This time I was sure that I had died. Vashyron had stopped me from taking my own life just so it could be taken away from me anyway. His last words were playing over and over in my mind.

I'm coming to get you...don't let go.

It seemed funny to me now.

Don't let go.

I tried. There was nothing I could do. There was still nothing I could do. There was never anything I could have done. This was just fate. All that was left was to hope Vashyron was okay. I just wish I knew what had happened to him after I fell. Did he go back home?

I hope so.

I hope he was okay.

I hope he went back home.

I hope he forgot about me.

But I don't.

I don't want to die.

I want to live.

A soft buzzing noise was coming from somewhere close to my ear.

What?

Is this what death is like? But if it is, then how come I can still think? Why am I still conscious? Surely if I was dead there would be no sound, no thoughts, nothing.

Did that mean I was alive?

It took a while for me to realize that I could still feel my body, and move it, at that. I opened my eyes a small fraction to find I was looking at a white ceiling.

A hospital?

At that same moment all of my senses seemed to return to me. The buzzing was clearer now, and the light in the room seemed to get brighter. I found that my earlier guess of this being a hospital was correct as I looked to my right, seeing a couple of different, hospital-ish machines. Thankfully, they were switched off, which meant that for whatever reason I was here, it wasn't that serious.

Just as I was about to get up to go and investigate further, I felt a light pressure on my left arm. Thinking it was just some kind of medical equipment, I tried to lift my arm to see what it was, only to find that I couldn't.

Turning my head in that direction, I noticed why, and what I saw nearly brought me to tears once again.

Vashyron was sitting beside the hospital bed in an uncomfortable looking plastic chair. He was wearing the same clothes as the last time I saw him, and they were still slightly damp in some places. On top of that, there was a dark, painful looking bruise on his right cheek just below one of his eyes, his hair was a mess, and he looked like he had been awake all night.

He was asleep now, however, and the pressure on my arm was his head, which was resting against the bed beside me next to one of his own arms. His hand, which was covered in various cuts and bruises, was laid lightly over the top of mine.

I sat up quickly but carefully, afraid of knocking him onto the floor somehow, and glanced at the door, wondering whether or not I should call someone in.

I felt okay myself, if a little disoriented and achy, but it was clear that Vashyron needed some medical attention.

Especially if this was my fault.

How could I have let this happen?

After all that he had done for me. He had saved me from whatever fate I would have had otherwise. Sure, he tried to kill me, but if he had left me there afterwards, who knows where I would have ended up. He had fed me, clothed me, given me somewhere to live. He had been so nice to me, and it looked like he had just saved my life once again.

Yet, despite all that I was still selfish enough to try and end it all.

He must hate me.

But he clearly didn't hate me. He was still here, beside my hospital bed, in spite of his own injuries.

In any case, 'sorry' probably wasn't going to cut it.

Realizing that sitting up had caused a dull, throbbing pain to flare up in my side; I decided to lie back down, my attention still focused on Vashyron. Part of me didn't want him to wake up. I didn't know what I was going to say or do when he did.

He looked peaceful, even with his injuries and strands of his hair hanging out of the band around his face messily. Moving slowly, I lifted my free hand to gently push some of them aside, revealing more of the bruise below his right eye. It didn't cover a very large area of his skin, but it looked quite bad; it was dark in colour, and there was a small patch of dried blood around the centre, hiding what was likely an open wound.

I retracted my hand quickly as he shifted in his sleep, his eyelids flickering as if about to open, but it was a false alarm, and he simply moved to a slightly different position, giving me back the use of my left arm. His hand was still over mine, however, and I couldn't help thinking that it was nice to feel someone else's skin touching my own, even if it was probably an accident. It was likely that he just moved his hand there while he was asleep.

Now focusing my attention there, I moved my hand a little beneath his, my knuckles brushing just lightly against his palm. His skin was very warm in contrast to my own. My hands were always cold, but it wasn't just that. There was just something about him that felt...warm, and comfortable, and safe.

It's funny how you can feel that around certain people. The only other person I'd felt like that about was a teacher I had when I was very young. I don't really remember how she looked, or her name, but I remember how it felt to be around her; probably how it felt to be with a mother. I wouldn't know.

I felt that same feeling around Vashyron.

No.

It wasn't the same, it was different.

But how?

