By now, everyone in Sanctuary’s heard the news. They don’t know the half of it.
We’re alone now, back at headquarters. It already feels different without him. Empty. And not just because we’re the only ones here. The others went out somewhere to pay their respects. She was tired, she said. Wanted to rest after it all. Couldn’t argue with that, and she didn’t argue when I stayed behind with her. So now it’s just the two of us here. Or three of us, depending how I fit into the picture. Three’s a crowd and two of them are me.
She sits down on the bed, legs over the edge. Hands on her knees, biting her lip and looking hard at nothing on the floor. The light from the balcony shooting through the dust in the air like bullet trails. I’m pacing, trying not to stare at her. Trying to keep the big guy quiet. Now’s not the time. Just keep your damn mouth shut for once.
“Shut UP,” he growls, shaking my head. Seething under our breath. “Splattered his blood-chunks with the red agony screaming.”
There’s a hitch in her throat from across the room. Now you’ve done it, you tactless oaf. But she doesn’t say anything. She never does, even when we’re screaming ourselves inside out. Plays it off like she’s seen worse. Surprised she hasn’t turned on me like all the rest. Not yet, anyway. She could rip me to pieces by lifting a finger, but she hasn’t. After all this time I wonder why she keeps me around.
And now she’s hurting. I can tell by the way she just sighed, like there’s a knife between her ribs and every breath slides it in deeper. I can tell a lot of things about her now. No surprise, really, considering I’ve been following her around like a pup skag begging for a scrap of meat since day one. Turns out I’m not the only Vault Hunter around here who talks to myself. But I’ve been watching and listening, too. There’s a part of me that’s still kind of good at that, at least when the other part stops raging. I can guess what’s bothering her, and it isn’t just Roland.
We killed an angel. Angel was a Siren, like her. Not too many of those in the universe, even less on this slagged wasteland of a planet. Never thought I’d see one, let alone three. Never thought I’d have to kill one. She begged us to do it. Still didn’t deserve it. I should die for that—but no, I’ve come too far. Have to end it. Have to see it end.
And her. Maya. As far as I’ve been able to work out, she was a prisoner too before she came here. They kept her in the dark, fed lies to her, until one day she found out the truth. I know what she’s thinking now: at least she got a chance to escape, to start over, even if she made a mess of it here on Pandora. Angel didn’t have that chance.
I want to tell her I know what she’s feeling. Tell her I’ve lost things I can’t even remember. Tell her how to survive when the pain slices right through you and the bloody edges don’t line up right. But maybe I don’t know. Maybe she’s more alone in this universe than I’ll ever be, locked in my own skull with a madman for a cellmate. At least I’ve got company in here. And now I have her to protect me. To cover for me when I go in swinging. I didn’t think I deserved a guardian angel.
“They told me I was their savior.”
Is she talking to me? I look over at her, but she’s still staring at that place on the floor. I wonder if I’m supposed to be pretending not to hear this.
“Back on Athenas, the Order made me out to be some kind of god. By the time I figured out what they really wanted from me ….” She looks up as her voice trails off. Now she’s staring at me like she wants an answer, or at least a sign that there’s another human being somewhere inside the meat. But even if I was in control of myself, I couldn’t tell her what I really want to say. She doesn’t need another fan club, another mob of adoring followers, a cult of one. We saw what happened with the Firehawk. Besides, who wants to be a madman’s god? What does it mean to be a savior if the only soul you save isn’t worth saving?
Before I realize what he’s doing, I’ve made it halfway across the room. Oh, hell no. Where do you think you’re going? Back off, back off. Give her space. She doesn’t need this. She doesn’t need YOU. While I’m holding myself back, she gets up from the bed and walks over to us. I’m going to say something stupid. Shut up. Shut UP. SHUT UP.
“Hey.” She touches my arm for barely a second, but her touch sinks through me and into my veins like an injection of some really good stuff. I don’t want it to wear off, want to feel the pain and the numb forever. Burn it into me so I can never forget. “Thanks for staying with me. It’s … been rough for all of us, you know?”
A noise comes out of my throat. I want to touch her, but I stand there clenching and unclenching my fists like I’m practicing my strangling grip. “Bleed out the vengeance,” he says. “Make it squirm for mercy.”
Wonderful. I should start a line of sympathy cards.
Still, her lips curl up into that smile. The way she looked at me by the train tracks the day we met. Hot dry sunshine glittering all around her like maybe she was part of the mirage, dizzy. Sometimes I don’t know if she’s real, any more than I know if I’m real or just a voice in someone else’s head. Maybe I’ll wake up alone one day with blood under my nails and forget this never happened. But right now … right now ….
“Yeah,” she says, taking my arm again. This time she doesn’t pull away. “Don’t worry. We’ll get revenge for all of them.”
Don’t let go. Please, don’t let go. She’s right next to me and I can feel her body heat and the raw blood pulsing through her skin and I want this, just this, forever. Can you stop time, pretty lady? I don’t want anything to happen after this.
Will it still be all right if I can’t be saved? If I never get my mind back? If I’m never myself again? Maybe she’s not a goddess or a savior, even to me. Maybe there are no angels left in this world. But this … here … now ….
Maybe this is close enough.