Chapter 22

Chapter 22

T he first few days back at the camper are like being in a vacuum. I alternate between shivering and sweating; Brendan's constantly hovering nearby, but I barely notice how he's giving me medicine, changing my leg compresses or feeding me soup until I start feeling better. I allow myself to enjoy having him take care of me, and pretend I'm back home with him there.

On the fourth day after our return, he makes me spaghetti with sun-dried tomatoes and pine nuts; the following night, he fixes practically everything else I like, though I can't eat more than a few spoonfuls at a time. He carries me to the bench and messes with the TV until I can watch Hero of the Week .

One evening, as I'm sitting on the bench wrapped in my blanket, watching him wash dishes, I realize how tired he looks. The shadows beneath his cheekbones are as thick as beams, and the skin underneath his eyes is reddened. He was unusually silent at dinner, too. Not that we've been talking much lately, but he usually tries to make me laugh. Today, though, he just asked how my food was and told me Grey chewed a hole in his favorite sweatshirt. That was it.

"Are you okay?" I ask as he sets a plate by the sink to dry.

He turns all the way around and smiles at me, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Sure. Why do you ask?"

"You're so pale. I hope you're not coming down with the same thing I have."

Even though he's not finished with the dishes, he comes over and sits on the other side. "I don't think I can catch what you have," he replies, reaching across the table to lace his fingers with mine.

"Why not?" I don't like the look he's giving me at all. He looks like he's about to carry someone to their grave.

He doesn't reply, and for a moment we just sit there holding hands. I'd like to know what his emergency plan is. What if one of us gets seriously ill and he doesn't have any medication?

I study his face, trying to read it, but all I see is that tiredness. When he finally replies, it's in his voice, too. "I can't give you what you really need. There's no medicine for that. I think the only reason you're sick is because you're unhappy. It weakened your immune system... and then escaping into the cold..." He stands up and walks to the cupboard that he used to keep locked. He removes a brightly colored object. My heart leaps.

It's my pendant with the charms my brothers gave me. My umbilical cord to the world.

"I found it on the cliff." Brendan shifts from one foot to the other, suddenly uncertain. "Caught on a rock. I... I dunno, I wanted to wait to give it back until I'd fixed it for you." He holds it toward me, and I grab it with trembling fingers. "Seemed like it was important to you... you never took it off."

"Oh, Bren… thanks..." It comes out in a toneless whisper. I spread the chain out on the table in front of me, arranging it so that each of the charms is visible. I run my index finger over Ethan's silver cross, Avery's red heart, Liam's Buddha hand, and Jayden's turquoise disk.

Brendan sits across from me again. "Those are from your brothers." It's not a question.

I nod anyway, but can't manage to say anything in reply.

"Do you want to tell me about them?" He gives me an encouraging smile.

A single tear rolls down my face. He catches it with one finger, and then strokes my cheek. Now his expression is solemn, almost reverent. He probably thinks that if I talk about the people I miss, I'll feel better afterward. Maybe because I once told him that it helps to say things out loud.

I take the chain and put it around my neck. It feels like part of my heart is complete again, a part that's been hurting so badly since the night I saw the canoes that I've had it buried deep inside myself.

The desire to talk about home is overwhelming, so I pick up the chain like it's a life preserver and force myself to just start speaking. In a halting voice, I talk about the sacrifices Ethan made for the family, his fear of losing me, the burden he bore for us all. I tell Bren about Avery's way of mediating between us and keeping the family in balance. I describe Liam, who never felt like he belonged because he was too young to be one of the adults in the house and too old to be one of the kids, which is probably why he went to India—he felt like there was no place for him at home. I'm surprised at how clear all of that suddenly seems from a distance. I tell him about how smart Jayden is, how passionate he is about understanding everything, and how reserved he is around other people. And then I tell him about the little girl in the white nightshirt who chased invisible rhinoceroses and never wanted to live anywhere but that wooden house in Ash Springs.

When I stop talking, I'm crying. Maybe I've been crying this whole time.

Brendan strokes my hands, which are still clutching the necklace. He looks even worse than he did earlier.

"You're acting so weird today," I say, hoarse from crying. "What's wrong?"

