The Donna spoke and Nico listened. Each word, absorbed, catalogued, a response prepared. Ideas of where to go, what they might find for the cleaning and necessities. He had answers.
Her final question banished these thoughts from his mind like cockroaches when you flip on a light. He blinked, looking down at the Bible in his hands. One day, she was bound to ask. Inevitably, she would remember. She would want to know why.
Becoming a zombie seemed somehow preferable to this.
Nicola flipped the pages of the Bible, trying to find the words he wanted. English was abandoned in favour of Italian. Nothing he said in another language would capture his meaning properly. He put the Bible down. His right thumb pressed over the brand on his chest while his left fingers traced over the teeth marks in the skin.
"Ti amo. PiĆ¹ della vita stessa. E io non potevo supportare di morire senza un ultimo bacio. Solo uno, proprio come quando eravamo bambini."
Stupid. God, so stupid. Of course he would survive, and of course the Donna would survive hers as well. They were hardy enough. Stupid that he would not die that way.