Chapter 21

Chapter 21

I open my mouth to shout, but nothing comes out. Several seconds pass. Now they're almost next to me, but they haven't spotted me yet. My mind is racing; everything's crashing in on me at once. Here I am, I want to call. I even picture each syllable in my head. But I remain silent, watching one part of myself wrestle with another. They're strong-looking guys, and there are six of them. I'm sure they would be able to overpower Brendan, no matter how strong of a fighter he is. Images flicker through my head for a fraction of a second: Brendan hog-tied on the ground, Brendan lying helpless in the canoe, Brendan on trial. Brendan in a cell. Locked up alone in the dark. So dark... My feet get icy, and I realize I'm standing in the water. The sound of the men's jovial laughter drifts across the lake again, and one of the canoes rocks back and forth. Silently, I sidle around the hanging willow branches, moving along with the boats. Now I see new images in my mind: Ethan's haggard face, the grief in his eyes. I feel his broken heart like it's my own. My chest is burning now, and the pressure in my lungs is building and building, because I'm holding my breath so desperately. I have to scream. Right now.

Help! I press a hand tightly over my mouth to stifle the yell rising in my throat. No matter what I do, I'm a traitor. I'm going to hurt someone either way. My heart is racing; the blood is rushing in my ears. This might be my very last chance to change things. Maybe could mean never and someday could be in ten years.

You promised Ethan!

I take a step forward, letting my hand drop. Scream , I beg myself, but I don't. I can't. I just stand there. My eyes are burning. Do it already!

Then a hand clamps over my mouth. Hard. I'm being dragged behind the willow again, watching the branches part on either side of me like the loose strings on a beaded curtain.

"Not. One. Sound." Brendan's voice is rough against my ear. He's holding me so tightly that I can't move, and for a minute I'm back in the past, reliving the moment he put the chloroformed rag to my face. Instinctively, I start wriggling, kicking water up around us. I bite my lip and taste blood.

"Stop," he whispers, tightening his grip. He's not really hurting me, but something still shatters inside me. I quit resisting, realizing it's pointless to even try. I'll never have a chance against him. Nothing will ever change. He's my kidnapper, I'm his hostage. How could I have possibly seen it any differently? Tears burn in my throat, heavy and hot, but I don't want to cry. I could have screamed, I could have ended all of this. I knew how he was. Is. But I didn't want to ruin this thing between us, and now he's hurt me more deeply than anyone ever has.

Far in the distance, I can barely make out the splashing and the soft confusion of voices, but soon the landscape swallows it all. The silence returns like a living creature back from a prowl, but Brendan still doesn't release me.

Time slows to a crawl, stretching on and on. Time enough for me to truly understand what I've done, or haven't done. Time enough for me to realize that I may have officially thrown my whole life away. But here's the crazy thing: it doesn't feel like I have.

When Brendan finally lets me go and my feet are firmly planted on the lake bed again, it's like waking up from a surreal dream. Now anything could happen. Anything at all.

Cautiously, I put some distance between us, not turning to face him until I'm several paces away. He's standing there in his cargo pants and that dark sweatshirt, hands balled into fists. There's a tortured expression on his ghostly-pale face, like someone's just beaten him up and he's trying not to let on how much pain he's in.

"You didn't have to do that," I say in a shaky voice.

"Afraid I did," he whispers weakly.

"Did not !" I shout with such force that he actually flinches. "I wouldn't have screamed." As helpless as he looks, my first instinct is to punch him in the face, to hurt him the way he's hurting me. "If I'd wanted to, I'd have done it," I blurt out. "I had plenty of time before you yanked me away like I was just the goddamn prey you're so obsessed with."

He stares at me for several long seconds, eyes widening. "You wouldn't have screamed?" he echoes. "I don't understand... why? I mean... that was your chance... wasn't it?" He shakes his head, looking dazed. "Lou," he says in a pleading tone, like a guy who's stumbled onto another planet and doesn't know the rules. "Why not?"

