He opened his eyes, and he was alone. What just happened, he wondered, and how long was I down for this time?
He remembered the car wrecks. The shootings. The stabbings. Burning alive. The drowning. His own rape. Do unto others, he thought, questioningly.
So far, he'd hurt everyone he'd ever loved. Did he love?
Ultimately, yes. If he loved nothing else, he loved her. They had a mission, no matter how vague and ill-defined it seemed, at times. A destiny. He only hoped it was a shared destiny.
How ironic, to come back from the dead. Again. Forever. And find yourself a lonely ghost haunting an empty world.
It couldn't be, he reasoned. She was promised to him by the man himself. God the liar? It did not compute.
So while he was convinced, how could he convince her?
Her beliefs got in the way of her faith. Self-doubt translated into real doubt. Why don't you share your knowledge with others, she had asked him in another life.
Because even she didn't believe him. How could anyone else?
It was lonely at the top and bottom.
He told her there was no such thing as hell and the devil. She was his proof. He was her counter-proof.
If he was the chosen one, or at the very least one of the chosen ones, why would existence continue to thwart them both?
Why did he keep waking up?
Because he loved her. And only her. And she loved him.
He only hoped that was enough. He was out of ideas.