The cold hands. The synthesized morphine. The colors dancing on the wall. Those quiet moments, that flesh tearing sound in my drugged out haze. Her hand in mine, worried and not wanting it to show, bullet removed, going to be ok. Bed rest and no walking for a few days. My eyes watered. I closed them and woke in bed with her. She was crying.

“I knew this would happen.”

Maybe a day later. The cold seeping into everything. It was raining. Left side slicing rain. Her hair was tangled. I smiled at her.

“You knew I would get hurt.”

“No I knew I would care…….”

The death of everything new. She cared. I didn’t. I liked being hurt it was searing and alive. No response from me. Just this sneaking feel of something new. Act like you care I thought. It will make her feel better.

“You can’t help it. You have a kind heart.”

“Do I?”

“Of course, Helena it needed to be done. We where running low on artillery. We needed to get out of this place and test our mental and physical toughness. We are all better for it. And now I have a sexy scar to match your own.”

She smiled. It made her feel better and time clicked off. We got closer. Slept together more and more. I felt so bittersweet. Time can pass and you blink your eyes and you don’t even notice it.

Everything was falling into its neat place. I kept my eyes open when we alone. When we reached the pitch of fire with each other. Not fair to keep thinking on Carmen. I kept them open and little by little I didn’t think about her. There was not enough time in the day. Between harvesting crops, and going for my runs up to Heaven, and movie night, and training and practice and the quiet moments after with Helena. I just didn’t have time to think about Carmen. And Helena not wanting to push me into some kind of metaphysical collision course with Carmen dropped her ideas of overtaking New San Diego.