Damn it, Declan, I told you not to do this.
Of course I knew the minute I opened my eyes what you had done. I’d closed them never expecting to open them again, and I know nothing short of a miracle could have kept that inevitability from coming true. A miracle that you wasted on me when it could have saved so many people.
But as much as I want to, even with this damned tube down my throat, I look into your eyes and I can’t tell you that. I can’t scold you for throwing away God knows how many lives for mine. And your freedom…I’m not still so close to death that I don’t know what that uniform means, what those handcuffs mean.
Why did you do it, Declan? Why did you break your promise to me? And why am I so damned grateful to have the life back that I was ready to give up? Why does that look in your eyes make me want to live for a hundred years?
I should be fighting. I should be tearing the tube out of my mouth and screaming at you that it wasn’t worth it, that one life–and certainly not mine–isn’t worth so many countless others. I should be pushing you away, finding some way to communicate the anger I should be feeling.
But all I can do is cling to your hand as the cop tries to pull you away from me, with a desperation I can’t forgive myself for feeling.
All I can do is hold on to you, and try to never let go.