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The drugs in his veins drum, drum, drum along his insides, plays choir music when it reaches his head.
( The eerie silence in his mind just leaves him cold and in pain, reminds him of the bullets that were once in his ribs, and of the bullets that are in her stomach. )
If he could move he'd reach for the white, off-white, white walls of the room, grip the sun that is pretty, pretty, pretty brown hair, twirl it around his fingers and hear her laugh.
( Hands are clasped together while he leans back, eyes closed and glasses acting as his shield. If he could kiss her again he would; if he could kiss her and never stop kissing her, never stop touching her he would, he would, he would, he---)
He lost faith in God at a young age, lost her number too when his Father's fists beat him so hard he forgot everything in tandem for a moment. But she's right, right, right there and smiling, lovey and lively and sweet! He'd kiss her if she wasn't so far, he'd kiss her if he could make his mouth move if he could, if he could, if---
( He should have admitted it when she was dying, when he could smell her blood drip drop drip out of her. He should have told her he loved her then like in those old movies he can't bare to watch now but he flinches hard at the thought. She told him to burn, and by God, he's obeying. )
K-ay, K-ay, K-ay, a low tone in his mouth that sounds like a tune. Wiggling fingers catch themselves on white fabric, thumbing the wrinkles of her shirt like an almost lover, and ah! She smiles at him so sweetly, rolls her eyes playfully, he wishes he could follow.
( He has no right to feel guilty, he and his brother did this to her the moment she was held hostage. He did this to her when he told her he didn't want her to leave. He did this to her while he was enthralled by Santanico and he did this to her when he used her and let her die. One thing he knows is that you're not suppose to let the one you love die. Richie also knows how skilled he is in that regard. )
Kate! Kate! Kate! A hymn is in his mouth when he says it! A hymn that she repeats back Seth, Seth, Seth, but the more he hears it the more deep down it sounds like 'I hate you, I hate you, I hate you,' but he's on cloud seven through ten and he can pretend here. He loves her, the darling girl on his left shoulder.
( He loves her, loves her in ways he can't even try to explain. Loves her in ways he won't get a chance to. )
Like any faithful fool he'll blame himself, blame Richie, but only when the high dies down and all he's left with is the dead truth.
( He went back for her only find the blood and some masochistic hope that her words of anger would be carried by the wind. He'll take anything but silence, a shame that's all he gets. Silence and a crippling sense of dread when his mind wanders down a list of possibilities over the lack of a body. )
He's sorry, terribly sorry, guilt buries itself in him so deep he has to use a syringe just to deflect it, he wants to say sorry.
( He wants to say sorry. )
Seth will do anything to make it up to God now and killing Carlos just isn't enough.
( Richard will do anything to make it up to God now and killing Carlos will never be enough. )
But until then, he'll be high when he sees her and he'll wish he was.