hear. The truth was something he knew someone like her couldn't handle... not without it altering her view of the world.
Some people were fueled by hope.
Others, like him, long ago realized there was no hope for the future. There was only the present until your luck ran out.
His was damn near a dry well at that point.
So he didn’t fight, he didn’t struggle, because death wasn’t something he feared. His last breath wasn’t something he’d dread. The time would come, sooner or later, when he’d close his eyes for the last time, never to open them again, but that didn’t leave him terrified of falling asleep. He’d accepted death at five years old, when his parents called in a priest to pray over him. Lying in a hospital bed not much different than the one he was in then, his chest ravished by fire, he silently prayed he’d die so he’d stop burning.
Since then, he’d just been waiting.
Waiting for that prayer to be answered.
Waiting for the fire to finally be put out.
Not that he looked forward to dying, because he didn’t. Some battles were just a lost cause. And if he had to die, he was going to die with some goddamn dignity, not crying like a bitch over a machine pumping air into his lungs.
A moment later, a doctor walked in, flipping through a chart as he approached the bed. Dante eyed him not nearly as kindly as he eyed the nurse. The doctor was a small man, wiry with thick-rimmed glasses and thin gray hair. He paused at the edge of the bed, not an ounce of compassion in his eyes and certainly none in his voice as he spoke. “Mr. Galante, I’m Dr. Crabtree, I’ve been taking care of you since you were brought in. We’ll be weaning you off of the ventilator soon. I’ll have the restraints removed as long as you’re cooperative, but we’ll have to reassess that if you act out. We won’t tolerate any of that roughneck behavior here. Do you understand? Nod if you do."
Dante just stared at the man. He'd raised his voice, like he was afraid he wouldn’t be heard. The condescending tone grated Dante's nerves. He figured a lack of reaction should be answer enough, but the doctor waited, eyebrows raised, like he expected some acknowledgement.
Dante nodded once.
Whatever it takes to get the hell out of this bed.
“Good, good…” Dr. Crabtree looked quite pleased with himself. “I'm glad you’re choosing to cooperate."
The doctor nodded toward the nurse, giving her permission to free him. She untied the restraints, getting rid of them. As soon as Dante was free, he reached up, feeling around on his face, fingertips grazing along the ventilator.
He almost did it.
He almost pulled the son of a bitch out just to spite the man.
The nurse shot him a look, though, that stopped him right away. It was a warning, daring him that he wouldn’t like what happened if he went through with it. Dante wasn’t one to take orders from just anybody, but he didn’t push it, not this time. Instead, he held his hand up, pressing his thumb and pointer finger together and wiggling them, making the motion like he was holding a pen. The doctor’s brow furrowed, terrible at Charades, but the nurse smiled.
“He wants something to write with,” she said. “I guess he has something to say."
Dr. Crabtree hesitated, like he was debating whether or not to allow that, but obliged. “Go ahead and get him something… something that isn’t sharp, you know, that he can’t hurt anyone with."
The nurse seemed a little put off by the request, her face twisting as if the insinuation was absurd. Dante would’ve laughed, well… if he could’ve. It was obvious the doctor knew who he was. She, on the other hand, probably had no idea what kind of man she was dealing with.
She returned with a yellow legal pad and a bright red crayon, looking like she’d taken it straight from a fresh pack. She held it up as she walked past the doctor. “This too pointy for you?"
The doctor glanced at it and seemed to consider it for a second. “That’ll be fine."
The moment the nurse turned, out of the doctor's line of sight, she rolled her eyes. Approaching the bed, she slipped the crayon into Dante’s hand, her fingertips brushing across his skin as she let go. She adjusted the bed, sitting him up a bit further, before holding the pad up to him so