"I dunno." He takes my head in his hands and kisses my forehead tenderly before standing up and walking out.

I watch the door shut behind him. He seems lost in a strange way. But he has me, doesn't he? No, he has more. He has my love. Which was what he always wanted.

"Do you understand him?" I ask Grey, who's dozing beside me on the bench, but of course his only response is to lick my fingers happily.

Shaking my head, I get to my feet and finish the dishes. Whenever I have to stop and rest against the counter because my legs are threatening to give out, my gaze shifts outside, to Brendan sitting by the fire smoking. He's staring into the flames, the way he used to do all the time. Once or twice, I see him toying with his armband.

I snuggle up in the warm blanket again, follow Brendan out into the night, and then simply take a seat on his lap. He wraps his arms around me, but his embrace feels different. More cautious, more withdrawn, almost like there's something in between us that I don't know about.

"Is the charm on your armband a memento, too?" I ask after we've been sitting in silence for a while.

"It belonged to my mother." He clears his throat elaborately.

"Do you want to talk about her?"

"No." There's an edge to his voice I haven't heard in a while.

"You said she abandoned you," I say anyway.

He jerks like I've just punched him in the gut.

"And yet you still have that coin, and you even had that symbol tattooed on your back."

Now he lets out a pained groan and covers his face with his hands. "Please, don't, Lou."

"Bren, look at me." I gently pull his hands away. When I look into his eyes, they're huge and wide and full of all the terrible things he must have gone through. "I want to help you. One day you're going to have to talk about it. You've got to."

He stiffens. "I don't have to do anything."

"Otherwise we'll never be able to have a normal life together. I'll always be scared of you. Part of me will always be afraid of the other Brendan, you know?"

He stares through me like I'm invisible. "I never told you about my mom. How do you know I think she abandoned me?"

I try to hold his gaze with my own, but he's trapped in the darkness. "You talk about the past during your flashbacks," I finally admit. "You play different roles."

His whole body freezes.

"Hasn't anyone ever told you that?"

"No."

I slip my arms around his neck. "I guess I know more about you than you realize. You told me you couldn't talk about those days, but when you're stuck in your memories, that's exactly what you do." I hadn't planned on telling him any of this, but maybe it's better if he knows. "You have to talk about it. Maybe then the flashbacks will stop."

"Is that why you did it?" His voice is suddenly so icy and dark that a chill runs down my spine.

"Did what?"

"Loved me. Was it out of pity?" He jumps up, half-shoving me off his lap, which is all it takes since I tumble over in fright anyway.

I stumble a few feet away and can't help laughing because everything he's saying is so ridiculous. "Where did you get the idea...."

He stares at me, narrowing his eyes to slits. "Was it out of pity? Yes or no?"

"N-no, no! Of course not..." I stammer, realizing he's dead serious. My heart starts beating wildly—whether in fear, shock, or bewilderment, I'm not sure. I shake my head. "You think the only reason I didn't yell for those canoers was because I pitied the guy who kidnapped me? Do you seriously think that would be enough for me to want to sacrifice my whole life? Pity?"

He walks to the fire, stands there with folded arms. Suddenly, he doesn't look sick anymore at all. He's wearing that mask of rage and bitterness again. "Maybe you would have shouted for them, how can I know for sure?" he asks in the voice of a stranger.

I'm frozen in pain and devastation. "Stop it," I plead in a choked whisper.

"Maybe I got there right in time, and you took advantage of the situation. Slept with me to prove to me that you love me."

I'm trying to figure out what's going on here, but I just don't understand. How can he say these things after what we shared? How can he take that magical night under the willow and twist it around so that it was just some cheap game I was playing? How can he accuse me of faking my feelings when I'm laying myself bare to him, making myself completely vulnerable? Doesn't he know how much it cost me to admit all of this to myself? Doesn't he know that it feels like my soul has suddenly become a piece of raw, exposed skin?

"I wasn't trying to prove anything to you!" I hiss. Rage starts bubbling to the surface through my shock. "I had nothing to prove to you because I love you! But if you keep talking like this, I'll probably end up regretting it."