I want to hit him because he doesn't realize how important he is to me, because he doesn't get that I did this for him. I want to burst into tears because he didn't give me a chance to prove it. He probably has no idea how hard that was for me just now. For his sake, I've decided never to eat Avery's scrambled eggs again, never to study with Ethan again, never to bug Liam again while he's standing on one leg looking all solemn. For his sake, I've decided I'll never read another one of Jayden's stories. For his sake, my brothers will go on suffering, and that tears my heart to shreds.

I stare at him, speechless.

Brendan presses his lips together. It looks like tears are about to start rolling down his cheeks any minute. "I screwed everything up again..." He takes a step toward me. "When I heard them... I thought they were going to take you away from me. There were six of them." He stops and covers his face with his hands. "I thought that was it, I was going to lose you forever... why didn't you call for help? I don't get it... Lou... why not?"

I can see how hard his hands are shaking. Only now do I truly understand how vulnerable he really is. His past is etched so deeply into his soul that he can't get it out on his own. He's a moth with charred wings, flapping around in the net of his past, twisting and turning and making everything worse for himself. He doesn't have the strength to fight it anymore, because he's been doing it his whole life. The truth is that he's weak and I'm strong.

That realization is probably what allows me to approach him now, even in all my despair. I've just chosen him over everything else, and I can't start questioning that decision based on how he's reacting to this situation. This whole experience has simply shown us who we are and how we are. It's shown me how much power our pasts have over us, whether we love our pasts or hate them.

I take another step toward him. "You want to know why I didn't call for help?" It comes out sounding more confrontational than I feel.

He nods, lowering his hands.

I'm standing right in front of him, and I risk a smile despite my grief, or maybe because of it. I know that if I don't jump now, I'll never do it, and then I may as well have screamed. All of my fears and doubts flare up one more time, and the terror I've always felt in his presence returns with such force that my knees turn to rubber, going so weak that I'm afraid I may lose my footing, and I know Brendan's the only person who can take my fears away from me. By holding me.

I take the final step, wrap my arms around his neck, and rest my head on his chest. My entire body is shaking. For a few moments, he stands there, frozen, but then I feel his arms encircle my waist cautiously, almost like he's not sure how to do it, or like he's afraid he might accidentally break me. I don't know how long we stand there, holding each other, trembling and overwhelmed. I can feel his heart racing through his shirt, and his ragged breath ruffles my hair. My emotions are a confused jumble, but the fear fades away until all I feel are Brendan's arms around me. Careful. Tender. Comforting. Only now do I realize how badly I wished this would happen. It feels the way I always thought it would feel the moment I came home again. I let my tears flow.

After a while, I raise my head to look at him. "Do you know why now?" I ask with a soft sob.

In response, he pulls me in close, holding me so tightly that no power on Earth could ever separate our bodies. I gasp and lay my hands on his cheeks. His lips brush my forehead, my eyelids, the tip of my nose, and then find my mouth. A hot-and-cold shiver races through me. I kiss him back, realizing I'm losing myself. I've made the jump, there's no turning back now, not ever. I taste his lips, feel his tongue sliding softly into my mouth. I'm falling and flying at the same time. My legs give out; he lifts me up, and I wrap them around his hips, running my hands through his hair and pressing myself even more tightly against him. I want to feel him all over, I want him to fill me completely, I want him inside me.

We break off for a moment, gasping for air. Our eyes meet, and his are full of such longing that it almost breaks my heart. I can't believe this is the same Brendan I first met. I can't believe any of this.

I'm not sure how, but somehow we land on the small patch of sand at the foot of the willow, surrounded by its hanging branches. He's lying on top of me, kissing me, while his hand steals underneath my shirt and strokes my breast.

Suddenly, he stops. "Maybe... maybe we should wait..." he murmurs, giving me a look that's tender and searching, yet full of desire. It's flickering in his eyes like flames, though he's making an effort to hide it. "Maybe after everything that happened, you're too confused to know what you want."

"No," I whisper. "No... I'm not confused. I'm just sad because I can't have everything."

