Ellie is so tired it physically hurts.    It's not the kind of pain that comes from the scrapes, deep cuts and bruises that decorate most of the skin on her bare upper body. It's the type of pain that makes her stomach turn and her chest feel uncomfortably tight.   The pain of remembering he's gone. Forever.   No matter how many people Ellie kills —no matter how many bullets she uses, how many times she almost got herself killed— absolutely nothing seems to make the emptiness inside her go away, and nothing will bring Joel back.   All she can do right now is tremble and stare at a random stain on the wall of the dressing room you're both in as she tries to breathe normally. The stinging sensation of the cool, damp cloth sliding across her back as it cleans off the blood and dirt from her wounds is the only thing that seems to pull her out of the hazy state she's in. Momentarily stopping her from being so distant with reality.   At this point, she can't think of anything besides what happened at the Lakehill hospital and trying to find a way to get to the aquarium Abby's hiding in, as soon as possible. Giving up is not an option either. She needs to get this done.   Her hands feel rough with dried blood, old scabs and callouses from holding her gun and pocket-knife all day long while her mind keeps replaying everything she has done out of pure range like a broken record.    Maybe it'll be worth it at the end?   "I hate this," her voice is brittle, almost as if the words had slipped out without her permission—like a bottled-up feeling.