He mouthed "I'm sorry," before he condemned me. Then there was blood and pain and then a lot more blood. He mouthed "I'm sorry," before he did it, though. There was regret in his eyes and the sharp pain of -- not so deep as betrayal, I think, more like shock. Maybe a bit like envy, maybe a bit like sorrow.
Later, after I had gotten suspended and he'd been labeled a hero, there was the bit of the story no one ever cared about. Later, he sort of kidnapped, sort of rescued me, and took me into the mountains, where it's always warm if you have a fire and someone to keep in your heart. He yelled to me over the roaring of his motorcycle that 'It's safe up in the mountains. No one cares there. No one will care!' He looked beautiful -- yes, beautiful -- in the dying sunlight, with his hair thrown back from his face, grinning. In that moment I sort of loved him. Sort of. Maybe a little. Like he made me feel warm and fuzzy inside. Like I wouldn't be cold again.
He apologized later but he didn't need my forgiveness, and I didn't need to know he was sorry. He told me before he condemned me.
Now he's a hero, and I'm the missing child, but no one will ever search for me, because I was condemned by the hero. But he said he was sorry, and I kind of love him.
Because he also rescued me, but sort of saved me. That's what heroes do, after all. Save people, right? Like, before he came, I was always cold. But now I'm warm again, because he saved me.
Now he's the hero, and I'm gone. But I'll never be alone.
Because here in the mountains, it's safe here. It's always warm here, as long as you have a fire and someone to keep in your heart. So I'll keep the fire going, because I know he'll come back, because he's the hero -- my hero, even, if you want to say that -- and I have someone to keep in my heart.