My body writhes in pain.
Too late, too late, my mind echo's, a sharp pain stabbing at my head. Too late.
I groan at the hopelessness of it all, tears streaming down my face. Perhaps I should accept my fate now, there is no escaping it. I shall become a monster. Maybe at least that will make me something to fear.
"I know, darling, I know it hurts. But you are going to live now, just please, don't stop fighting," he assures gently, but only half convinced, unlacing one of his hands from mine to brush the back of his hands over my cheek to wipe away the solitary tear, his eyes glazed with the terrified frightfulness of my near death. My body flares up in pain, the virus solidifying itself inside my cells, fighting against my body for a place on its fragile host. I let out a despairing sob.
