max crawls
Oh Jesus my head.
I need to get up.
I need to get up now.
As soon as the spire fell and took Vlad with it, I collapsed. I really don't know how I did it, how I've made it this far . . . adrenaline, I guess. Especially after . . .
Oh God Mona. I manage to make it to my feet and stumble down to the ground floor without killing myself, but once I get there I collapse again. I shouldn't be alive, I've been shot in the gut, shot in the head . . . if not for Mona I would be full of bullets or a pile of ashes . . . I have to get up now.
I simply cannot stay on my feet, however, so I opt to crawl. Even crawling is torture, my head is on fire, and the holes Winterson put in my stomach have reopened and are draining my energy. But I will myself to keep going, I have to get to her, I have to save her if it's not too—
My head spins and I have to stop a moment to keep from fainting. The manor is dark, but with the light coming in through the windows I can just make out where I am and where I need to go.
The immediate past swirls in my head, an orgy of bullets and bodies and betrayal. But Mona hadn't betrayed me . . . . Twice it's been her job to shoot me; twice she hasn't been able to do it.
. . . And twice it's gotten her shot.
Tears escape my eyes and mix with blood, spattering watery blood/bloody tears on the carpet. I remember how I felt when I saw her come out of that elevator, after two years . . . something in me came alive again, and I can't lose it, can't lose her.
I think I'm nearing the hallway where I left her, and as I look up I hope she's not there, that again she's escaped and all I will see is blood on the carpet . . .
But through the tears and haze I see that she's still there, still where I had laid her. My breath makes a hiccupping sound in my throat, and I swear I see her move. I hurry up as best I can, trying to force my brain to clear.
As I get closer I can see she's watching me, her hand outstretched. I grab her hand and tell her it'll be okay, though looking at her my heart sinks. She's lost too much blood; it's been too long . . . . I took too long.
But I push the guilt away; there will be time to deal with it later. Right now I focus on Mona, trying to memorize every detail of her face, so pale but so beautiful. She smiles at me and my heart breaks in two, again.
Images of her flash through my mind's eye; her high above in the distance, a guardian angel with a rifle . . . her against the wall of the funhouse, wrapped around me. I want to say so many things, but before I can she says,
"God, I turned out to be such a damsel in distress."
I realize nothing I say could matter now. Instead I kiss her, tenderly; I feel her kiss back, but by the time I pull away from her her eyes are no longer looking at me.
No, please no.
I lift her out of the pool of blood and hold her to me. My head is on fire and it's several minutes before I realize I'm saying her name, over and over.
I had told her it would be okay. I let her down. Just like Michelle. Everyone I've loved, I've been unable to protect. . . . I end up covered in their blood, though right now I'm drenched in mine too, not just Mona's. In fact, there's very little blood on her front; someone coming upon us might think she had just fallen asleep in the arms of a very bloody man.
I hear sirens in the distance, but I can't move. I rest my chin on top of Mona's head, which is nestled against my chest, and I indulge in a fantasy that she is just sleeping. More bloody tears fall into her hair, and as I hear voices come down the hall I know I'm about to black out.
I hold Mona's image in my mind as consciousness leaves me. . . . Will it be okay? Who the hell knows?
[I didn't like the somewhat upbeat tone of the game's ending. . . .I like much more angst and guilt in my love stories.]