"Oh, yeah, I regret a lot of things, too." He glowers down at me with a frightening expression on his face. "How could I have believed for even one second that you meant any of it? What were you hoping to get out of those theatrics? Were you going to appeal to my guilty conscience eventually? Tell me I can't go on keeping you prisoner since we're so close? That if I truly love you, I'll set you free?"

The light from the fire flickers across his features, making him look as terrifying as he does during his flashbacks.

"I... I can't believe you really think I would do that." I think I'm about to have a nervous breakdown. My brain can't keep up with all of this. "Do you seriously think I would go as far as to sleep with you... just so you would think I love you?"

He gives me a contemptuous scowl, shrugging his shoulders. "Maybe you genuinely thought you could heal me if you pretended to be into me. But it was never about me, it was about your freedom."

I'm freezing cold, shivering violently. This whole conversation is so wrong. "You... you must really, really hate me to say those things about me." I reach for my necklace and clutch it so hard that the charms bore into the palm of my hand. "I don't get you. All I said was that I know more about you than you realize. You had an attack during that thunderstorm. Even back then, you told me more than I think you would have otherwise. And I still hated you afterward anyway. Those two things have nothing to do with each other."

I look at him, at the way he's standing there, cold and hostile. I don't know where the Brendan who believed in me and my love has gone. He can't have just disappeared. I screw up my courage, walk over to him, and force myself to smile as I grip his shoulder, like maybe it'll pull him out of this confused rage. "Bren, please, surely you don't seriously believe that."

He shudders at my touch like he's afraid I'm trying to poison him. "Quit it, Louisa." He jerks to the side.

I'm so desperate to get through to him, I want to pound my fists against his chest. Not screaming is taking an absolutely inhuman amount of self-control. I take a couple of long, deep breaths. "Brendan. Listen to me. This is crazy! I didn't fall in love with you because your dad buried you in the ground somewhere," I say, shaking my head. Only when I hear him inhale sharply do I realize what I just said.

He's pale now. His eyes are dark graves. "Stop that! Now!"

"Bren, I love you! And of course I'm unbelievably sorry about what happened to you. And yeah, I do wish I were the one who could heal you, but unfortunately, love alone isn't going to do it." I reach for him again, but he retreats again like I'm a monster. "The things that happened to you, all the love in the world wouldn't heal them. When you left that cupboard open, I saw one of the pictures you drew. I told you that once already, but you were in a flashback, so you probably don't remember. Let's go to a psychologist and start fresh..."

"Sure, bring me to a psychologist so that you have a chance to escape!" he shrieks, completely out of his head. "You don't want me! You just want to leave!"

" That's not true !" I scream right back at him. "I gave up everything for you! My whole life . But apparently that isn't worth anything to you. You know what? I wish I had called for help at the river! I wish I'd at least wanted to call for help! I wish I was at home, instead of with you!"

He hunches his back as though bracing himself against a whipping. Then he stands there motionless for seconds on end, staring at me. When he speaks again, his voice is completely emotionless. "I'm so glad I saw through you in time."

The words are a maelstrom whirling through my head. A wave of dizziness washes over me. "What do you mean, in time ?"

The corners of his mouth twist downward in scorn. I've never seen him this way. "I'm such an idiot! I wanted to let you go." He says it softly, but so cuttingly that each word is a needle in my heart. "No kidding, I've been considering it since we got back here. Wait, before that—since you told me you loved me." He grips his forehead and lets out a short laugh, then shakes his head in disbelief. "But it was all a lie."

He was thinking about letting me go! I can't believe it. Surely he's not serious. He's just saying that to hurt me. My head is one giant mass of chaos. But then I suddenly remember the weird way he was behaving earlier. He was acting so lonely, like he'd already lost me. The realization makes a violent sob bubble up in my throat. "You were going to let me leave?" I whisper. "You thought about it?" I take a step toward him, but he moves away again.

"Doesn't matter," he says decisively. He's as unapproachable as he was in the beginning. "I changed my mind."

