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Chapter Eighteen
Branson
Blood pours from the wound in my shoulder but it's mostly numb as Mia frantically wraps fabric around it to slow the flow.
“They were waiting by the car,” I tell her calmly. “I moved it down the block last night and they found it. I ran into the woods and came around back to get here. They’ll figure out where I went soon enough.”
The blood isn’t gushing but is steady when I look down at it. I marvel at the redness and wonder absently if I’m going into shock. I shouldn’t feel this calm, but somehow this just makes sense. My pain has always made sense though, hasn’t it?
“What the fuck are we going to do?” she sobs as she pushes against it.
I look at her face, the few bits of blood splatter somehow the perfect compliment. Her green eyes, though wide with worry and fear, are as beautiful as ever. My heart aches for her, despite her being right here, and I smile as the peace takes hold.
I lift my other arm, reaching out to grab her chin and stop her. Her eyes meet mine, filled with love, and I know it’s the right thing. My life never had any true meaning except for her, anyway.
“If you go now, you can get away,” I tell her and her brow pulls into a frown. “Leave me one of the pistols, I can keep them busy.”
“W-what the fuck are you talking about?” she replies, her voice rising in pitch even as she wipes tears from her eyes. She chokes as she continues, “I can’t believe you’d think I’d actually fucking leave you….”
“Mia—”
“...must think I’m the biggest piece of shit in the world....”
“Mia—”
“...can absolutely get away if we just…”
“Amelia! I’m dying.”
She stops, looking at me with a quivering lip.
“What are you talking about?”
Her voice sounds pitiful and small, so like when she was a child. I take her hand in mine, ignoring my injured shoulder.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you, I couldn’t hurt you like that.”
“Branson, what the fuck are you talking about?” she asks again, pulling away. Her eyes fill with fury and denial. Groaning, I manage to stand, reaching out to touch her face again. I feel the sting of rejection when she pulls back, looking at me angrily. Not that I can blame her.
“I’m sorry, Mia,” I whisper. “The doctor told me last week. Even if we get out of here, I’ll be dead within months.”
“I don’t believe you,” she says, her voice shaky, “You’re just saying that so I’ll go.”
I shake my head slowly, pulling the almost-empty pill bottle from my pocket and handing it to her. She looks down at it blankly. I reach out again and this time she doesn’t stop me.
“No, Mia. I’m not lying.”
She brings her eyes up from the bottle, looking deeply into my eyes, searching for truth.
“The headaches?” she asks, and I nod. She doesn’t ask me more, doesn’t need to. I see the instant she believes, her eyes welling with tears for only a second before she throws herself into my arms with a sob.
My injured arm hangs somewhat limply around her, my other hand lightly petting her hair as I whisper into her ear while she cries. Somehow, I don’t feel sad. If my life was ever to have any meaning, saving her, well, that would be it.
All I’ve ever wanted to do was save her. Now I can.
“Mia, you need to go,” I finally whisper, pulling her away from me. “I’ve been fucked since the day Jane took me, but you still have a chance.”
Tears pour down her face as she looks at me for a long moment before she finally replies, “No,” with a whispered voice.
