I never wanted to be a hero.

I mean, when I saw that big ugly hulk of metal advance on Sawyer, all I knew was that he was going to die unless something happened. I didn't intend to grab that knife from the wall, or to rip open the fuel tank. I especially didn't intend to get burned like I did.

I'm probably going to die, aren't I?

I want to ask Mina or Jekyll that, through the haze of pain. The doctors give me morphine to try to kill the pain, the horrible, burning pain; it helps, to some extent. On the frequent and brief occasions where I'm semi-conscious, I can see Tom in the Infirmary. He tends to stand just out of my line of vision, so I can only see the edge of that jacket of his. Damn bugger, his friend can't move, and he refuses to stand where an injured man can see him...

He doesn't say anything, you know. Just stands there, watching me. Every day he comes. I don't know why, and it's not like I can ask him. I walk around in the buff most of the time, but it doesn't make any difference; I feel almost ashamed to be lying there helpless, in the bed, with an oily salve covering my body, except the burns. It hurts too much if it's applied on the burns. I feel...exposed, almost. It's funny, isn't it?

Gah...the burns're acting up again. To say it hurts is putting it very mildly. This morning, I woke up for a bit again. I saw the edge of Tom's coat, and I tried to talk to him; but then Jekyll just has to come along and inject me with something, and before I know it I'm asleep all over again.

But the sleep does allow me lots of time to think. Think about my life so far, think about my friends, and think about what's happened, mainly. Sometimes I get nightmares, as well. I see Father taking that poker and beating Mum until she bled. Even then he wouldn't stop, and only when me and Mary-Jane begged him then he'd stop using it on Mum. There are times when I remember him using it on us. Come to think of it, the pain then is very much like the one I'm experiencing now. Except now I'm half in a coma, lying in a bed in the Infirmary of the grand Nautilus, not in that grimy bed of mine back in London.

Do I really want to live? That's what I ask myself lots of times now. Back to London, back to petty theft, back to my old life? After what I've seen and done? I am no hero. But is what I did heroic?

I want to wake up. But wake up without the pain. I want to talk to my friends again, make stupid jokes and unappreciated sexual innuendoes. I want to look at the sea, and try to figure out how to get into Mina's room.

Maybe I won't get a chance. I don't know, but I want to.

Being a hero comes with a heavy price.