The look of terror in her eyes reached deep down inside him, grabbed him tight and made him grip on all the harder. "I won't let go - I've got you," he swore, his heart smashing against his chest. You can't stop this, no one can stop this. He twisted where he sat, one arm still tight around her and the other reaching for the coffee table, groping for her packet of morphine pills and ripping one out. "Open your mouth, this'll help." He hoped.
Did he hope? Maybe it wasn't hope. Maybe it was desperation. Maybe they were the same thing when you were covered in your dying girlfriend's blood.