You begin to stumble, worn out, but you push yourself to keep going, until we make it to the ship. I help you into the co-pilots chair. I’ll have to worry about cleaning you up after, we need to get out of here in a hurry, before the explosion I’ve just triggered attracts too much attention. McDermott is gone, the house is gone, all trace of the guards we’ve killed is gone.
I try not to look at you as I set us for a route out of the Lupus system. It isn’t until we’re clear of it that I look over at you, asleep now, in the chair next to me. Carry you back, to the tiny shower, and run the hot water.
It seems forever before I wake up, hot water running over me. Your hands gently rinsing the blood from me. I don’t know what to say, how to begin, so I sit quietly, my head on your chest, and let you take care of me. At some point you just stop and hold me, and we stay like that till the hot water runs out.
I try to take my sodden shirt off, but I can’t lift my arm without crying out. “Be still”….you leave my blood soaked clothes in the shower, after carefully undressing me. Pulling the shirt over my head makes me almost black out. My left eye is swollen, and a wave of nausea washes over me. You dry me gently, avoiding my face, before carrying me to the berth, and wrapping me in blankets.
I change my clothes, without thinking. Curl up on the bed with you, and hold you in my lap, stroking your hair. I feel numb. I tried my damndest not to look at what I did to you, your beautiful face, but there’s no hiding it. I could have killed you Ava. At that moment, I wanted to kill you, I didn’t think anything could hurt that much.
You’re mine Ava. If you still want me after this.
I wake, my head resting on your chest. Breath you in deeply. It’s odd, that I should be so comforted by a man who would have beaten me to death without remorse a few short hours ago, if you’d been given the chance. And now here you sit, cradling me in your arms. We’re a strange pair. Both murderers. Both something completely other than anyone looking in from the outside would suspect, perhaps because we have no fear of the other, we’re free to look for something more. We’re free to look past the picture we’ve participated in making.
Your brow furrows in sleep, uneasy. I shift my weight, restless, and you wake up. Neither of us says anything. What would we say? My right arm can barely move, so I can’t touch you, but I can still kiss you.