23-year-old Leon Kennedy, Umbrella's finest agent, is sent to Raccoon City in September 1998, during the night of the horrifying outbreak. He's told to secure a sample of the G-virus and to get rid of William Birkin, as well as to kill any of the re...
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The apartment is dark when you push the door open, dragging the body of your husband with you, his one arm slung over your shoulder and your arm around his small waist.
Damn, you're lucky to have that super strength of yours. He's heavy.
Eyes darting around, you look for the bedroom, where you can hopefully finally put him down.
Thank God for anesthesia. He's out cold. Most likely will be for hours.
As you open the first door in sight, it looks like you've hit the jackpot. The king-sized bed seems awfully comfortable with the soft cotton sheets, and you realize how tired you are.
You figure the least you can do is take off his jacket and shoes. So you get to work, making sure he's well in his own bed, putting his stuff away in what you think is the rightful place for it.
And that's when you see it.
The ring on his nightstand.
In spite of already being sure it's what you think it is, you still pick it up, admiring it as if you bought it together yesterday.
You still have yours. Of course you do. No amount of money could make you trade it. Sure, things might be different now, but he was still a big part of your life. No, he still is.
It's hard to picture your life without him, really. Even if the many moments you shared with him were traumatic, sometimes toxic — but in a weird way, it did give you the adrenaline rush you'd craved for so long.
It's him who changed your life completely. For better and worse. At certain moments, you've thought about what your life would've looked like if you hadn't met him.
And you came to the conclusion that you would've probably just died in Raccoon.
Hell, maybe that would've been a better fate than this.
Your thumb moves across his cheek after cupping his face. Even with scars and faded wounds, he's still beautiful. Finding a man like him is rare — you've met plenty of talented, good-looking agents in the past few years, yet none of them have been able to measure up to him.
Whenever you're around him, you still feel this form of intimacy, like an emotional connection. One you've had with no one else.
You'd love to say that you don't need anyone. And maybe you don't — but you're still lonely. It would have been easier if you'd never met him, or if you'd at least met him in a regular way, instead of bonding over trauma and secrets and lies.
