can you please get that for me?” I rasp.
He pours some into a cup, sticks a straw in it, and holds it up to my lips. I drink it down and as it slips down my parched throat, I truly believe that nothing has ever tasted so good.