A look of realization forms on his face, and he tries to move away, but I pull him down to me and kiss him before he can protest. He tastes so good, like salt and dirt and fresh sweat, mingled with the sadness that always seems to surround him. I never want to let him go again. I feel his hesitation, but I take it away from him by sucking on his tongue, circling it until he can't hold back any longer, until his desire mirrors mine.

Soon he pulls away to remove his shirt, and then slides mine over my head. Our pants follow.

When I feel his skin against mine, I want to scream with joy. And with pain. All of this is like a rush of a hundred million different colors. His lips on my collarbone, on my stomach, further down, much further down. His fingers in my hair, on my breasts gleaming with sweat, between my legs. My hands, discovering every inch of him. My whole world is standing still. Rain patters down somewhere in the background, but we're safely protected by the canopy of the willow; only the sand beneath us is damp. We barely notice. We don't feel the cold, we only feel each other. We forget everything, even who we are.

When I open my legs for him and take him inside me, a sharp pain jolts me out of the reverie. I gasp, and he stops, horrified. "Lou? Everything okay?" His hot breath on my sweaty face. "Does it hurt?"

"It's okay," I assure him, breathless, gazing into his eyes. "It'll pass in a minute."

He waits a moment longer before starting to move again, never taking his eyes off me. His face is right over mine. His eyes are full of astonishment, like he can't believe he's allowed to experience something so beautiful.

I slide my arms underneath his so that I can hold him as tightly as I can. The pain is ebbing. We move together, and it's like I'm melting in his hands, beneath his body. I feel him through and through, I feel things I never dreamed possible, I feel like I can never let go of him no matter what happens.

Then, without separating our bodies, he rolls onto his back and pulls me on top.

"Your turn," he whispers, breathing hard, and smiles at me.

I prop my hands to either side of him and regard him from above: the way his mussed hair falls on the sand, damp with rain and sweat; the glow on his face; his hard mouth, now soft; the angle of his collarbone. Our eyes meet again, and I'm suddenly bashful, not sure what to do.

He runs a gentle hand through my hair. "Don't worry," he says, "it comes naturally." He presses his hands against my shoulders to take some of my weight. His lower body flexes upward.

I start moving instinctively, lifting my hips and letting them slide down again. Again and again. I feel the beat deep within me, like we're musical instruments playing the same song. My blood courses through my veins. Drums pound in my ears, full and heavy. Brendan's breathing in ragged gasps. He clutches my hips, thrusting into me, again and again. Everything is on fire, I don't think I can take it. His nails dig into my butt, trying to hold me down, but that's impossible. The drumming gets louder, faster and faster. I get faster and faster. Brendan gasps. My legs start to tremble. My vision blurs to a deep-blue night. Something explodes inside me, quaking in a new and unfamiliar place. Bright stars race toward me; I fly through them. I hear Brendan shout, and an electric current pulses through me, flooding me so sweetly that I gasp and whimper almost like I'm in pain. Everything spins and spins and spins.

I collapse against Brendan's damp chest with a muted cry. He wraps his arms around me, breathing hard. His heartbeat thunders through me, filling me like we're one body. He stays inside me as that dizzying feeling subsides, leaving in its wake a sweet, heavy exhaustion where only Brendan and I exist in the world.

We spend a long time lying there in silence, as if words might take the magic out of what we've just experienced—like one of those moments of reflection that follow a fantastic story. After an eternity, we finally separate, because the night air is chilly despite our body heat, and walk toward the fire hand in hand. We slip into the sleeping bag together, somehow incapable of not holding each other, like our bodies understand more about love than our minds.

After a while, before I'm fully aware of it, Brendan's lying on top of me again.

"You're so beautiful, Lou," he whispers in a voice so full of tenderness, it's like he's been saving it up for this one moment. "I can finally tell you that without scaring you." His lips brush mine. "I wish I could just stay right here forever. This place, this night."

I stroke his cheek. "Same here," I whisper.

"Lou?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm afraid no matter what I say, I'm going to ruin everything. It feels like this is a dream, and as soon as I say one wrong thing, I'll wake up from it."