A gentle pressure on my hand brought me back to reality, and, upon opening my eyes, -and wondering when I had closed them-, I found myself once again looking into Vashyron's. He had that same look as he did before, like he was worried about me, but this time it seemed to be mixed with exhaustion. It felt like a long time before either of us broke the silence.

"...You're lucky to be alive."

His words caused my throat to become uncomfortably dry, and I felt my eyes prickle with tears, but he didn't sound angry or accusing. If anything, he sounded relieved. I simply nodded in affirmation, worried that if I spoke I would break down in tears.

At this, he stood up from the chair and perched himself on the edge of the bed beside me.

"Do you know how...worried I was?"

He seemed to be struggling to get his own words out, and after looking at him properly, I could see that his eyes were slightly red, like he had been crying at some point. I felt a pang of guilt in the pit of my stomach.

Sitting up again slowly, -which hurt a lot more this time-, I shook my head, clearing my throat in a slightly awkward manner.

"...I...I'm sorry..."

My voice came out so weak and quiet that I'm surprised he heard it at all, and for a while I was sure he didn't, as he continued to sit and stare at me.

A few times he looked like he was going to speak, but decided against it, and the long silence continued, neither of us able to find the right words.

No matter what I said, it wouldn't matter. I couldn't make up for all of the trouble I had put him through. After a while, though, he shook his head, his expression softening and the worry disappearing from his face, before he pulled me into a tight hug.

My eyes were stinging with the effort of holding in the tears as I felt his hand in my hair and heard his voice beside my ear, quiet.

"Don't scare me like that again, okay?"

This was probably the closest I had ever been to another person, and, as nice as it was, I felt helpless. It felt like Vashyron was the only thing still keeping me going. How I had survived this long without anyone else there was becoming a mystery to me.

I know what I am.

But that only means that it's more important that I have something...someone, to be there with me, to guide me, to teach me, to pull me back to reality when my mind threatens to drag me to that place I never want to go back to.

Vashyron was becoming that someone.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," I managed to say quietly again through gulping back tears, leaning against him weakly.

I knew that it wasn't good to become so reliant on someone else, so dependant, but my body felt nearly as weak as my mind, and his arms were around me protectively, keeping me there. If he wanted to protect me then who was I to say no?

"Don't," he said softly, "It's not your fault. I'm just glad you're okay."

His voice had gained back its usual calm tone, and I felt a great sense of relief. It seemed as if everything was going to be okay.

No matter what he had said at that point, I would have believed every word.

We stayed there for another few minutes, me resting against him, suddenly feeling like every muscle in my body was bruised, and him holding onto me, his fingers still in my hair, neither of us moving or speaking, before a young, female doctor entered the room and we were forced to part.

She was very kind and understanding, and it seemed like she already knew what had happened, simply acting like she was checking up on a patient who had been there for weeks. Another ten minutes or so passed as she poked and prodded me, taking my blood pressure and temperature and doing various other tests, before she smiled gently at us both.

"You are free to go home. There's no immediate danger. But you should rest for a few weeks, at least."

She motioned to Vashyron, who had returned to the chair he slept in, and they left the room together.

I felt my chest tighten uncomfortably at this, worrying that they were talking about me, and what they were saying, but Vashyron came back after a short while, holding a pile of dirty, old-looking clothes, as well as a white plastic bag. It took me a while to realize that the clothes were actually mine, and that I was currently sporting some hospital pyjamas.

"Well, here's your stuff. Don't worry about the clothes; we'll get you some new ones."

Looking at the clothes in his arms, I noticed why he would say that. They were not only dirty and ripped in places, but there were also some very noticeable blood stains in various places.

"...What happened?"

He looked at me with a puzzled expression, but I could tell that he just didn't want to talk about it. He placed the clothes on the end of the bed along with the bag, leaning his hands on the railing where a medical chart was attached.

"What do you mean?"

"...After I fell."

He took a deep breath, before shrugging, smiling slightly.

"I climbed down to get you. You didn't fall all the way, but you still got hurt quite badly. You were unconscious when I got to you. So I carried you back up and called an ambulance. They took us to the hospital and we spent the night here."

"...You...climbed down to get me?"

"Of course."

"...Are you okay?"

At this, he smiled again, nodding.

"Don't worry about me. I'm fine. The side of the wall broke, and some of the rubble hit me, but it's nothing major."

