We are nearing the end….

Chapter 66: All I Have Left

Gol awoke once again some new morning, but a morning not so fresh as they once were, feeling stagnant, stale somehow, but all the more valuable when he had begun to find himself…surprised that another one had arrived at all. It was unsettling to feel that way, to say the least, and yet he was grateful to be around to feel such a thing to begin with. But, when he completed his morning coughing, feeling as if his very lungs were being torn apart from the effort, he found blood in his palm, and it was unsettling that wasn't surprising anymore.

He forced himself out of bed, it taking him halfway to the bathroom before he could stop using the wall for support, and he found Kassra to be already gone, if the silence of the house and her open bedroom door was anything to go by. This past week, he had actually been getting up after she did, and though his mind continued to race over all the many things he had to fret over, sleep had been coming easier, his body growing fatigued earlier, while he awoke each morning later than the one before.

Once in the bathroom, he washed his hand of the substance that stained it, finding this morning to be rather brisk, though they had all been colder than usual lately. Was it winter time? Living so long out here in the Wasteland, he had lost track of the seasons. Did the desert even have a winter?

Giving one more shiver, he left the bathroom, stopping in the hallway when he heard the front door open. He put his hand to his chest to try and force in another breath, though it took him several tries before he was able to do so. If this kept up, and he had no reason to believe it wouldn't, this day could very well be the beginning of the end. Though, come to think of it, such a day had likely already come long ago, maybe even as far back as the day he had lost his dear sister, or even earlier still. Perhaps it started the day he had first begun to go insane from Dark Eco exposure. Well, all he knew was this certainly felt like the end, and whether it was merely the beginning of it or the halfway point, it didn't really matter. The end was the end.

He shuffled out of the hallway, wobbling on unsteady feet when he was halted by the sight of Kassra, bloodied and dirty, her back and the palms of her hands pressed to the door behind her. Her gaze shot over to him, and she pushed away from the door, as if ready to retreat, her chest still heaving from an earlier exertion, but he came to her, and he had his arms around her before she could go any further.

"What happened? Who did this to you?"

She stayed stiff in his arms. "It's…it's nothing."

"It's absolutely not nothing." He held her at arm's length to better study her condition, but found himself unable to actually do so, instead focusing his gaze on her chin. "Tell me who did it."

"It's not…"

"Who was—"

"No!"

His eyes rose as her arms did, and she wiped her face with the backs of her hands, smudging the drying blood under her nose, her efforts missing the wet streak under one eye that had since meandered through the sand clinging to her face. She sniffled, mouth partway open, and he pulled her close again, and this time she returned the gesture.

"I'm sorry," he said to her hair, her ponytail nearly free from its tie. "I didn't mean for this to happen."

She sniffed. "How could you have made this happen?"

"This is what happens to everyone who knows me."

"That doesn't make it your fault if people are jerks."

"I'm here to comfort you, not the other way around."

She sniffed a few more times, then, grew silent.

"Does it hurt? Do you want me to clean you up?" he asked, and he felt her shake her head.

"No, not…not right—" Her voice broke, and she began to sob, and he held her tighter, unsure of what else he could do without making things worse.

It was his fault, though. He just knew it was. Why else would anyone want to hurt her, if not because she was harboring the man who had tried to kill the population of an entire city? What was wrong with her, they must think, that she would want anything to do with such a man? And who did she think she was to spare him from the punishment he deserved? He would have been executed, Samos's daughter had said, if they hadn't chosen to spare him, even after his crimes. But, who was there to choose the same fate for her, when she had done nothing wrong in the first place? She should be spared any stigma her association with him may cause, but there were enough people that knew that he still lived and that she was taking care of him that such a thing was impossible. He had caused this. His very existence was a curse to himself and to everyone he came into contact with.

"I'm the one who should be sorry," she said at last, sobbing harder, and he looked down at her as best he could with her face pressed into his chest as it was.

"Why should you be sorry about anything?"

She turned her head to the side, pressing her cheek to him. "Because I…I told…on you!" She cried harder, her shoulders shaking to match, as he continued to watch the top of her head.

"What are you—"

She pushed away from him, though her arms remained wrapped around his waist, and spoke to his chest. "Because I…I told everyone…about the…" She stopped as her sobbing and her snorting became too much.

"What do you mean? Calm down!"

"Don't…get mad."

"I won't get mad. I promise I won't. Just tell me what's upsetting you so I can tell you it's okay. Because I'm certain it is."

