10. Archer
Chapter 10
Archer
“D o you want to talk about it?” I ask quietly after an hour of driving.
“I don’t know what to say,” she signs, “I don’t feel like I deserve to be alive.”
My chest tightens at her words. “You don’t get to decide that,” I tell her firmly, lifting my hand to grasp her hand in mine. “You don’t get to decide you don’t deserve to live. Especially after everything you’ve been through.”
Her head turns to face me. “Do you think I can ever be okay again?”
I don’t have the answer. I can’t promise her things will be easy or that everything will suddenly be better. But I can promise that I’m here and that I’m not leaving.
I tell her as much, but her eyes pass with a shadow, and she pulls her hand from mine when I reach for it again, retreating into herself. “Everyone says that, but it always comes with a price. There’s always something they want in return, and they take it even if I’m willing to give it or not.”
I want to tell her I’ll make sure nothing ever hurts her again. But I don’t know if I can keep that promise. I don’t know if I even know how to help someone who’s already been broken.
And deployment. I’m not always going to be here.
Mom and Dad will help her. They have the knack of taking and fixing broken things, and Oscar, my best friend, will never turn his back on someone who needs a shoulder to cry on.
But none of that matters right now. Right now, it’s just me and her, and I don’t know how to make her believe that she was worth saving. That she deserves more than the dark thoughts that pulled her down into the abyss.
“I don’t have all the answers, and I can’t promise it will be easy. My job means I’m not around all the time, but you’ll have a family who will be there for you every day. And maybe one day you’ll realize that life is worth living again.”
“You won’t want anything?”
She’s looking at me like prey, like I’m the predator who’s going to rip her apart for my own gain. My chest tightens. I want to argue, to tell her that I don’t expect anything from her. But the reality is, I don’t have the words to convince her. All I can do is be here and show up, and I hope she sees that I mean every truth I’ve told her.
“I’m not asking for anything,” I tell her softly. “I’m only asking you to believe that you now have someone behind you.”
She turns her face toward the window, staring out at the passing lights, lost in thought. I give her space, not wanting to push her further, but I won’t let her spiral back into the abyss.
Never again.
I don’t know why I care so much about a complete stranger.
Maybe it’s because I saved her when I couldn’t save him, or the broken, haunted look in her eyes. All I know is I’m all she’s got, and I’m determined to make her realize life is good... and maybe she can show me it is, too.
I know I can’t fix everything. I know there are going to be days when she feels like the weight of the world is too much to carry. But I’ll be here. I’ll carry the load with her, even if it means walking through the dark with her, because I’m already there.
The dark is my home, and she doesn’t have to face the shadows that lurk in the corners, waiting to strike and pull you back down alone.
She taps my shoulder. “What’s your name?”
“Archer.”
“I’m Scarlett.”
I glance over at her, but her eyes are distant, lost in thought. I know she needs to shed the past to start again.
“You need to change your name,” I say, trying to keep my voice gentle.
She looks at me, confusion written across her face. “What?” she signs.
“You need a fresh start,” I try to explain, turning my eyes back to the road ahead. “But you need to change your name. Your name...” I pause, trying to find the words to make this easier on her. “It has a lot of baggage attached to it. It’s tied to things you don’t want to carry anymore, and I think if you choose it now as we cross that border.” I nod my head towards the sign-up ahead. “Then you’ll leave Scarlett behind and be the person you’re going to be.”
She stays quiet for a long moment, her fingers curling around the edge of her seat as she flexes them.
“Could I not just change my last name?” she asks me, her fingers pausing mid-air as I shake my head.
“Too dangerous.”
She’s quiet again, and I leave her to think about it, not wanting to push. We have days of travel for her to decide.
Her fingers hover in the air, her brow furrowed in thought. The truck is quiet, except for the soft hum of the heating blasting the cabin as she burrows closer to me.
Her hands begin to move, and I slow the truck down. I watch her intently as she begins to spell out her new name.
Her thumb and index finger form a perfect right angle, holding it against her palm as she stares down at the first letter. L .
Next, she curls her fingers into an O. The motion is slow and deliberate.
Her thumb slips between her index and middle fingers, creating a sharp line. It’s almost as if she’s drawing it into existence, staking a claim to the new name that is only hers — her identity from here on out. T.
Her fingers repeat the T . A slight shift in her posture, but no hesitation.
Then her pinky extends outwards, and the rest of her fingers fold gently into her palm. I.
Finally, her fingers curl as though she’s holding something fragile in her hand, her thumb gently resting over them. E.
She sits there for a moment, still as a statue, staring at her fingers. She lets out a small, shaky breath.
“Lottie?” I repeat, the name rolling off my tongue with ease, and I have the want... no need to say her name every day for the rest of my life. “Yeah… I think it suits you.”
She smiles for the first time, her lips curling up as she finally looks at me. “You think?” she gestures.
There’s something in her eyes now, a spark that wasn’t there before. Maybe it’s the hope that she’s finally getting out of here, or perhaps it’s the first glimpse that she’s no longer shackled to the people who decided her pain and life were worth more than the love she had to offer.
I nod, my heart swelling as I watch her smile down at her hands. It’s small, but it’s there.
The way her eyes soften, the way her fingers hesitate just a moment before they curl into the form of her new name.
She’s not free yet, and she’ll always be looking over her shoulder, but she’s close.
“We’ll get you a new ID with the name Lottie,” I say her name, just to hear how it rolls off my tongue. It feels right. Lottie. “You’ll need to get used to being called it, but it’ll stick. You look like a Lottie.”
She nods, her eyes following the lights of the other cars that pass us. “Do you think I can start over?”
There’s a vulnerability in her question that makes my heart ache, as if she’s not sure that it’s possible for her.
“I don’t know if starting over is the right word,” I tell her, turning onto the highway. “You’re not erasing who you were completely. Deep down, you’ll still be Scarlett. You’ll be choosing not to let your past control you. You’re taking the life they threatened to take from you back. This way, you get a chance to be you .” When she doesn’t say anything, I worry I’ve pushed her too far. “You’re not alone. You have me. You have a family waiting for you. And no matter what happens, I will always make sure you are ok.”
Her gaze turns back to the window, and I can almost see the wheels turning in her mind. I want to believe she’s heard what I’m saying, that she’ll allow herself to believe in something better than everything she’s been made to go through.
But even if she doesn’t yet, I’ll help her find her way out of the shadows, even if I’m stuck in them forever.
I feel her tap on my arm, gaining my attention. “Thank you,” she signs, her hands slow but deliberate. “For everything.”
I give her a soft smile. “You never have to thank me,” I tell her, “This is what people do for each other… You’ll see that one day.”
“Do people jump into freezing cold ocean water for others to save them?” she smirks, and I laugh, shaking my head.
“Maybe not...” I grasp her hand in mine, giving her the chance to remove it and breathe a sigh of relief when she doesn’t. “But I would do it again.”
We don’t say anything else, happy to sit in silence as the road stretches ahead.
No matter what, I won’t let Lottie suffer in the dark alone.