“Sounds like a cliché,” I weakly replied, and clutched Gladyshev’s hand—grasping it as if it were a lifebuoy.
“And you don’t care?” he asked quietly, his voice trembling. Leaning over me, he pressed my face into his hands, staring at me with a feverish look full of fear.
“I don’t care,” I exhaled almost into his lips. “As long as you’re somewhere nearby… and somehow, forever…”
From the author: part 3 of the novel “I Repent.” Contains profanity.