I’ve counted each and every minute with her these last few months, the good and the bad. 181,440 minutes that I would give anything to do over. Sitting here with a half-empty bottle of whiskey and some dive bar I don’t even remember the name of, I count the drops of condensation on my glass as they slide down, each one fading away and disappearing into the napkin underneath it just like every moment I spent with her. I had her and I let her slip through my fingers. I should have held tighter, fought harder, gotten there sooner.

I’ll never run my fingers through the long, crimson hair that reminded me so much of fire when the sun hit it. I’ll never feel the heat of her body pressed to mine again or the way she’d whisper my name against my lips right before she came.

Fuck, that goddamn sigh…it was like she just breathed my name, as if it were the oxygen in her lungs that gave her life. I can still hear that fucking sound every time I close my eyes and it completely guts me.

She branded her name on my heart and I know I’ll never be the same. I’ll never get the chance to tell her that I don’t fucking care about the scars on her body. I don’t care about anything but seeing her smiling and hearing her laugh.

Staring up at the clock on the wall behind the bar, I realize it’s been eighteen hours since I last saw her alive. In my mind’s eye, I see her standing there, a flush on her cheeks and determination in her eyes as she told me to go. I did as she asked because I was angry and I knew she was hurting. I couldn’t stand the thought of hurting her any more than I already had. It seems that all I’ve ever done is hurt her.

She told me to go, and I did. I left her alone in that bedroom and I didn’t fight for her. I should have stayed in that damn room until she finally talked to me. I let my anger get the best of me and I turned my back on her to be taken by a sick fuck looking for revenge.

If only I would have stayed.

“Jesus Christ! Get me a gurney and some oxygen! MOVE, MOVE, MOVE!”

I hear shouts and the rustling of leaves from somewhere in the distance, but it feels like a dream. The voices are muffled, like people are shouting underwater. I don’t want to open my eyes. Everything hurts. My head is pounding, my skin feels raw and my throat burns. I can feel someone poking and prodding at me and I want to scream at them to stop, but I can’t make any words come out. Each time I try to speak, it feels like someone is rubbing a hot coal against my vocal chords.

I just want to sleep. I want to stay in this beautiful oblivion between sleep and waking up where I don’t have to think about everything that’s sitting right at the edge of my mind, waiting to take over – rope, threats, kitchen, fire, guns, daddy…

“It’s okay, Phina, try not to move. We need to make sure nothing’s broken.”

I must have made a noise of pain. I want to tell the voice it’s not the physical pain that’s killing me right now; it’s the mental pain. I see his face through the fire, the one that haunted my dreams and called me so many bad names. I see him in a different light, one filled with love and regret and apology. He traded his life for mine, the ultimate act of love. I don’t want to think about it, I don’t want to remember. It’s so much easier for him to be a monster in my mind than a savior.

I’m gently rolled onto my back and something hard slides under me. I finally open my eyes, hoping the memories fade as I let go of the darkness.

I blink rapidly when someone shines a light into my eyes while my arms and legs are strapped to something hard and uncomfortable.

“Hey, there you are! How do you feel? Can you speak?” Brad asks as he leans over me with his stethoscope, pressing it against my chest.

I look down and notice my sweatshirt has been sliced in half right up the front of my body. Before I can say anything to him, a plastic oxygen mask is pressed against my nose and mouth. Brad gently lifts my head to slide the elastic band around my head to hold it in place.

“Just breathe normally and take it easy,” he instructs me as I feel cool air inside the mask begin to float down my throat and put out the fire in my lungs.

I feel a prick in my arm and have the sudden urge to start giving Brad instructions on how to properly start an IV. That makes me want to laugh, which immediately makes me start to cry. I cough into the oxygen mask as my eyes sting with tears and my throat swells with emotion.

“It’s okay, you’re going to be okay,” Brad tells me softly as he continues to move the stethoscope around my chest.

I’m lifted suddenly and I stare up into the trees, watching them float above me as I’m moved until the night sky filled with stars is above me. I hear the rumbling of trucks, the wailing of sirens and so much shouting when we break through the trees that it makes my head pound.

“Oh, my God! Get out of my way! GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY WAY!”

A face comes into my line of sight, blocking out the stars, but it’s shadowed in darkness. All I can make out is short hair and I start to cry harder.

“DJ,” I croak with a raspy breath, my voice sounding like Darth Vader in my ears with the oxygen mask over my face.

I try to speak again, to tell him I love him and how sorry I am for everything I put him through. I want him to know that I was never really alive until I found him again. I want him to know that I can survive anything because of HIM. Because of his love and his belief in the type of person I could be.

“Sorry, princess, you get the consolation prize.”

I blink through my tears and the flashing lights from one of the vehicles illuminates Dax’s face as he stares down at me.