I press my fist to my mouth to suppress my crying, but it won't stop, it just won't stop. I don't want to cry, though, because he'll think I'm crying over having lost my chance to leave... and I'm not, I'm crying because of him. Because he doesn't see how much I love him. He's so sick that he's denying the truth. He thinks he doesn't deserve love. And it's only now that I understand how real and true and genuine his love is. I know what letting me go would cost him. Knowing that he even considered it hurts so much that I want to die.

I stretch out a hand in his direction. "Bren... please... you can't think that about me..."

"You should go inside," he says coldly. "You're not quite healthy yet." Abruptly, like a marionette taking orders from the spirit world, he sets into motion and grabs the arm I'm still reaching for him with. "Come on."

He pushes me along in front of him. Travel America blurs into a red-and-blue ocean before he jerks me up the steps. "Brendan, please, snap out of this..." In the hallway, I stumble over the blanket, but he catches me and shoves me onto the bed.

He walks away stiffly to retrieve a chain and a handcuff. "Give me your wrist."

I hold out my arm. I can't see anything anymore through the tears. I hear the lock click into place, and then I hear him stomp away and slam the door to the outside. Every inch of me hurts. It's like I've lost everything—Brendan, my brothers, my freedom, all of it. I roll onto my side and draw my knees in. My whole body is wracked with sobs. I don't want to feel anything anymore. If there were knockout drops sitting around in here, I would drink the whole bottle.

An ear-splitting shriek shatters the night, chilling me to the bone. I'm totally confused for a few seconds before I realize that I must have nodded off from grief and exhaustion. At first I'm not sure whether the scream was real or part of my dream. But I wasn't dreaming, was I?

I jerk into a sitting position and peer out the window. The fire is still going, but Brendan's disappeared from view. I press my nose to the pane, trying to get a closer look, but then another scream pierces the air. It sounds dark and evil, like a wild animal discovering that it's chained up. Grey starts growling. I scoot to the center of the bed and peer into the hallway. Grey's standing at the side door with his ears back, snarling. Shudders of terror run down my spine. I'm not sure if those are human or animal noises.

"Here, Grey!" I whisper, patting the blanket with my hand. My gaze shifts to my wrist.

The chain is gone!

Brendan must have taken it off while I was asleep! Even as frightened as I am, the realization gives me a tiny glimmer of hope, but I'm way too anxious to figure out what this means. I tiptoe forward, leaving the light off, and peek through the window above the sink. Nothing's changed. The campfire casts a bright glow across the grassy area in front of the spruces. I scoot across the bench to peer out the window on the opposite side. Darkness and trees. Nothing else.

Grey's still growling at the door.

"Shh, calm down," I murmur as reassuringly as I can, and then scoot back toward the hallway. Is the door locked? Another wave of goose bumps runs over my arms. If Brendan's out there having a flashback, it'd probably be better if I made sure he didn't come in, regardless of what he thinks about me now. Cautiously, I slip toward the door and fumble with the lock until it clicks shut. I breathe a sigh of relief—but then another realization hits me.

What if the thing out there isn't Brendan? What if it's actually an animal? A grizzly bear or a bull elk? Those don't generally care much about locked doors. What if Brendan needs help?

I stand there for a moment, trembling. Grey's fallen silent now, and I listen hard for more noises, but there's nothing out there.

Silently, I sneak to the driver's cab, one step at a time. The front window is the only one I haven't checked. I kneel between the armrests and peer out. The sky is raven black, which is why it's so dark out that I can barely see a thing. I let my eyes drift down to the treetops, and then to their slim trunks.

Nothing.

I go back to the door. I'm not sure what to do. I cast an uncertain glance at Grey, who jumps up on my legs excitedly. He's grown a lot, but he's still no bigger than a poodle. Next to a full-grown bear, he'd probably look like a stuffed animal, and his growling and yowling wouldn't be enough to scare anything bigger than a squirrel.

The next scream seems to rock the whole camper. It feels like the floor is shaking underneath my feet. The evil in it has given way to a mixture of horror and hopelessness. Grey starts whining, and I break out in a sweat. All at once, I know that it's Brendan. He needs help. He's never screamed like this. I'm sure he's trapped in his past, reliving those horrible moments again. I remember how I felt in that box. Alone in the dark, not sure if I'm dead or alive.