She looked up, tears running tracks through the dirt on her face, chest heaving until she was somewhat able to compose herself again. "I…I told them about the bomb you were building. I saw the blueprints when I was staying with you, and…I told them. I'm sorry."

So she had seen his notes, after all? She was more observant than she looked. "There's nothing to apologize for."

"Yes, there's—"

"No, there's not."

She sniffed again. "So you…forgive me?"

"As long as you forgive me for the bad luck I seem to have brought down upon you."

"You're not bad luck. You're very good luck. Whenever I'm lonely, we always end up meeting."

It seemed the luck was coming from her, not him.

He pulled her close again and slid off the loose tie currently failing at keeping her ponytail in place so that he could smooth her hair down. In the past, he would have been angry with her for betraying such secrets to others, but now, he felt nothing either way about the matter. It had happened. It was over. And the boy was likely destined to defeat him in the end anyway, one way or another. While he, on the other hand, he was always destined to fail in his plans, including his wish that no harm befall the woman as a result of his decisions. His bomb had failed to detonate, sparing her from one fate he had feared for her, but it only failed because someone else had put a stop to it, not because of any action on his part. And now that she was being harmed in another way, another way that was still his fault, there was nothing he could do about it. Not one thing.

Or perhaps, perhaps there might be something he could do, if he thought long and hard on it. He was good at thinking, even if not much else.

"Come," he said, releasing her and nudging her towards the sitting area. He directed her to a chair, and then he left to bring back a wet towel that he proceeded to wipe her face with, cleaning away the tears and the blood and the sand, and though she fidgeted, she remained otherwise cooperative. He was unable to erase, however, the bruises that had begun to form on her face, one on her jawline and another around her left eye, giving her an eye patch with the eye still intact. Having Samos's powers over Green Eco would be quite handy at a time like this, but right now, none of the substance remained in the house, he having used it all up on himself in an effort to slow the decay of his body, a decay that had started centuries ago in his lungs, and soon, he feared, would overtake his entire body.

Once his work was done, she smiled up at him, and he turned away to rinse the towel out in the kitchen sink. How could she look at him that way after what had happened? She should be angry with him for what he had caused. It was his fault, and yet she never became cross with him, no matter how many troubles he put her through. He had mistreated her, taken her for granted, despite all the good things she did for him. He would never be as good as her. He didn't deserve someone who never caused him pain, even when that was almost all he gave her.

"So, what did you mean earlier? Why do you think you're bad luck?"

Gol looked back to find her twisted around in her seat, watching him with the side of her face the black eye was on, her arm resting on the back of her chair. Aside from the bruise, she didn't look any different than she normally did, her usual cheer none the worse for wear.

He turned back to the sink to wring the towel out before laying it flat on the counter to dry. "I mean that I seem to cause misfortune to everyone I know. My dear sister was mistreated because of me, as well."

He returned to the living area to find a seat of his own, she watching him the entire way over, before fidgeting about until she had resumed a more proper sitting position. "But, why was that your fault?"

He sighed, closing his eyes. "Because people distrusted me. They thought I was something to be feared because I studied Dark Eco. It was as if they believed that, for one to study something dangerous, that person must be dangerous, as well." His eyes opened. "Or, at the very least, deranged. Needless to say, people weren't too fond of me or my research, and they took out some of their…unpleasant feelings on my sister. They thought…they thought we were monsters, that we were evil because of what we were doing. Our own…" He paused, and when he continued, his voice had grown soft. "Everyone we knew turned against us, it seemed. They ran us out from the town we had grown up in, and they tried again at the next place we went, and it was one thing all of this had to happen to me, but I didn't want my dear sister to suffer because of my choices."

"Yeah, but that still doesn't make it your fault. It's not your fault people didn't understand you. You told me before that you were able to heal them when they got hurt, so why would they still think you're a bad person?"

"I don't know." Maybe I was.

"You see, even you can't think of a good reason, and you know yourself better than anyone. And I certainly don't think you're a monster. It seems to me like you're just blaming yourself for what other people did. You can't feel guilty about things other people do. You should only feel guilty about what you…" Her smile vanished, eyes going as wide as the swelling would allow. "I mean, that didn't come out quite right. I didn't mean that you should—"

"I know."

She rocked in her seat, hands going to her lap to grip the fabric of her pants. "Well, uh…what about your parents?"

"What about them?"

"What did they think about everything?"

"About my research?"

She nodded.