I can sense his anxiety—a reflection of my own. But right now, at this moment, I can't imagine he's even capable of hurting me ever again.

"If you don't know what to say, you could just kiss me instead," I suggest, giggling.

Brendan holds me tightly. His pupils are so huge that I can't see any brown in them at all. "But if I start kissing you, I'll want you again. And that would probably hurt you... twice in a row..."

I draw his head down to mine. "If by ‘hurting' me you mean what you did with me earlier, I'll allow it."

And then we do it again, so gently and tenderly this time that it spares my body but pains my soul.

When I wake up the next morning, we're lying the way we did that night that Brendan warmed me up: his body behind mine, his arms curled protectively around me. My limbs are heavier than usual, which is probably from last night, but I don't think my scratchy throat has anything to do with it.

I snuggle against him more closely, and he holds me tighter with a contented sigh. I wish I could just lie here with him forever, but Brendan wants to get an early start, because he wants to cover a lot of ground today.

It's barely dawn as we wriggle out of the sleeping bag and get dressed, and then do everything we usually do, except today we do them together. We're both afraid to talk, so we trust our bodies instead. It's like the rest of the magic is still hanging in the air, and we're clinging to it with all of our strength. We only say as much as we absolutely have to, we smile at each other whenever our eyes meet, we hold hands as often as our activities will allow. But then there are moments I catch Brendan staring out at nothing, probably brooding over the same questions I am. As much as I hate to admit it, I know that decisions will need to be made. What happens when we get back to the camper? Will he keep on chaining me to the wall night after night, or will he start trusting me? And if he doesn't trust me, how will I react? Will I react the same way I did under the willow tree, when I told myself I can't regret my choice based on his reactions?

The more time passes, the longer I spend on Brendan's back, the more agitated I become. I'm wondering if I'll always love him. If I'll always be able to love him, or if eventually my rational mind will butt in and remind me of how much I've given up for him. At one especially anxious moment, I even wonder if I've just automatically fallen in love with my captor the way a lot of kidnapping victims do.

I'm getting uncomfortably hot, and all this thinking is starting to hurt my head.

"You're shivering." Brendan stops abruptly and glances back at me over his shoulder. "Are you cold?"

"A l-little," I stammer, suddenly realizing how wretched I feel. Talking makes my throat hurt like I've eaten too much sour candy.

Brendan carefully slides me to the ground. When he lets go so that he can get a better look at me, my legs turn to Jell-O and I stumble to one side. He quickly grabs me under one arm, using his free hand to touch my forehead. "You're burning up," he says. "You've got a fever."

"N-now what?" My teeth are chattering. I barely register that Brendan's setting me down somewhere and wrapping me in his warm, fluffy jacket. Then he pours some raspberry leaf tea from a Thermos into a cup and hands it to me to drink.

"Warmer now?" He sounds worried.

I nod. It's so nice of him to take care of me like this. When he treats me with this much kindness and talks to me in that gentle tone, all of my questions seem to disappear.

"You're still shivering, though." He gives me a stern look.

"No worries. Your back keeps me warm."

He furrows his brow skeptically. "I don't have anything with me for fevers. You think you can handle going another mile or two?"

I force myself to smile. "Sure."

Once I'm on his back again, I rest my head against his cheek. It's nice and cool, and leaning my head against it feels so good. "You think this thing, with us, it'll last forever?" I must really be out of it if I'm asking these kinds of questions.

Brendan stops dead in his tracks. "Of course. Why do you ask?"

"I dunno. Just scared..."

"Scared of what?" Now there's a mistrustful note in his voice.

"Of everything," I reply evasively. "Of us, of the future... of what will happen..."

He takes a deep breath. "Lou... I love you. There's nothing to be afraid of... I thought you knew that."

"Okay," I sigh shakily.

"Really okay?"

"Yeah."

He starts walking again, and then points across the water. "Up there is the spot where we can cross to the other side. The lake turns back into a river again."

"Bren?"

"Lou?"

