I feel empty. No, I feel worse than empty. It's like there's something filling the empty parts of my soul. Concrete in my heart. When you look at me, the concrete only gets harder. The empty feels emptier.
"What have you done?" You ask me. The catch in your throat should break my heart, but I can't feel a thing. I force a smile on my face and put my hand over yours on my cheek. "I did what I had to. I did what you would have done."
You are already pale, but you turn positively ashen. "No. No Sam, you should never do what I would do."
"It's okay." I take your hand when you pull away, squeezing it tightly. I'm so cold, so cold and I try to take what warmth from you that I can. My own words feel distant, like they're coming from someone else and not me.
You squeeze my hand back, then look me over. "You're bleeding."
"Just a little." I'm trying to assure you. I'm trying to assure me. I can't even remember all that I did. The deals that I made, the things I'd given up just to bring you back to me.
The emptiness in my chest turns into a dull ache as I try to remember just why you were so important to me. When you crush me into a hug, a choked sob against my shoulder, it hits me. "Oh."
But that feeling is gone. It must have been something important, but in its place is just numbness. Pain. You lift your head and you look into my eyes, you really look into my eyes. Your smile is as strained as mine is dull. "I understand." And something tells me you really do.
You start a fire, to help fight against the cold. It's not enough to warm me, so I stay close. It's cold inside my chest and my blood feels like ice but you, you're warm, you're fire burning and siphon your warmth to chase the ice away.
The cave we're in is damp and chilly, and the firelight casts ominous shadows on the walls and on your face. You stare into the fire as though contemplating the future. You only speak to ask questions. What I did, what it feels like. I answer them, a dull ache settling into my chest. A yearning for what should be.
But there's no regret. When we sleep, and I watch your chest rise and fall, I feel no regret.
You say you were in hell. You say you were being punished the people you've killed, the things you've done. I can't tell you that wasn't hell. I don't know what you went through or where you were when I found you. But hell. Hell is not like how they describe it in books or show on tv. It's agony and regret and a deathly loneliness that sinks into my very soul. It's watching the woman I love die, slip through my grasp. Its the feeling being ripped apart like paper, just for the chance to bring her back. Bring you back.
It's emptiness. A hollow cavern in my very core. It's staring into your eyes and knowing what I should feel. It's remembering what to say, and how to say it, and knowing that you don't quite believe me.
What have I done, Lara, to bring you back from the afterlife?
My heart for your life. Fair trade, don't you think?