I have to get to him! Flashback or no flashback! I have to tell him that I love him and that he can't give up hope. He needs to know that I'm not leaving him, no matter what! He told me I was his light, his sun.

I unlock the door and walk down the steps. Icy night air swirls around me, but I'm only half aware of it. Without the screams, the night suddenly seems deathly still, even if it isn't. The fire is crackling nearby; an owl hoots somewhere in the distance. As I walk along the edge of the woods, the dry needles snap and crack beneath the soles of my shoes.

"Bren?" As confident as I was about this idea a minute ago, I'm absolutely terrified now. Darkness lies in the forest like death. I keep peeking between the trees—Bren can't have gone far. I circle the entire area, staying close to the dark conifers. Eventually, I get back to the fire. "Bren? Where are you?"

Suddenly, I hear a clinking sound. Something huge and dark is racing toward me. It throws itself at me, and I tumble to the ground. Pain shoots through my hands, through my ankle. Dust and dirt whirl around me.

"You filthy bastard son of a godless whore! I'll kill you!"

I roll onto my back. It takes me several seconds to take stock of the situation. Brendan's standing over me, secured to a tree by a long iron chain, the way he was the night of the thunderstorm. The handcuffs at the end are around his wrists.

"Bren." I'm afraid to scoot away, afraid of how he'll react. "Bren, it's me, Lou." My heart is beating in my throat. His eyes are bloodshot, full of a chilling madness.

"I'll kill you," he hisses through his teeth.

"No," I whisper shakily. "You won't. You love me."

"You left me. You went away... it was so dark... do you know what it was like down there, in the ground..."

"Yeah. I do." I need every ounce of my self-control to keep myself from bursting into frightened, empathetic tears. "Everything was quiet. You were alone. In every space between two heartbeats, you thought you'd died. And when you thought you were dead, you were still alone. Even when you were out again. You longed for your mother's arms, but she never came back."

"How could you leave me?" All at once, his face is as haggard as Ethan's was in that newspaper article.

It suddenly occurs to me that my brothers may believe the same thing about me that Brendan does about his mother. "M-maybe... maybe she didn't leave you," I stammer. "Something might have happened to her. Maybe someone kidnapped her. Or maybe the person who did those things to you also made sure that she couldn't find you. Or that she couldn't come back."

Brendan stares at me with wide eyes. His fists unclench in slow motion. He shakes his head, dazed. "Lou?" he whispers weakly. "What are you doing here?"

"Bren, thank God..." When I look at him, I almost burst into tears after all, this time in relief. Only now do I see the blood welling up beneath his iron shackles, running down his hands. "You're hurt," I exclaim in shock.

"Better me than you," he growls and jerks on the chain, which releases another rivulet of blood. "You need to get back inside, now."

"No." I clamber to my feet. For a moment, my vision blurs into a swirling mass of shadows and light. I wait for the dizzy spell to pass before stepping toward him. "Let me stay with you."

He hunches over and then starts screaming again a moment later, seemingly giving voice to all the tortures of his childhood at once. He's shivering uncontrollably, staggering back and forth.

I can't stand seeing him this way. It tears me apart, because I don't know how to help him. All I can do is stand there, paralyzed.

When it passes, he doesn't seem to know where he is anymore. I step closer again, but he stumbles away from me. Then I notice just how many chains he's linked together. He disappears into the strip of forest between the campfire and the lake, hiding from me in the darkness. I follow him and discover him between two trees. He's standing perfectly still, breathing in ragged gasps. I don't know what he's going to do next. Knock me to the ground? Beat me up? Try to kill me, maybe? I know it'd be better if I stayed out of reach, but I can't leave him out here by himself in the darkness.

"Brendan..." I push aside a branch that's in my way. We're barely an arm's length apart now. Go on, Lou, get closer!

I know that I'm going to have to take one more leap in order to get through to him. Just jump this one final chasm, and then everything will be okay. It has to be! I look at him. He's frozen, trapped inside his own head, but I'm not going to abandon him. Closer. Get closer. I feel the cold loneliness enveloping him. My knees are shaking. Keep breathing. Let your bodies take over. Closer. There you go.