"If we're going to be together forever, we can live a normal life, can't we?" I wrap my arms more tightly around his neck and nestle against his back, as if it will help prove that I'm serious. I don't think I can actually picture what I've just suggested. What would it be like, living with him in Ash Springs? Or in a big city—New York, maybe? The thought has never occurred to me until now. Maybe someday we really could go back to my town and tell my brothers we eloped or something. The idea makes me dizzier than I already am. If we could make that happen...

In my feverish state, I only notice that he's stopped walking because I start to miss the rhythmic rocking motion. His shoulders are as hard as granite; his whole body is tense, even his arms, which are securing my thighs like ropes.

"I can't live a normal life, Louisa," he declares in a firm voice.

It's like getting thrown into ice-cold water. "But..."

"No buts. You know what happens to me during flashbacks, right?"

"But I'm not going to leave you." I'm still holding him tightly. "That means we can go somewhere together."

"No," he replies, sounding impatient. "It happens when I'm around a bunch of people. Did I tell you about the guy I beat unconscious during a flashback?"

"Yeah, once. Early on, after the thunderstorm."

"The only reason he didn't call the cops was because I paid him more money than he would have gotten from suing me. The regular world is full of triggers."

"You lived in the slums, weren't there triggers there?"

Brendan snorts in contempt. "Everything about them was one giant trigger, but that doesn't matter now. If I'd had flashbacks there, I doubt anyone would have noticed."

I'm not entirely sure where this conversation is going. I probably should have just shut my mouth, but now I can't help asking more questions, even though my head is pounding. "So the flashbacks didn't start immediately after... after whatever it was?"

"No."

Danger! Thin ice!

"When did they start?"

"When I was fighting for money. Years later. I thought I'd gotten past it all, like I could go on living without constantly thinking about it." He laughs bitterly. "Sometimes one word was enough. Or a bright light. Malls were terrible—too many stimuli. A certain perfume, the way someone walked or talked..."

"I can do the shopping," I murmur quietly, but I already know there's no point talking about it any further. Especially not now. Besides, I'm way too exhausted. My brain is being boiled to mush as we speak. "Bren?" I ask quietly.

"Lou?"

"Do you think maybe they'll get better someday?"

He sighs in resignation. "Maybe. Someday."

"Bren?"

"What now?" he asks in exasperation.

I press my face into his hair. "I love you too."

I hear him swallow hard, and then he releases one of my legs so that he can pull my head close to his. "Oh, God, Lou..." he whispers hoarsely. "You're always surprising me. I want to make you as happy as you deserve."

"Bren?"

"Yeah?"

"Maybe we should talk less and hold each other more?"

"Maybe you should stop talking entirely and get better first," he suggests and heaves me up again.

"Good idea." I close my eyes and let the gentle rocking of his steps lull me. When I'm so close to his body like this, I feel safe. Close to his body like this, my doubts fall silent.

I drift through the next few days like a ghost. I can't help Brendan at all anymore—I just sit there vegetating, bundled up like the Michelin Man, watching him set up camp. He makes leg compresses for me using cool river water, gives me plenty of tea and vitamins, but I get sicker and sicker, until Grey's howling sounds like it's coming through cotton and Brendan's gentle murmuring is so distant that I don't catch it at all. His words dance around inside me somewhere. I sleep a lot, even when I'm on Brendan's back, to the point that he finally ties our torsos together with a rope, because I can't hold on any longer and I keep tipping backward.

Once, I wake up and realize it's already dark, but Brendan still hasn't stopped to make camp. I'm shivering as violently as I did the night I fell into the water. I want to tell him I need a break, but for some reason I can't form sentences anymore. An indistinct mishmash of noises comes out of my mouth, but Brendan seems to understand them.

"It's okay, Lou. We're almost there. I know it's cold and you're shivering, but I need to give you the antibiotics tonight. Your fever's too high."

"Antibiotics?" I don't understand what he's saying. Everything is liquid somehow, like I'm swimming.

"One more hour, two at the most. I know we need to get a fire going, but I can do it."

My forehead sinks against his shoulder. "Maybe someday, maybe never, maybe in ten years," I murmur, though I have no idea why.