If death is pain, then this is death.

There is nothing but pain.

White-hot agony.

I drift in and out of pain, craving the periods of unconsciousness in between.

When I’m awake, I can’t think. No dreams.

Just pain.

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THE PAIN NEVER GETS better, but the times of darkness are less frequent. Sometimes I almost manage to open my eyes, but I never quite get there. It needs more energy than I have.

My body is burning alive, dying while I’m still living inside it.

I want to die.

Please, let me die.

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SLOWLY, I BEGIN TO distinguish between the different kinds of pain. The one in my right arm is a deep ache while the one in my chest is like lightning ramming into my heart every few seconds. The pain in my head is pounding, a ticking that drives me crazy in its predictability.

Have I turned into the bomb? Is the timer inside of me?

I gratefully sink into the blackness whenever it comes, hoping that it will take me away forever.

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THE FIRST TIME I OPEN my eyes, I can’t see.

I close them again before I find out if it’s because the room is dark or because I’m blind.

It takes me a long time before I try again. There’s no way to measure time, locked as I am within my body, but it’s at least two periods of unconsciousness.

I proceed cautiously, blinking once, twice, willing myself to see.

Again, everything is black. No light at all. This isn’t just a dark room.

I’m blind.

“Louise?”

I’m not sure who is asking, his voice is distorted somehow. Like bits of it are missing.

I don’t reply, I don’t know how to. Instead, I let the blackness take me, hoping that it’s all just a dream.

The tubes in my throat have been removed and my hearing is slowly improving. I can tell my guys apart when they’re talking to each other, or to me. They talk to me a lot. Telling me stories, letting me know what’s going on, trying to make jokes. Most of it doesn’t make sense though.

I listen and try to imagine that it’s not real. That I can die. That I wouldn’t be leaving them behind.

It takes a lot longer for the pain to get less. It doesn’t disappear, but it’s no longer so intense. I can think more coherent now and stay awake for longer. I don’t open my eyes again though. I don’t make a sound either. I just lie there and listen to my men. It makes me happy to know that they’re all there and alive.

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I WAKE UP, FROM SLEEP, not from unconsciousness. It’s a nice change to know that I was able to sleep. Something is different. A new sound close to me.

It takes me far longer than it should to figure out what’s changed.

Someone is breathing next to me. I concentrate on my body, breaking down the brick walls I’ve erected inside of my mind to protect myself from the pain.

It hurts like hell but a new sensation washes over me at the same time. Touch. Someone is touching me. One of the guys is in my bed. He’s not hugging me like they usually would, but just lying next to me, his shoulder touching mine, my hip pressed against his chest.

I want to reach out and show him that I’m awake, but I still can’t move.

So instead, I make the first sound that isn’t a half-conscious moan.

“Hello.”

It comes out as a barely audible croak, but the body next to me immediately stiffens, then shifts.

“Louise? Are you awake?”

It’s Han. Seems the doctor got tired while looking after me. Or maybe he just missed cuddling me.

My “yes” is another croak, but it should convey the message.

He shifts again, making the mattress wobble, changing my position slightly. This time, I groan in pain as my unused muscles are moved.

“Can you open your eyes?”

He’s talking from above me now and his knees are pressing against my ribs. Is he kneeling over me? Not really how doctors should assess their patients, I think, noticing that I’ve made a first joke since... well, the bomb.

I can open my eyes, but I don’t want to. I don’t want to see the blackness again.

Instead, I clear my throat, hoping that he’ll understand that I really, really want some water.

Luckily, he’s not just my man, but also a perceptive doctor, and a moment later, a straw is put to my lips and I suck on it greedily.

When my throat is feeling better and I am able to speak, I ask what I’ve been wanting to know for a long time: “What happened?”

In fact, I have a whole host of questions, like did I cut the right cable, is the station safe, are we going to starve soon, how badly am I injured? But I don’t have the energy to ask all that.

“Do you remember the bomb?”

I nod, a tiny movement but I hope he sees it.

“You cut a cable – of course you did, we should have known that you’d do that. I don’t know how you managed to be so lucky, but you cut the right one. You successfully disconnected the timer and the bomb, but something went wrong. We don’t quite know what, but part of the bomb exploded even though it was no longer attached to the timer. It was only a tiny bit, but enough to hit you. What’s strange though... you must have seen it coming. We found you on the floor, clutching the bomb. You pulled it away from the pipes even though it wounded you severely. You saved us, you saved the station.”

He clears his throat. “But please don’t ever do that again.”

Now that he’s said it, I dimly begin to remember. I cut the wire, then the cylinder was beginning to make noise. I was worried and ripped it away from the cables and pipes it was threatening.

I take another sip of water from the straw he’s still holding to my lips.

“How bad?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, which tells me a lot more than words would.

“You got severe burns in the blast. Mainly on your chest and face. And you held the bomb when it exploded... I’m so sorry, I couldn’t save your arm.”

My arm. What? But it hurts. Both of my arms hurt.

I focus on the pain. The left one feels the same as the rest of my body, that tearing, searing pain on the outside. The right though, it’s deeper. A different kind of pain.

“There were some complications,” Han continues, his voice guarded. “But I think we’re through the worst of it now. You’ll be okay. The burns are healing well, and in a few days, we might be able to help you start moving again so your skin gets stretched and the scars will be softer and less painful later on.”

He pauses for a moment, letting it all sink in. “We’re all here for you, every step of the way. You saved us, now it’s our turn to take care of you. Toby has been waiting to tell you that the two of you match now – it’s his new favourite joke.”

“Yes, I’m trying to get him to amputate my arm so that we can rock the same look.” Toby has entered the room without me noticing, and his warm lips press on my forehead a moment later. “Welcome back, beautiful.”

“Don’t,” I mutter, not sure if he’s serious. Tiredness is clouding my thoughts again.

“It’s good to have you back,” he whispers, a slight choke to his voice. “We’ve missed you.”

I want to reply, but all I can do is yawn.

“Sleep,” Han says and gently takes my left hand. “We’ll be here when you wake up.”

***

AND THEY ARE, ALL OF them. They stay with me through the pain, even when I can’t stop the tears flowing from my useless eyes and the sobs from escaping. The burns hurt a lot more than the phantom pain in my right arm. Sometimes I’m almost glad I can’t see myself in the mirror. When I touch my face, I can feel the thick scars covering my skin, especially on the right side. Most of my hair is gone, too, but I don’t care much about that.

The men tell me that I’m beautiful, but I don’t care about that.

The important thing is that they still love me. They prove it every hour of the day, with their small gestures, jokes and encouragement.

They’re with me when I slowly start to walk again.

They take me to the Spire to feel the smooth rock, exploring it with touch rather than sight.

And they surround me in bed every night, holding me through the nightmares and the pain, making me feel safe. Without them, I’d be nothing.

Somehow, this disaster has made us become even closer. And once I’ve learned to live with my injuries, I’ll become a proper part of the team again, not just someone who needs to be looked after. That’s what I’m working towards.

I’m not a victim. I’m a survivor.