Page 95 of Less

“They found others in the debris after. A couple of elderly folks were left behind in the hospital. I didn’t know they were there. It’s my fault.”

“Less, stop.”

But he shakes his head.

“That’s the kind of man I am, Rusty. You should know. These hands are stained with innocent blood.”

His voice cracks.

“No, Less.”

“You asked me for the truth. So now I'm telling you. Please, let me tell you,” Less says and looks at me then.

And I've never seen so much guilt on another human being. I take a deep breath and nod, not wiping the tears as they stream down my face.

“Afterward, they left me there.”

I stare.

“What? How long? How’d you get back?”

“It took four months.”

My blood runs cold.

“Four months to find help and get home.”

Oh my God.

“Oh, Alessio.”

“And when I finally got back?”

He looks away.

“I was so fucked in the head.”

His voice drops to a whisper.

“I couldn't sleep.”

His throat works.

“I couldn't breathe.”

More tears slip down his cheek.

“I saw that boy every time I closed my eyes. Saw the photos of those people who didn’t make it.”

I can't stop crying now.

Neither can he.

“And when I got out of the hospital I just—I couldn't face you. Couldn’t dirty you with what I’d done.”

The pain in his voice nearly destroys me.

“I didn't want to stain you with my bloody hands.”