The Broken Hearted

"Oh, you poor, poor dear," the elderly woman holding the prada handbag said as she bent down next to me. I glanced up at her from where I sat on the ground, my back, bloodied and scarred, leaning against a tree. My T-shirt was shredded and stained with my blood, and though I was trying to hide it, she could see it. "Are you all right?" her gray eyes seem to peer into my very soul. It's uncomfortable to say the least.

"M'fine, maddam," I said to her, tilting my injured head up a little so I could bette see her from the glow the streetlight gave off, just a few feet behind her. She was around fifty or so, with gray hair and a withered face, wrinkles about it. The worry was etched on her face, as if it were carved in stone. "Really. I'll be okay."

"Oh, heavens, boy!" she said, shaking her head. "No, you need to come with me. I can clean you up. Come." She held out a hand to me.

There's one thing you should know about me: I don't like people touching me in any way, whether it's to be helpful or not. So I gazed up at her with a neutral expression, and didn't respond to her in any way.

"Come," she said again, a bit more sternly. "You need to come with me, boy."

Boy. I had been reduced to boy. I sighed and bowed my head, a smile curving my features, though I wouldn't let her see it. I shakily started getting to my feet, gripping the tree for support. The tree was stained a red-brown color because of my blood. I didn't pay it any mind, though the elderly woman did. Her gray eyes went wide, and the age seemed to vanish from them and in its place fear emerged. And worry. She reached out to grip my shoulder, to help me.

I pulled away. I couldn't let her touch me. That wouldn't be good for either of us. So I pushed off of the tree and steadied myself, hardly wincing as pain soared through my back. She was stunned, to say the least. I could see the doubt in her eyes. I knew what she was wondering:

How is this boy still alive?

I didn't blame her, either. Hell, I was wondering the same thing. How WAS I still alive? Maybe Dubon's lessons had paid off, though harsh they were. I started walking, slowly, trying to steady the flow of blood throughout my numbing, freezing body. I almost laughed then, aloud. I almost wanted to round on her and laugh in her face because she had wanted to help me.

I was dying. There was no doubt about that. And even if the bloodloss didn't kill me, the infection from sitting against that tree, and the battle, would. I was dying, I would be dead soon, and I was the happiest I had been in my life.

The elderly woman could see something in my eyes, for she shook her head and pointed at her navy blue Corvet. I sighed and nodded my head, painfully forcing my hands into my bloodied pockets. Again, I almost laughed.

There was no way I was walking away from this one. It seemed a bit strange that Armasis would be the end of me now, but it really didn't matter. He was bound to be my downfall sooner or later, anyway. Maybe some part of me had stopped trying in this battle, and wanted me to die.

No, I mentally corrected myself, getting into her car, shakily buckling myself in. I was losing control of my muscles, and that wasn't good.

I hadn't stopped trying in that last battle, I had given up long ago. I had been longing for death ever since my beloved Anita died in that explosion over at the factory so long ago. She had been a strong girl, a brave one, and had thrived in the factory life. But when the machine she had been working on backfired, she had been terribly, critically wounded, and rushed to the hospital. Later, in the hospital as I gripped her hand and pleaded with her, she left me, entering the bright light. She left me forever.

I had given up then. Centuries ago, it seems, though it has, in reality, only been four years. I've tried to keep going, tried for her, but now I just can't wait to enter that same light, to walk into her arms again, and know that once I'm there, we won't ever be apart again.

That was all I wanted. I was already dying, let me be and I would be dead within a few moments. I would lie down and close my eyes, letting the chill of the wind numb my body and slow my heart, freezing my breath upon my lips.

But this elderly woman, whom I have not heard the name of, wouldn't let me. She was determined to keep me alive, as she kept pushing blankets at me, and she had the heater going full blast. It was warm to my body, but chilling to my heart. Nothing could ever unthaw the ice around my heart, couldn't she understand? Couldn't she understand that I wanted to die?

Apparantly not. I sighed and rested my head against the window as the car soared down the road. Glancing at the speedometer, we seemed to be edging toward seventy miles an hour, in a forty mile zone. I sighed once more and closed my cobalt blue eyes.

I felt her hand coming toward me. I could feel her about to touch me. I snapped my eyes open and pressed myself as close to the door and window as I could, flinching away from her touch. She seemed shocked that I would do this, but didn't question it.

"Stay awake," she instructed. "We'll get you help, sonny."

Okay, now I was 'sonny'. I had a name. But she hadn't asked, and I didn't feel like speaking unless it was absolutely necessary, and I wouldn't give my name out unless she gave me hers first, and I felt as if I could trust her.

Ever since Anita died, I had been slightly self-conscious and paranoid. I stopped talking to my friends, stopped going to the head doctor (of whom I hated with a raging passion, always telling me what to do and making me talk) and stopped caring. Nothing mattered anymore.

But I didn't want anyone to touch me. I hadn't let my friend, Johnny, touch me the last time I had seen him, when he had wanted to shake hands goodbye. I hadn't wanted help when I had been spewing into the gutter after trying to drink my woes away in a local pub. I didn't want to be touched. In any way.

I felt myself fading out, slipping away. The edges of my vision were becoming rather hazy and unfocused, and it seemed that my head liked to spin. The world was against me, and kept moving, no matter how much I silently begged for it to stay still so I could look at something.

Her hand was coming again. I jerked away from her, but that forced more pain into my body. I started to convulse, and she let out a small curse, and swung the wheel quickly. The tires screeched across the ground as she turned.

"Stay with me," she hissed over the sound of the humming engine, over the sound of my deteriorating, alternating heart beats. I smiled to myself, and gave a breathless, tired chuckle.

"This is it," I whispered in a choked, strained voice. I wasn't sure if she heard or not, and quite frankly, I didn't care. "I'm finally dying..."

"No," she said quickly. "You're not. The hospital's just a few blocks away."

I said nothing to her in response. She didn't try to touch me this time, her hands never left the steering wheel. My eyelids were becoming rather heavy, and it felt as if there were weights on them. The Sandman was coming, as my mother used to say before she turned the lights off in my room. I could still feel her lips as they brushed against my forehead before she left the room.

"Stay with me, boy," the elderly woman stated. But her voice was just so faint, it sounded so very, very far away. And it just seemed to much trouble to ask her to speak up, or come closer. I hadn't the strength nor the will to do so.

So I drifted, in and out of awareness, praying it would just end already. The car skid to a stop, and rushed voices rang in the silence after the woman had left the interior of the car.

I felt them coming. They were going to touch me. I had no way to stop them, though I tried. I wanted to scream and yell at them and tell them to get away, to just let me die already. I was ready to die. I wanted to hit them and tell them to leave me alone, but I was too far gone to do anything of those things. I was already slipping into unconsciousness.

It was about damn time. Sheesh. I had to lie in pain for hours, and it finally decided to come, now that I was at a hospital where I could be treated? Why couldn't it have happened back at the tree?

I cursed fate silently, and then slipped out of it completely. Before I slipped out, I heard a rough voice say, "Don't worry ma'am. He's lost a lot of blood, but it seems you've gotten him here in time. He should pull through."

God. So CLOSE! I wanted to cry. In fact, right as I slipped out of consciousness, I felt a wet, salty tear slide down my left cheek.

And then I entered sweet bliss.

*Should I continue, or should this be a one-parter? Please comment and let me know! ^_^ Thanks!*