I could my hot blood welling up between my fingers.
I lifted my right hand to look and saw my entire palm smeared with blood. It was beginning to dry in places and would crack if I flexed my knuckles. The sharp pain in my abdomen began again and I returned my hand to its original position: pressing down on a gunshot wound that I knew to be fatal. Applying pressure only works so long.
My head began to feel as if filled with air. I resisted the urge to giggle as I realized it felt like the first time I got drunk. My whole life seemed so far away, as if it never happened. All that existed was the present, and even that seemed to be fading.
My legs were beginning to feel cold and numb, it wouldn't be long now until I crossed the barrier between life and death. Fear wasn't an option for me, only regret. I could have lived and done something great with my life, or perhaps been just another starving artist practically living on the street.
What of Abbey?
Reason always comes through eventually. I couldn't just die and leave Abbey alone, not in this world, nor in any other. My death would not be mine alone, for an already mentally unstable girl to lose someone she cares about would be suicide waiting to happen.
Love makes us fools, but happy ones.
I could not lose Abbey to herself, even if there was nothing I could do about it. I would fight, but in the end, if there was nothing I could do to live, I could at least tell her I loved her.
Always had, always will. You know that, right Abbey?
Of course, you're the only person who has ever actually liked me with no string attached. You can even deal with my mood swings.
That's part of loving you.
She already knew I loved her. There was nothing left to say, nothing I could tell her that she didn't already know.
Because that's what love is, knowing someone cares for you without the necessity of them saying it.
And so I die content.