With a gasp of fear, I encircle his waist with my arms and put my head on his chest. I'm expecting him to push me away, but it's as though he's been turned to stone. I close my eyes for a moment to put myself in total darkness. He's not seeing anything, either, though his eyes are open. I cling to him, trying to imagine what he's been through. Reality seems to blur, like we're becoming one spirit. Even though we're in the forest, we're locked in. Locked into our reality, locked into this moment. The walls inside him are so massive, they seem to surround us both. But they might be glass walls rather than stone, judging from how he described it once.

"I'm not leaving you by yourself, Bren," I murmur after a long time.

"You're crazy." I can sense that he wants to push me away, but for once he doesn't have the strength.

"I don't care if you kick me or hit me or whatever when you're out of your head. I'm not going anywhere. Push me away, I'll still be here." I hug him as tightly as I can.

He's trembling in my arms. "I can't let you do that."

"You don't have a choice. You said I was pretending, but you're wrong. I love you."

He lets out a cry of despair and buries his face in his hands. His chains clink as he lowers his hands again to look into my eyes. "I know, Lou," he whispers. "I know."

Tears of relief spring to my eyes. I can't get a single word out. He strokes my cheeks, making them wet with his blood and my tears.

"I really was thinking about letting you go," he says quietly. "I guess deep down I was trying to find a reason not to have to do it. So I wanted to believe you were faking it. I wanted to be mad at you."

More and more tears roll down my cheeks. I'm so unbelievably glad he doesn't believe that crap anymore.

"Hey, don't cry. Shh. Everything's okay. I'm sorry about what I said." He withdraws from my embrace, but then his face abruptly turns anxious. "You need to go! Hurry!"

"No, I'm staying! And the next time you think you're in that place you're so scared of, just imagine I'm there too."

"Lou..."

I fling my arms around him again. "Do it, please! Just try."

His muscles tense up. "What if it doesn't work? What if I attack you?"

I press my hands against his back tightly. "I'll stay anyway."

I feel his rib cage tighten, like he's trying to suppress the horrors inside him.

"Let it out," I whisper. "Scream, shout, go ahead, nobody will hear you. Except me. And I can take it. I'll be right here."

His arms close around me. His fingernails dig into my shoulder blades. Within seconds, rivers of sweat soak his entire shirt. And then he starts screaming. Dark, anguished sounds of pain and horror fill the entire forest. Something dashes away through the underbrush. A knot of fear forms in my chest. Bren's trembling so hard he loses his footing. He takes me with him. I don't know what I was expecting, but this is worse than anything I could have ever imagine. His screaming seems to envelop me in his terror. I can feel it on my skin, like frost. See it in my head as twisted images, the product of my own imagination: a dark grave, a coffin, hands pushing on the lid from the inside, but it's too heavy. It's so heavy, and everything's so terribly dark. So dark. So deep in the ground. I can't breathe, I can't breathe. Mom? Where are you? Come back! Mom, come get me out! Mom, please, it's so dark!

I try to catch my breath, and then realize that I can't breathe. Brendan's squeezing me so tightly that my ribs are pressing against my lungs, so my rib cage can't expand at all. Desperately, I brace my arms against his, trying to push him away, but he doesn't let go. I throw my head back. A high, whistling noise comes out of my mouth. Black stars flash in front of my eyes. Bren , I want to scream...

A moment later, he shoves me back, and I stumble off to the side. "Bren." I gulp air desperately, trying to meet his gaze.

He's standing right in front of me, staring down with a hate-filled expression. He takes one long step toward me. "I should kill you," he whispers in a terrifyingly soft voice. Before I can react, his hand is at my throat, and then he slams me against the nearest tree.

"Bren," I croak. "Don't." I try to wedge my fingers underneath his, but I can't.

He squeezes, crushing my throat. Fear courses through my veins. His eyes are pure ice. "You're nothing, you little bastard. Nothing. Dust and ashes. I could kill you and nobody would ever know. Nobody would ever miss you."

A whimper escapes my lips.

"I'm going to stick you in a coffin and bury you in the yard. But this time, I'm not going to dig you up again. You can shit your pants in there as much as you want, and die in your own filth, how does that sound?" He leans in toward me, fixing me with midnight-black eyes filled with contempt. "Answer me!"

