Chapter II
ii
save you, he says, but I don’t believe him, not for a second. Not when every breath hurts, lungs on fire even as I feel liquid in them, that strange drag I experienced once, twice when I was too young to be out in the sea alone, when it was dark and the waves choppy and—
Listen. His hand is almost icy cold on my face. I will not lie. Not to you.
Weight. There’s weight in that, honesty, and I’m a fool to believe it, but I think I’m going to do it anyway. I open my mouth. He believes it, if nothing else, and the darkness is dragging at me, claws in, trying to pull me under.
Let me help you.
Why? I want to ask, but I can’t, can’t get a word out.
My head rolls from side to side, and whenever I look at him, my vision is full of his dark eyes.
The air smells like smoke and my blood. I blink and he’s moved, he’s even closer, filling every sense, but even that isn’t enough to keep me here, to stop the pain.
Let me… He moves something else. Metal screeches again. I make a noise too, the rough sound of it tearing from my throat, hurting, and he stops, settles back at my side.
Please. Desperation. He might die if I say no. Please, let me help.
What happened? I can’t think about what happened. I can’t move. I stay trapped in his gaze, trapped by the metal frame of the car, trapped here until I take my final breath.
He can’t help. He can’t. It won’t hurt anything worse if he does. I’m already done. Already gone. His thumb rubs along my jaw and it’s the only touch that doesn’t hurt, but my eyes water all the same.
Okay. I can’t say it, and it’s hard to nod, but his eyes are on mine and if there’s any good time to indulge in a fantasy, it has to be now.
He understands me better than anyone else in this moment.
What he’s sharing with me now is something that no one else ever will, that no one will ever comprehend.
Something is alight between us, some bond tying us together more tightly than I would ever experience with anyone else.
Not that I will. His thumb strokes over my skin again. Tears slip from my eyes, each breath growing shorter, more ragged, filling my head with pain.
Hold still, he says, like I can move, like he doesn’t want to scare me, like he’s trying to be kind and gentle even though he does not need to be here at all. He tips my head to one side, flinching at my pained groan, and my slowing heart stutters when I feel his breath against my throat.
I jerk when he bites down, when white-hot pain flashes out because it