But I Love Him, Sir!

On the bus to New York City, I stare out the window. Obviously, I'm depressed, but it's weird. I've always been the optimistic one. Maybe that's why I never crashed. Not when my mom told me my dad left because he hated me. Not when Billy Johnston broke my nose in the fifth grade.

Not when all the girls in my class laughed at me when I cried; we had just read the book with the family of immortals and the little girl, about how she gave the water to the frog instead of living forever with the boy she loved.

I didn't crash when my mom first broke a bottle on my head. I didn't crash when she begged my forgiveness, then shot up with heroine. I didn't even crash when she died. Or when Stone's family died. So there's no point in crashing now..right?

The ride is long, but uneventful. The streets in New York are so crowded, and the people so different, so..weird. I love it. It's amazing. I've never been here before, but I'm really getting sick of riding on all those trains and buses. My back is killing me, and I can feel blood trickling down, but I try to ignore it. As long as no one else notices, I'll be fine. Be a man, a small voice in my head tells me.

I'm trying my hardest not to find another bus and go back, but I can't help but wish someone deep down, deep, deep down, that Stone will somehow save the day. He'll come and save me, take me away, and kiss me better. But even I, the king of delusion, know that won't happen. And I can't miss the chance to keep him safe. It's really the only way I know how to take action. Staying with a bitter Stone, keeping us both in danger, just wasn't working for me.

As I walk down the street, occasionally bumping into a few people- they're used to it, they don't even look my way- I feel like this might even be the last couple of minutes I have left on Earth. I still have about an hour left, however. I don't have to meet Parker until then, so I head to the nearest McDonald's and sit with a large coke by the playpen, watching all the carefree, happy children. I know I can't eat anything right now; I'd throw up.

But I can't drink the coke either. It's perspiring almost as much as me, and soon my hands become cold with it. People start to shoot me weird glances. I can imagine what they're thinking: 'What's he doing, staring at the children like that? Is he a pedophile? A freak? It looks like he's gonna throw up..'. It's true, I do have to puke. I get up and throw away the coke, walking to the bathroom.

I'm surprised no one else is in the small restroom. Looking in the mirror, I shiver at my own reflection. My face is pasty white, and the black hair sticking to my hot skin only horribly contrasts with it. My eyes have a look of insanity, and I swear if anyone saw me right now, they would truly think I've lost it.

I look over every detail of my face, knowing that I won't be alive in thirty minutes. It scares me. My stomach heaves and I rush to the nearest stall, emptying what I had left in it. I shakily wash my hands and rinse my mouth out, taking a deep breath to try and steady my nerves.

Walking into Times Square twenty minutes later, I immediately feel self conscience. Someone's watching me. No doubt who, of course. Sitting on the side of a large fountain, I cross my legs and stare at the passerby, waiting for a bullet to hit me, a hand to grab me, I mean, anything! But nothing happens. Nothing at all.

As I sit there, life seems vivid, and I want to live it. I suddenly think of things I want to do that have nothing to do with what's going on at this particular moment. I've never swam in the ocean. I've never flown in a plane, or had sex. There's so many things I haven't done! I jump up, terrified that it's too late.

But then I stop. I can't do this. But..I have to. I have to let go. Sitting back down, I frown at the pigeons gathering around my feet. I don't know what it is about them, but it's almost like they know. They know what's happening, and they want to either protect me or grieve me. I hope it's not the latter. I guess it's as if they know I'm about to die.

As they gather, they don't peck. They don't move. They just kind of sit there, like they're waiting for something to happen. I feel like they expect me to do something. "I'm sorry." I whisper, feeling tears well up in my eyes. "I'm not..I can't.." I feel like I'm disappointing them.

At that moment, someone sits next to me on the fountain. "Oliver." Parker's voice almost makes me pee my pants. I gulp. "You came." He sounds sad. "You came. Goddamn. You actually came." I nod, wondering if they note of incredulity in his voice means anything.

"Come with me." He grabs my arm an pulls me along with him. I wonder briefly where he's taking me. There's this desperate hope in my that he's going to call this whole thing off. Let me live. And just because I'm so willing to sacrifice myself for someone whose life I royally fucked up. Let me live, I whisper inside myself.

That hope, of course, dissipates when he pulls me to a white unmarked van. There aren't any windows, but the edges are rusty. As he opens the back door, it squeaks loudly on its hinge, and Parker shoves me in. Someone- no idea who- pulls a black silky bag over my head and I struggle for a moment, but then what feels like a syringe in my arm sends me into black.

Fuck.