I was relieved, but I still couldn't shake the feeling of guilt. After all, none of this would have happened if I hadn't been so stupid and thoughtless.

Before I could question him further or start up another pathetic apology, he came over.

"Alright, come on. We're going home. Luckily, you don't have any broken bones, but you've got some nasty bruises and sprains. You need to get some proper rest."

I let him help me up from the bed when he hooked his arm under one of mine. It was a lot more painful than I thought it would be; my back and shoulders were aching, what I now knew to be a large, bruised area on my stomach was stinging like crazy, and my left leg seemed to be protesting at holding my weight.

Vashyron took it all in his stride, helping me to quickly pull on hospital slippers so I could at least walk outside, before escorting me to the front desk, where he spent a while speaking with a man who was wearing glasses and looked like a doctor.

The journey home was no fun at all; the hospital wasn't very far from where we lived, but, as nobody really used vehicles in this area aside from in emergencies, we had no choice but to walk. The upside was that the hospital gave me some crutches to use. If it weren't for that I think Vashyron would have had to carry me the entire way.

I must have looked a sight to passersby, if nothing. I was still wearing the hospital pyjamas, which were a horrible murky, grey-green colour, but now I was also wearing Vashyron's leather jacket over the top. He had insisted on me wearing it despite my protests, but it was too big, and I had to roll up the sleeves. All-in-all, it was a very strange ensemble. Once we finally reached the front door of Vashyron's house it was like I was entering the gates of Heaven. With the way my body was aching I wanted nothing more than to just fall onto my bed and sleep for about a week.

The only problem was getting there. My bedroom was on the roof, which meant climbing a set of stairs to reach it. I wasn't in any condition to be doing that, but if I had to I would drag myself there.

I flopped down onto the sofa, earning another painful complaint from my muscles, as Vashyron closed the front door behind us, dropping my ruined clothes and the plastic bag onto the table.

"You're not gonna be able to get up those stairs, are you?" he said, as if he had read my mind earlier, chuckling.

"...I could...try."

He laughed, shaking his head.

"You'll just have to use my room."

"Where will you sleep?" I asked without thinking, immediately feeling stupid once the words had left my mouth.

"In your room, obviously, so I hope you don't have anything in there you wanna hide."

He laughed again, both of us knowing that I didn't really have any possessions, never mind things I would want to hide from him. The only thing I had left from my childhood was a Bible my younger sister gave to me, and a cross I was supposed to wear but saw no point in.

"Alright," he continued, taking a deep breath and resting his hands on his hips, looking around before returning his gaze to me, "You probably wanna get some rest, so come on."

He helped me up from the couch and over to the door to his room. It felt weird because I'd never even been this close to the door of his room before, but now I was actually going to see inside it. I guess that was something about these injuries I could be thankful for, at least.

He pushed the door open as we reached it, and I was quite underwhelmed by what I saw. It was a small, plain room, with nothing in it but a single bed, a desk with a chair, and some drawers. The desk had various notes scattered across it messily, as well as a pen missing a lid, and there was a shotgun which had been taken apart lying on top of the chest of drawers. Other than that, there were no telltale signs of anyone even sleeping in here. It was even relatively tidy compared to the rest of the house.

"Well, this is it," he chuckled, sitting me down on the bed and waving his hand around at the room, "Make yourself at home. I don't really have any rules about my bedroom."

On that note, and after explaining why the desk was a mess, which was apparently because he had been getting a lot of job offers recently, he left the room, pulling the door closed behind him. However, just as I was about to get up to snoop around a bit, he returned, holding a glass of water and the bag he brought from the hospital.

"They gave me some medication that you should take to help with the pain. You'll be able to sleep better," he said, taking a small box of pills out of the bag and dropping two of them into my palm, before handing me the glass of water.

I took them without complaint, hoping that it would stop the dull aching that had started in most of my body. On top of that, my bruised side was becoming very uncomfortable while sitting up, and my left leg was throbbing near my ankle, which I assumed was sprained.

"I'll check up on you in the morning," he continued, putting the bag down on top of the notes on the desk, "But if you need anything else during the night don't worry about waking me up. I know you can't get up the stairs, but shout me if the pain gets really bad or something, okay?"

I nodded in reply, my eyes suddenly feeling very heavy.

"Thanks."

He smiled at me again, patting my shoulder gently, before going back out of the room and closing the door, leaving me to finally get some well needed sleep.