From Darkness

Forty-Eight

I came to on the floor of our apartment, lying on my side with Bucky dead on my lap. Or at least I thought he was dead until he shifted and groaned. He'd bled all over my legs, and my face had pumped out enough blood to make my hair sticky. I winced from the pain shooting through my skull.

He shifted a few more times and groaned.

"Jo?" he croaked. I got one hand to move, only to my face to rub the pain from my skull.

"I'm here," I tried to say. But my throat still ached, and I could barely get a word out. He dropped off of me, barely managing to crawl toward me. I felt him lift my head, and I got my eyes open.

His face was covered in blood, his eyes were bloodshot. But he was alive. He was breathing. The blood was red. He would live.

"How do you feel?" I asked.

"Hurts." It apparently hurt so much that he couldn't stay up. He dropped beside me.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. He tensed.

"Jo, I...," he started.

"It wasn't your fault."

"I still did it. I can hear it in your voice." He lifted a hand, dragging his fingers over my throat as if he was struggling just to hold his hand up. He was fighting sleep, and it was the only reason he'd managed to regain consciousness so soon.

"I'll be okay," I assured him. "I think you will too. You just need to rest, okay?"

"I hurt you."

"I hurt you too. I—I tried not to."

"I deserved it."

"No, you didn't. It wasn't your fault."

"I'm still here." I leaned forward to kiss him, but I couldn't do it. I pressed our foreheads together.

"I know. But I don't know if I'll be able to stop it again."

"We have to get out of here," he whispered.

"I know. Once we get some rest, we'll go. I'll go anywhere with you."

"Stay with me."

"I will. I'll be right here with you. Get some sleep."

"I'll never forgive myself." I moved my head to kiss his forehead. I felt the exact same way. My heart hurt just knowing I'd almost lost him, and I had no doubt he'd feel the same way when he was fully conscious and recovered.

"I love you," I told him honestly. "So so much."

"I know," he replied. "And I love you too."

"Get some rest."

"Don't leave."

"I won't."

His breathing went regular and shallow again. I couldn't move for a moment. My skull was splitting. My throat hurt so bad I couldn't breathe without feeling like I was sucking in smoke and ash. But I managed to force myself upright. He stayed on the floor in the blood, not moving but breathing.

He didn't wake up like he usually did. Not when I went to the bathroom to wash my face. Or the kitchen to find the notebook he'd left on the counter. I sat down on the loveseat with a pen and cracked the cover. The first thing I saw was the picture Elena took of us at her birthday dinner. When Bucky tried to explain that he didn't want his picture taken, she told him "too bad" and took it anyway. He had his arm over the back of my seat and looked only mildly irritated that she was taking it, but he was trying to smile anyway. I never knew what happened to the picture after she'd given it to him, but he'd apparently stuffed it away in his journal. It was right on the page where he'd begun to question whether or not I loved him. I'd written "She does" before I ever realized how deep that love could grow.

I sniffed back tears as I moved to the back behind all the entries he'd filled out. All the memories we shared. Ivan's death. The train ride. Late nights and long conversations. Kisses and laughter. Dancing to an old song he'd found on the radio about beautiful dreamers. I settled on a blank page and tried to think of what I could say to explain to him why I had to go, and he couldn't follow.

I told him what I knew. Our trajectories had crossed, and someday gravity would pull us together again. I told him how badly I wanted that "maybe someday" and how much it hurt to have to go, but that we had to protect each other. And I knew the thing inside me was tearing me apart. He knew it too. So I had to trust that he'd let me go. I ended it with the only words I could think of to explain how much he meant to me. And how happy I'd been to spend the last year of my life with him.

"It was spectacular," I wrote.

I stuffed the picture in the page so he'd find it when he woke up. Then I set it down beside him and made sure he was still breathing. I went to find him a glass of water and the bottle of aspirin he kept on hand that never killed his pain for very long. I set them beside the book, gave him one last kiss goodbye, and left with my backpack.

Elena found me at the bottom of the stairs. I didn't know if it was her sixth sense this time or the fact that I'd been crying loud enough to wake the entire goddamn building. The door opened when I reached the bottom step, and she hurried out, ranting in Romanian and simultaneously trying to figure out what was wrong. I shook my head and put my hands up.

"It's not his fault," I said with my voice that just didn't want to work right. "I just have to go."

"What? Why? Why do you have to go?" she asked. "Is it that fiancé of yours?" I decided that was a good enough lie.

"Yeah, it's him."

"You owe him nothing. He's garbage."

"I know. I know. I'm not going back. I'm just trying to—distract him. So that he won't hurt Iacob. Do you understand?" She looked suspicious like she disapproved of my choice. I decided to stop her before she could try and convince me to stay. "Just take care of him, please? Promise me that you'll take care of him."

"No," she said.

"Please, Elena?"

"I will only if you promise to come back. Only if." I nodded quickly.

"Yes, of course. I just have to be sure it's safe. Just, please? Please make sure he's okay?" She nodded slowly.

"Fine. I will."

"Thank you, Elena." I reached out to give her a hug even though she never seemed to like them. She hugged me anyway, and when I pulled away, her eyes were wet.

"Promise you won't go back to that man. He's a bad man," she said.

"I would never. I'm doing this to keep Iacob safe. To protect him. But I would die before going back to that place." She nodded in approval.

"You'll be back soon?"

"As soon as I can."

"I have something for you. Before you go."

"I really have to hurry. I have a train to catch."

"One second."

She rushed back into her apartment, and I considered sneaking out while she was gone. But I was leaving my whole heart behind, and it was difficult to get my feet to move. She returned before I could do it. She held out one of the pictures she'd taken. The one that was almost exactly like the one I'd left in his notebook. Only it must have happened a few seconds after the first one because Bucky wasn't looking at the camera anymore. He was looking at me, and I was looking back. It was the only physical proof I'd ever seen of our mutual happiness. There was light in his eyes as he smiled and warmth and love in mine as I gazed back at him. It was all that was left. The closest to that "maybe someday" we'd ever have.

I couldn't find the words to thank her. I just nodded and sniffed, and she put her hands around mine to make sure I understood the photo was mine to keep.

"I'll take care of him," she said. "You take care of you."

"I will," I squeaked. "I promise."