struggling to live up to that. The loyal soldier, following his father's orders, fighting a war that had almost cost him his life. He hadn't enlisted… he'd been drafted at birth.
He never complained before. Complaining was pointless. He did it because it was his duty. He did it because it was his birthright. And he'd always believed what he was doing was for the best, but now? Now he wasn't so sure.
Because being that soldier had cost him a lot, more than he'd been willing to pay.
He wanted a fucking refund.
"It's not so bad," he said. "As long as I can count on myself, I don't really need anyone else."
"Well, that's something, I guess," she said. "So… how are you feeling?"
He cut his eyes her direction at that question. How are you feeling? She stared at him eagerly as she awaited his answer, like she truly wanted to know.
"Dead," he admitted. "I feel dead."
"That's normal," she said, before amending, "well, maybe not normal, but it's understandable. You almost did die. You're lucky to be alive."
"So shouldn't I be rejoicing?" he asked. "Shouldn't I be celebrating getting another chance?"
"Probably," she said, "but I guess it depends."
"On what?"
"On whether or not you value your life."
He was quiet, stewing over those words, as he picked at his fingernails. "I'm not suicidal. You don't have to sit here and talk me off of a ledge."
"I don't think you're suicidal," she said, "but suicidal people aren't the only ones who jump."
He shook his head. "You don't know me."
"But I know people like you," she said. "People who value pride and loyalty. People who keep fighting because it's what they think they're supposed to do. People who refuse to let go out of stubbornness. People who jump, believing they'll land on their feet."
Dante clenched his hands into fists. "Like I said, Nurse Russo, you don't know me."
"It's Gabby," she said, her voice calm despite the hint of anger in his tone that should've warned her away. "And I don't have to know you, Dante. Not really. But I had a brother once. I had a brother who was strong, and stubborn, and the furthest thing from suicidal. But he was also someone who valued his pride more than his life. I had a brother who jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge. He didn't do it because he wanted to die. No, he did it thinking, somehow, he'd live. Someone told him he wouldn't, and so he did." She stood, placing a hand on Dante's shoulder, squeezing. "I hope everything works out for you. If you ever need someone to talk to, you know… if you ever decide you want to trust someone again… I'd be more than happy to listen. Just try not to jump, you know, unless you're certain the consequences are worth it."
Dante watched her as she walked away. His stomach twisted in knots. She'd gotten under his skin. He didn't like it. They'd only had a handful of conversations and yet she had him nailed down like he'd been an open book.
The worst part was that she wasn't wrong. His pride was all he had left at that point.
Standing up, he straightened the set of paper-thin borrowed scrubs he wore, ones the hospital had provided before showing him the door. His clothes had been cut off of him on arrival, had been taken as evidence by the police, along with any belongings that had been in his pockets… if the Barsantis had left him with anything. He didn't know. He hadn't asked. Until then, he hadn't even cared. But suddenly, he was itching to get his hands on his wallet.
Without it, he couldn't even afford subway fare.
No money. No phone. Not even a friend.
"Nurse Russo?" he called out, catching her before she entered the hospital.
She paused. "Please, call me Gabby."
He nodded, acknowledging that. His stomach churned. He could see her hope, that wide-eyed innocence, like she thought she'd gotten through to him.
He hated to have to squash it.
"I was just wondering if you had a few bucks you could lend me," he said, hating every syllable that came from his lips. He loathed himself for asking. He felt small. Emasculated. "I wouldn't ask... fuck, I know I shouldn't ask... but I've got nothing on me, and it's hard to get around this city when you've got nothing, you know?"
He wanted to dig a hole in the ground and crawl right in it, throw some dirt on him and call it a fucking night.