"My father didn't approve. Actually, neither one of my parents did, but my mother just didn't say as much about the matter. Eventually they thought I was a lost cause, and their worrying over me was replaced with the hope that Maia, at least, wouldn't follow my influence. As you might imagine, it caused them no shortage of distress when she became my assistant. But, the two of us did everything together. My research was no different. What about your parents? How were they?"

She went still. "I…my parents and I got along well. My father taught me how to hunt and to carve, my mother taught me how to garden, and my gran taught me how to sew. Everything I ever needed to know came from them. I…I still remember them well, even though I haven't seen them in a long time. I've made sure that, whenever I remember, I imagine their faces and their voices, too, so I never forget. I…I don't want to ever forget. They're all I have left, y'know. Besides you, of course."

He hoped he would never forget his dear sister, either, but already, her face was unclear in his mind, and something seemed off about the voice he heard in his head. They had been together for four hundred years, and already, he was starting to forget. Especially lately.

"You're all I have left, as well," he said, his voice nearly a whisper, and he wondered if she had heard when her face remained serious.

"Gol," she said, "are you sick?"

"I've been sick for a long time."

"No, but are you…sicker?"

He thought this over, before answering, "I don't know."

"But, you can get better, right? I mean, you will get better."

"Yes. I hope so."

She continued to watch him, as if she stared long and hard enough, she just might be able to see his illness firsthand, and if she could do that, maybe she could fix it. "Should we…get back to work?"

"Not right now." He was beginning to think he wouldn't have enough time to finish it anyway.

"Really? Because…okay. We can just talk today, then?"

"What else?"

Her smile returned.

Gol returned to his room that night after a day of little else but talking, his newly acquired peace quite unwelcome, however, as it left him alone with one of the most difficult decisions of his life, made even more difficult when he knew that it would also be the last difficult decision of his life. He had to do something about the situation with Kassra, as allowing any more pain to befall her was out of the question. Her last injury was one too many, an event that he wished so desperately he could have prevented, so he could have been spared the sight of her pain and so she would never have had to feel it. There were few people in the world that deserved such treatment less than her, but he no longer had the strength nor the will to exact any kind of retribution against those who had done this to her.

And then there was the matter of his health. He no longer tried to deny it. It was failing. Not declining, but failing, his body reaching a point far beyond what it could ever recover from. What if…what if he died? What if…he couldn't do that to her. He couldn't bear the thought of…

He attempted to bury his face in his hands, finding he couldn't when his bad arm refused to move. It was such a useless thing. A useless part of a useless man. It wasn't so very different from who he was, really. A man that wanted to do good, that had goals and ambitions, but no matter how much he desired these things, he always failed in reaching them.

He pulled back his sleeve to reveal his withered arm, just a hideous, useless thing it was, bringing his sleeve up to his shoulder so that it wouldn't slide down again, and then he took hold of one of the metal bits left in his arm, what little evidence remained of his glove, something he had only needed because of an unnecessary injury he had brought upon himself, and he grunted as he dug his nails into the skin around it, blood welling up, but he refused to relent, digging and twisting until he pulled it out, leaving a hole in his arm and stabbing pain, and he slapped his hand over the gouge he had made, even as the blood continued to drip through her fingers. His breath came out in wheezes as he waited for the pain to dull, and while it did, somewhat, the wound continued to throb just as the blood continued to flow.

He gripped his arm tighter, the metal piece still held in his fingers. What was he doing anyway? This would solve nothing. This would not restore function to his arm or heal his dying lungs or protect the woman from the taint he left on everything in his presence. He had to get away. He had to leave this place, and while he tried not to think of the pain that would cause her, it was the only option. It was the only option to prevent the pain that would come later, and which would be far worse than his disappearance. He couldn't stay here, or she would only suffer more, the next time some fool decided she needed to be punished for his crimes. Not to mention the fateful day that was surely drawing near, a day he had begun to fear ever since he had first coughed up blood, so close now that it felt like he could see it on the horizon, like the sun just starting to rise. Or more accurately, set. He had reached the end of his days, and while he dreaded it, he didn't wish for her to be a part of it. These past months were something he'd never forget (not that such a thing as memories really mattered anymore when one's time was about to draw to a close), but this was one event in his life he didn't want to spend with her.

Gol laid down on his side and pulled his legs onto the bed, keeping a tight grip on his arm, whether or not it was still necessary, and cried, and while he did so, he just hoped that, for once, he was finally doing the right thing.

You thought Gol's decisions in past chapters were hard, just wait and see what comes next. And while you do, please review.