precaution, but he'd denied that request.
But as he sat there, he wasn't sure why he'd insisted on leaving. It wasn't as if he had anywhere to go.
"I'm Gabriella, by the way." She held her hand out to him. "Friends call me Gabby."
Dante hardly touched her hand before pulling away. "Dante, but you already knew that."
"I did," she said, "but it's nice to hear you say it, seeing as how you were refusing to say much at all."
"Yeah, well, you never know who you can trust," he said. "Besides, they didn't care about anything I had to say, so there was no point in saying it. They wanted to hear what they wanted to hear, and I'm not really in the business of placating assholes."
"I get it," she said. "It's kind of sad, though."
"What?"
"You feeling like you can't trust anyone."
"I wouldn't call it sad," he said. "That's how life is."
"Sounds lonely."
Lonely, yeah… that he would admit. The life he chose was a lonely existence. People always surrounded him, but very few were ever actually there . Forced smiles, frozen faces, the warmest greetings known to man. All of it, every second, every moment, was calculated, fabricated, little more than premeditated motions. People rarely smiled at him to be friendly. No, they smiled to hide their fear. They smiled to get on his good side, to gain some leverage, to feel like they had the upper hand. Nobody wanted to be on his bad side, so they smiled, grinning from ear-to-fucking-ear, dreading what would happen if they didn't.
Dante hadn't intended to become this person. Hell, he still wasn't sure it was even him. He was little more than a caricature, a face attached to a name. That was what it meant to be a Galante. People came with a predetermined set of beliefs about what kind of man he would be, and he spent his life struggling to live up to that. The loyal soldier, following his father's orders, fighting a war that had almost cost him his life. He hadn't enlisted… he'd been drafted at birth.
He never complained before. Complaining was pointless. He did it because it was his duty. He did it because it was his birthright. And he'd always believed what he was doing was for the best, but now? Now he wasn't so sure.
Because being that soldier had cost him a lot, more than he'd been willing to pay.
He wanted a fucking refund.
"It's not so bad," he said. "As long as I can count on myself, I don't really need anyone else."
"Well, that's something, I guess," she said. "So… how are you feeling?"
He cut his eyes her direction at that question. How are you feeling ? She stared at him eagerly as she awaited his answer, like she truly wanted to know.
"Dead," he admitted. "I feel dead."
"That's normal," she said, before amending, "well, maybe not normal , but it's understandable. You almost did die. You're lucky to be alive."
"So shouldn't I be rejoicing?" he asked. "Shouldn't I be celebrating getting another chance?"
"Probably," she said, "but I guess it depends."
"On what?"
"On whether or not you value your life."
He was quiet, stewing over those words, as he picked at his fingernails. "I'm not suicidal. You don't have to sit here and talk me off of a ledge."
"I don't think you're suicidal," she said, "but suicidal people aren't the only ones who jump."
He shook his head. "You don't know me."
"But I know people like you," she said. "People who value pride and loyalty. People who keep fighting because it's what they think they're supposed to do. People who refuse to let go out of stubbornness. People who jump, believing they'll land on their feet."
Dante clenched his hands into fists. "Like I said, Nurse Russo, you don't know me."
"It's Gabby," she said, her voice calm despite the hint of anger in his tone that should've warned her away. "And I don't have to know you, Dante. Not really. But I had a brother once. I had a brother who was strong, and stubborn, and the furthest thing from suicidal. But he was also someone who valued his pride more than his life. I had a
But as he sat there, he wasn't sure why he'd insisted on leaving. It wasn't as if he had anywhere to go.
"I'm Gabriella, by the way." She held her hand out to him. "Friends call me Gabby."
Dante hardly touched her hand before pulling away. "Dante, but you already knew that."
"I did," she said, "but it's nice to hear you say it, seeing as how you were refusing to say much at all."
"Yeah, well, you never know who you can trust," he said. "Besides, they didn't care about anything I had to say, so there was no point in saying it. They wanted to hear what they wanted to hear, and I'm not really in the business of placating assholes."
"I get it," she said. "It's kind of sad, though."
"What?"
"You feeling like you can't trust anyone."
"I wouldn't call it sad," he said. "That's how life is."
"Sounds lonely."
Lonely, yeah… that he would admit. The life he chose was a lonely existence. People always surrounded him, but very few were ever actually there . Forced smiles, frozen faces, the warmest greetings known to man. All of it, every second, every moment, was calculated, fabricated, little more than premeditated motions. People rarely smiled at him to be friendly. No, they smiled to hide their fear. They smiled to get on his good side, to gain some leverage, to feel like they had the upper hand. Nobody wanted to be on his bad side, so they smiled, grinning from ear-to-fucking-ear, dreading what would happen if they didn't.
Dante hadn't intended to become this person. Hell, he still wasn't sure it was even him. He was little more than a caricature, a face attached to a name. That was what it meant to be a Galante. People came with a predetermined set of beliefs about what kind of man he would be, and he spent his life struggling to live up to that. The loyal soldier, following his father's orders, fighting a war that had almost cost him his life. He hadn't enlisted… he'd been drafted at birth.
He never complained before. Complaining was pointless. He did it because it was his duty. He did it because it was his birthright. And he'd always believed what he was doing was for the best, but now? Now he wasn't so sure.
Because being that soldier had cost him a lot, more than he'd been willing to pay.
He wanted a fucking refund.
"It's not so bad," he said. "As long as I can count on myself, I don't really need anyone else."
"Well, that's something, I guess," she said. "So… how are you feeling?"
He cut his eyes her direction at that question. How are you feeling ? She stared at him eagerly as she awaited his answer, like she truly wanted to know.
"Dead," he admitted. "I feel dead."
"That's normal," she said, before amending, "well, maybe not normal , but it's understandable. You almost did die. You're lucky to be alive."
"So shouldn't I be rejoicing?" he asked. "Shouldn't I be celebrating getting another chance?"
"Probably," she said, "but I guess it depends."
"On what?"
"On whether or not you value your life."
He was quiet, stewing over those words, as he picked at his fingernails. "I'm not suicidal. You don't have to sit here and talk me off of a ledge."
"I don't think you're suicidal," she said, "but suicidal people aren't the only ones who jump."
He shook his head. "You don't know me."
"But I know people like you," she said. "People who value pride and loyalty. People who keep fighting because it's what they think they're supposed to do. People who refuse to let go out of stubbornness. People who jump, believing they'll land on their feet."
Dante clenched his hands into fists. "Like I said, Nurse Russo, you don't know me."
"It's Gabby," she said, her voice calm despite the hint of anger in his tone that should've warned her away. "And I don't have to know you, Dante. Not really. But I had a brother once. I had a brother who was strong, and stubborn, and the furthest thing from suicidal. But he was also someone who valued his pride more than his life. I had a
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