Death of a King

Chapter 32

I could lay by his side forever, listening to the captivating thump of his heart deep under the surface of his skin. Pulsing like a beat recorded on repeat, never ending but always the possibility of such. From where I snuggled into his body, I couldn't see the bruises or the stab wound or the scars. I only saw a layer of inked flesh that rose and fell like tides on the shore with each breath he took, and all I could hear was that heartbeat.

    While he slept, I dreamed.

    Of a world where he wasn't the leader to a band of criminals. Of a world where he could ride down the road without worrying whether he'd make it back home in one piece. I dreamt of a house, and a family, and maybe even a little annoying dog that Dustin would tell everyone he despised but secretly he loved. I dreamt of a son Dustin could teach baseball to and a daughter Dustin could teach how to fight, just as he taught me.

    I dreamed and I let those thoughts take over because I knew in the deepest, darkest corners of my heart that Dustin would be a good father.

    If he survives that long.

    But dreaming can only take one so far. I could lay in this bed for the rest of my life, dreaming. But it wouldn't change reality, it wouldn't change what Dustin has to face each new day. The hardships would still be at large and there was no way for me to help with that. None of us could. The role of a leader was solitary, for only one to burden, one who accepted the consequences of that role. Nothing I said or did could change that.

    I doubt even Dustin could change that.

    He was strong, and determined, utterly devoted to a group of misfits who looked to him for safety and control. He wasn't only responsible for his own life, but for the lives of many. I would crumble under the weight of that but Dustin flourished in it. Like a diamond formed from pressure, Dustin molded to the role and became a man that could handle such afflictions.

    But in the pursuit of power and security, he lost himself. His true self. And became someone, something, closer to that of his father. Now one could hardly tell them apart. Was that a good thing?

    I wasn't sure anymore.

    A soft knock sounded at the door just before it cracked open. Lumiere was supposed to be back as soon as he gave Dustin's orders to Corinth and Eli, and Doc should be checking in on Dustin by now. The visitor at the door could have been either of them, but it wasn't.

    A slim body slipped into the room and closed the door behind them, dark brown hair fluttering with her movement as she entered with caution.

    "Heather?" I questioned, sitting up defensively in preparation for a fight if need be. But when Heather turned towards us and saw Dustin asleep on the bed, I saw her eyes glaze over with tears and her arms wrapped around herself. She was scheming and vindictive by nature but right now ... she appeared pitiful, "What are you doing here?"

    She nodded towards the man at my side, "I just wanted to see him."

    Heather looked different. Her face wasn't caked in makeup, her hair wasn't curled to perfection, and she wore a t-shirt with jeans rather than her usual gaudy outfit. She looked like, and bare with me on this one, a normal human being.

    I sat a little straighter, "I don't think Dustin would want you here."

    "I agree." She held her hands up as if to surrender, but her eyes never left the body beside me. Heather inspected him from head to two, taking in every bruise and every cut. When her examination found the bloody gauze taped to Dustin's side, the tears in her eyes spilled over and trickled down her cheeks, "He looks awful."