My vocal cords are hoarse from the amount of screaming that I’ve done today.
For hours, I watch Angel getting tortured.
At first, I tried to look away, but the man forced me to look by turning my body toward Angel. Seeing him tied up and at the mercy of some monster makes my insides churn.
I’m dying. Not physically, but mentally … dying at the sight of Angel losing his will to live.
With every drop of his blood, more of his energy spills out along with his reason, his sole motivator to fight.
It was me.
All along, it was me.
He wanted me to live, and in his effort to save me, he sacrificed his own life.
I wish I could turn back time and tell him not to. That I could stop him from even coming into the house and attempting to rescue me, just so I could spare him this pain.
I don’t want to see him hurt. I don’t want to see him bleed to death.
I love him.
It’s not hard to admit when I witness the man carve a hole into his body right on top of his heart … the heart that belongs to me.
I am his and he is mine.
And now we’re set to die.