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I sat there, in the disturbingly pink pool, trying to will myself out of whatever twisted delusion I've ended up in. It can't be. I can't have- Not Evan. Not "I'm sorry" Evan, not "the scrunchie was stupid" Evan, not the sweetest man I could've ever fumbled it with.
He can't be dead.
So while Sam tried to spark any heat into her wand, while Jammer put everything he had into each and every chest compression, all I could do was sit there in this daze. The broken pieces of wood in my hands could've been razor sharp glass and I wouldn't've cared any more. All I could hear was the blood rushing through my ears and the pounding of my heart, which I was starting to wish could be traded for the cold, still, lack of beat from Evan's. I would give him every drop of blood in my body. I would give him my arm. Absolutely anything and everything he could need, I would give. I don't care what happened between us, I don't care if he'll never love me again, I just want him back!
My mind was going a mile a minute but my body wasn't moving any more than his.
What are Sam and Jammer going to think when they find out the truth? When they learn that I did this to him?
I did this to him.
HOW COULD I DO THIS TO HIM?
I just wanted to help him. His arm looked like it probably hurt. He said it didn't bother him, but it had to. The way it looked, surely it hurts. He's gotten so good at hiding his pain that even he doesn't notice it anymore. I just wanted to help. I wanted him to feel whole, complete, perfect. But he doesn't need me to feel that way. He doesn't even need to be perfect. Why can't I let him be anything but perfect? Why does it always take something like this happening to make me realize when I'm doing it again? I can't fix everything. And even stuff I CAN fix, I shouldn't. He's been trying to tell me that for years, and I just never listen. Why do I never listen? Why do I always risk everything just on the off chance I'll make it better? Why do I feel the need to be the one to fix everything? I don't have to be the fixer all the time. Everything doesn't have to be perfect. Bones can heal wrong. Scars can be scars. 'I got to keep the arm.' he said. And then I take it away. And then I take his life. The one thing he always fought so hard for was to be alive.
He always fought so hard to be alive.
How can I live with myself after this? How can any amount of paid blood be enough to cover this cost? How can I ever redeem myself in my own eyes, let alone theirs? I've stolen their best friend away from them, right in front of their eyes.
I thought the water would save him. If it went wrong, if I couldn't do it, I hoped the magic in the water would protect him from anything that could happen. Protect him from me happening (again). Why didn't the water save him? Why isn't it doing anything? Shouldn't it close up the wound at his shoulder, restore his strength, help him make more blood, SOMETHING? WHY DOES MAGIC ALWAYS FAIL WHEN YOU NEED IT MOST? Of all fluids on my body, my tears are the least important. As the blood in the water soaked into what was left of my clothes, I still couldn't make myself move. Couldn't do anything. I would make a move to help, but I would just make it worse. Take me instead, I pleaded to the universe. It was my fault. Don't let him die, please. Please don't take him away. I'll do anything. I'll blow off my arm and write my plea in the pouring blood if that's what it takes, just let him live.
Please, just let him live.