He felt her pull him into her. Almost involuntarily, he leaned his head onto her shoulder as she pulled his hands around her neck, desperately trying to keeping him warm. He knew her plea for help would go unanswered. Everyone else had too much on their minds. They didn't need to worry about him.
It felt nice being so close to her. Even if it was only because they had both nearly been killed in an earthquake and he was in shock, as well as having a broken leg. And yet all he could worry about was the fact she hadn't said it back.
If she didn't love him back... If she felt guilty... He would make her forget. Make her forget he had ever said it. It would hurt him to know, but she wouldn't have to know about his broken heart. He was good at hiding secrets. He had been doing it most of his life.
He didn't want to admit it, even to himself, but he was fighting to remain conscious. The pain of the break combined with the shock meant his mind was clouded and sharp at the same time. He was clinging to remain awake.
"Loren... Don't let me sleep. Just... don't let me sleep."
Sleep just seemed so appealing. But it was all wrong. She was supposed to be in his arms, not him in hers. He wasn't even properly in her arms. She was just supporting him, sharing her body heat so he didn't get cold. And he wanted to know where she was. Call it a paranoia after the events of the past few hours, but he needed to know where she was and to know she was safe. He didn't want to wake up without her in a strange hospital. He wanted to know she was still there for him, to make him smile when he needed it most.
"I want to tell you a story... But you can't let me sleep."
If it meant keeping her with him, he would tell her everything. If it meant hanging on that little longer, he would spill his guts.
"I know you've always wondered why I am the way I am.
My mom left us when I was four. My dad lost his job. His only option was to become a drug courier.
I first saw him dealing when I was ten. He told me exactly what he was doing.
Everything just got worse from there.
I was kidnapped when I was thirteen..."
He thought it would make him feel a little better, getting it off his chest. But as he spoke, he suddenly realized he was burdening her with it too. He hesitated for a moment, feeling his head swim.
"...I was beaten up more times than I care to think to get my dad to give the goods. I saw my dad shot when I was fourteen."
He trailed off there. What more was there to say? He had just poured his soul out before her. And now she had that on her shoulders too.
"No, I'm sorry. You don't need to worry about me. I'll make you forget..."