"Bren... stop... you're... not... him..." The pressure on my throat cracks the words into choppy noises garbled with fear.

"Your pitiful whining isn't going to save your weak, sorry ass." His breath hits my face like fists. His fingers tighten around my throat even more.

Everything is spinning. I have to get through to him, but I don't know how. I can't think. "Bren..." I pull on his fingers, taste salt on my lips. "I love you... come back..."

He stiffens. His eyes seem like they're made of glass.

"Don't... leave me! Come... back!" The raw pain in my throat is getting worse with every word. "Please... come back..." Snot runs from my nose, mingling with my tears. "Brendan... please..."

His grip loosens, and his expression turns to one of confusion. "I'm here, Lou," he whispers, bewildered. Then he freezes, staring at his hand, which is still clutching my neck. Confusion gives way to shock, and then absolute agony. Slowly, he releases his fingers one by one, like he's afraid he might make a wrong move somehow.

My legs buckle immediately, and I collapse to my knees. I draw in a sharp breath, and a moment later, I feel him pulling me up again carefully. "Lou, say something, please..."

I cling to his upper arms and inhale cautiously as tears stream down my face. My throat still hurts like hell, but right now I don't care, because it's over. For now, it's finally over!

"Forgive me... Lou..." He mumbles something else that I don't catch, and wipes my tears away.

I blink until my vision clears, and then look up at him: his weary eyes, his hollow cheeks, the sweat beading on his forehead. I don't regret anything. "Wasn't so bad," I whisper, trying not to let on how much pain I'm still in, or how terrified I was. My own fear is nothing compared to what he experienced.

He shakes his head vehemently. "You're lying. You're shaking like crazy."

"I'm just cold."

"Lou. My hand was around your throat, and you're telling me it wasn't that bad?" He lifts my chin to inspect my neck. "Fuck," he hisses. "When I flip out, you can't be there. That's insane. You have to believe me."

"I believe you, but I'm doing it anyway." Somehow I manage to force out a smile. "Anyway, you're back, that's all that matters."

He rests his forehead against mine. "I'm not letting you put yourself in danger again."

"You have to." I punch him in the chest playfully. Even that one slight motion is enough to wear me out. "You're the one who chained yourself to a tree like a dog, not me."

He responds with an artificial laugh, but then turns serious again immediately. "Then at least let me carry you back to the fire." Without waiting for my reply, he scoops me into his arms. He's shaking more violently than I am, but he pretends nothing's wrong—except once, when he nearly trips over his own long iron chain, and curses.

When we reach the fire, he sets me on the ground, and then scoots in behind me, wrapping his arms and legs around me to form a warm, protective cage. I lean my head back against his chest and hold his forearms.

"Don't let me go ever again, Lou," he whispers. "Not ever."

"I won't," I whisper back and close my eyes.

After a few minutes, he strokes my hair. "Next time I have an attack, you keep your distance, okay?"

"Bren...."

"Promise me!" He says it so urgently, so desperately, that I nod reluctantly. I know he'd never forgive himself if he injured me, and I definitely don't want him feeling guilty. He's suffered enough already. And if I'm being honest with myself, I know he's right.

"I'm only going a few feet away, though," I say in a decisive tone. "And if you need me, I'll be there."

He doesn't respond. I turn halfway toward him, and almost immediately, his lips are on mine, soft and rough, hesitant and insistent. I taste blood and tears. Sadness and joy. He runs his hands down my head and then wraps his arms around my shoulders, pulling me closer. I'm falling into a bottomless pit, down, down. I never want it to stop. I never want to hit the ground. I want to keep falling, keep losing myself with him.

The sky is already full of dove-grey clouds when I finally retrieve the key to Brendan's restraints, which he left on the side-view mirror. Arm-in-arm, we return to the camper.

Grey puts on a welcoming ceremony like we've been gone for a week. This time, though, I can't give him the attention he wants—I just fall straight into bed. We've fought too many battles tonight.

I'm dimly aware that Brendan starts heating some milk for Grey, but then I'm out, fast asleep like a newborn baby.