How I ran away

How I crossed the line

Dan’s gun is out of his pocket and aimed. He shoots. A perfect shot. The man falls back, dead. But Dan Van Zyl is too late. The man already shot.

                Time slows.

                “Holly!” my name being called. I turn my head. The bullet. Speeding at me. Too fast for my mind to register. Too fast for me to react.

                My hero saves me.

                Twelve springs in front of me. Catching the bullet.

                He falls onto the ground. I jump to him. Ignore the burning pain in my leg. Ignore it because of the blood. The bullet. A dot of blood on his chest. But the blood leaks. A red trail is left behind as it falls to the ground. a thin stream of blood.

                “Twelve!”

                I grab his face in my hands. Softly. His eyes are flickering. Between life and death. “Oh no, no, no, no,” I press my hand against the wound. To stop the bleeding. Why won’t the bleeding stop! Stop!

                “No, no, no,” his heart is still beating. A steady rise in his chest of shallow breaths.

                I take his face in my free hand. its bloody. Blood smears on his flawless face, “you’ll live,” I say.

                It takes an effort. A visual effort. But he makes the words come out. “No. I won’t.” he coughs. A terrible sound. My breath is coming out in short gasps. I still mutter, “no.”

                “I-I—” he can't get the words out. Can't complete the sentence. But I understand. I stare into those flickering eyes. Hazel. I never noticed before. More green than brown in the stream of light that hits it.

                My hand against his chest. I feels the heartbeat. The beat of a dying man. The fading beat.

                “I know,” I say. “You’ll live, stay with me Twelve.”

                “James,” his voice faint. Barely audible.

                “What?”

                “M-my name,”

                “James,” the name comes off my tongue softly.

                There is a thin line between love and hate. I hated the man that saved me. A thin line. One so easily crossed.

                I lean down, and press my lips to his. A kiss. My hands spread blood over his face. There is a flicker of reaction from his lifeless body. Lifeless. No.

                I press my head against his chest. Against the wound. Blood spills into my hair. the only sound—the blood drip. Other than that, silence. No.

                “James,” first a whisper and then I am screaming his name. willing for it not to be true. The only man I ever loved.

                “He’s too old for me,” I say in my head. Push back that feeling. But in truth he couldn’t be older than twenty-five. He could've been eighteen even. That makes my heart beat faster. Against his silent one.

                Can't except it. Can't.

                Impossible.

                There is a thin line between love and hate. And I crossed it.

                And that is when the first tear drops. Mixes with the blood. Finally accepting that he is gone. gone. Died to save me. I cry in the first time since—forever. for the guy I barely knew. For the guy that saved my life more times than I can count.

                Gone. Because of me.

                No.

                He can't be gone.

                But I am already sobbing. Crying uncontrollably. My whole body heaves with the tears that fall.

                I don’t know until now. I didn’t know.

                I lean down and whisper what he tried to say before. Whisper into his ear.

                “I love you.”