Pygmalion
She almost died today.
My girl almost died.
You'd think that would be a bad thing. You really would. But that's only if you didn't understand how it was. My Gaby missed a bullet by an inch, running away from a crazy man in a mask with a shotgun. And you'd think that was a bad thing.
But it was the greatest thing, because the moment she'd rounded the corner, missed the bullet, come sailing into my arms like a hurricane of arms and legs, I realized how it was. I realized that the best thing in the world is caring if someone dies.
They tried-those people who trained me-they tried to take that away from me, to convince me that the best thing is to feel nothing, that the rush of fear, the surge of hope, and the tidal wave of relief are weaknesses. But I know better.
My Gaby gave me back what they stole. She gave me back myself.
That's what those things really are, you know, all those complicated feelings that make my heart pound and my hands shake. They're me, the me they tried to rip out of my chest with their fists and their lies.
I couldn't give myself to my girl until she gave it back to me. I think that's what love is, or something like that.
So it was a good day, the day my girl almost got shot. It was the day I realized I had something to give her, the day I realized I could care because she'd turned me from a statue into a man.
Pygmalion, that Greek myth, is about a man whose love for his sculpture made her come to life. I reckon that's how it is, except Gaby is the sculptor, and I am not stone any more.
A/N: I've had lots of favorites and requests to continue this story, and I really appreciate it. I just made a professional writing deadline for a short story, so I'm back to the entertaining world of fanfic, which has the greatest audience in the world. This is just a short little chapter, but don't worry, there will be more.
