Page 29 of He Will Always Love Me

I can see it in her eyes. It’s the gaze of every soldier haunted by the suffering and death around them. She has killed before. With her penchant for mercy, I have to guess that it’s only ever been in self-defense, but I see in those world-weary eyes that she understands the weight that killing places on your soul.

And her gaze is so familiar. Seeing her is like running into a best friend from your early childhood. Painfully familiar but also so different from the person you expect to see. And why would I expect to see her, anyway? I’ve never met this woman before in my life.

“I still think it’s the person who wastes vital medical supplies on an enemy combatant,” I slur. The blood loss must really be getting to me. My eyelids are drooping, and I might pass out again.

“Hey.” She smacks my cheek. “Stay awake.”

Before I passed out the first time, I remember thinking that it was Ataxia’s will for me to die a hero on the battlefield. Being alive is something of a shock, but if Ataxia doesn’t want me dead yet, what does she want?

Maybe all this – the war, the battle, the getting shot, the almost dying – was her trying to nudge me into the right place at the right time. Maybe my destiny was never to die in a fight, but rather to live and be with the girl currently treating my wounds.

The idea feels right, but I don’t know why. A war is no place for love to bloom. Then again, Ataxia has always been poetic in that sense. Amid all the hatred and destruction, something beautiful is born.

But still, this girl has no reason to help me. I’m the enemy, and any sane person would have shot me in the face as soon as they saw that I was still alive. A feeling of guilt forms like a rock in my stomach. It’s my people’s fault that her people are suffering, but still, she stops to help me.

Maybe she too can feel this impossible, inexorable connection.

This revelation changes everything. I’ve had my doubts about this stupid war and the suffering it has unleashed, but I justified it by saying that my purpose is to be a soldier. Could I have been wrong the whole time?

The girl is rambling, talking about earth animals called scorpions and frogs and how scorpions cannot be trusted. If I’m being honest, I’ve tuned out most of it, mainly because I’m struggling to stay awake.

She moves to slap me again, and on reflex, I grab her hand, nearly crushing it with my grip. With a pained hiss, she tries to pull free, but I’m too strong. “Let go, you dingleberry!” she snaps.

Surprised, I snort out a laugh as I release her. If anyone else called me that, I would have broken every bone in their body, but I find myself somewhat amused by her use of the classic insult. Very few humans are bold enough to insult an Odex to his face.

She shakes out her hand. “What is wrong with you?”

“I don’t like getting slapped,” I reply. “Next time you try that, the hand gets broken.”

“And how do you expect me to help you if I have a broken hand? Do you want me to leave you to die?” She rubs at the bruised hand, and I feel another twinge of guilt.

“Maybe you shouldn’t help me. I’ll only cause you pain.”

She rolls her eyes and pours antiseptic into the open wound. “Yeah, well, you’re not the only one who can inflict pain.”

I bite back a cry at the sting, but she ignores me, instead focusing on stitching my wounds closed. “I thought we established that I’m not very smart, so just shut up and let me help you,” she says.

She always was a feisty one.

Wait, always? Where did that come from? I’ve never seen this woman before in my life.

It must be another nudge from Ataxia, a sign that I should just put aside my pride and guilt and let this girl help me.

“Look,” she says, manually tying off the stitches, “I don’t know why I’m doing this either. I bet you would’ve killed me without hesitation if you could. It’s what the Coalition does. It tortures and kills and destroys.”

“Not true,” I protest. “You’re a noncombatant. I would never murder an innocent civilian, and my brothers are just following orders.”

She scoffs at that, rolling her eyes. “Tell that to Joe Rush, Felicia Pexers, Mandy Wex, and Evan Klint. Those are just the last four civilians I can name in the past month. Tell me, does ‘just following orders’ give any comfort to the loved ones they leave behind? Will those empty words dry the tears of their children and spouses?"

I find myself at a loss for words. Because she’s right. She’s completely right. I can parrot propaganda back to her as much as I want, but it doesn’t change the reality of the life she’s lived and the suffering she’s endured. I’ve seen it all firsthand, and it would be an insult to even try.

“Sorry,” I grumble. I’m not entirely sure what I’m sorry for. Maybe it’s for the suffering the Coalition has put her and her people through. Maybe it’s for my own stupidity and insensitivity.

Does it really matter when an apology will never even make a dent in the wrongs committed against her by the group that I’m a part of?

She huffs through her nose but doesn’t otherwise respond. Fair enough.

“So, you got a name, nurse?”

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