The words come out unbidden, soft, necessary.
“You on Sal and me on Maud. Neither of us knew if they would be into hanging out, and we were both worried they’d hate us for asking. We decided our best course of action was to admire them from afar, until Ever called us a bunch of bisexual disasters—which may or may not have been the case, but c’mon, it was rich coming from them. You walked up and ask Maud out for me, and the only thing I could do was ask Sal out for you, and we ended up on the most awkward double date in history. Later that night you said—”
I gulp in a fresh breath of air, a little light-headed.
“You said it’s easier to do things that are scary when you’re doing them for friends. It’s easier to fight manticores when you’re fighting them together. It’s easier to run into a dungeon when you know there’s someone waiting on the other side. And I know we were always far better at friends, but that was the night I understood what you meant when you said you wished we’d been better at dating.”
I should never have picked charisma as my dump stat, he’d said, holding me and laughing so hard at how awkward the night was.
At least we picked our adventuring companions well.
I’ve started to squeeze the pills so hard, it’s a miracle they haven’t been crushed.
“I want you to be there at the other side, C. I need you to be here, so we’re together, at the end of all things. And I don’t know how to accept that you’re not. Even if I make it down this mountain, I don’t know how to accept that you won’t be there, waiting for me. To make terrible decisions with me. To find a way for us both to heal. I don’t know how to get out of here without you.”
I sniff, and with my free hand, I aggressively wipe at my eyes. “If I somehow manage to walk away from this nightmare of a night, what do I do, then? I don’t want to fail anymore. I don’t want to be afraid anymore. I want the world to make sense again, or as much sense as it ever did. I want to feel like myself again, and I want you to be a part of that.”
I take the fist with the pills and pound against my leg, harder and harder, until it’s sure to leave bruises, because it’s the only way to keep myself focused—and present.
It’s so much easier to be brave in-game than it is to be brave out here.
And Carter doesn’t reply. He can’t. He never will again. Same for Liva.
This pain is so much. It’s enough to make me want to stop. Give up. I don’t know how to face more loss.
But it’s also exactly why I don’t want to. Because both Liva and Carter would be disappointed in me. Liva would scoff and tell me to be better than everyone who ever laughed at me, who ever told me I couldn’t do something. Even if that includes myself. And Carter would hold my hand and storm into the fray for me—and with me.
I just need to take the first step, because it’s all I can do right now.
One step.
Just one.
I unfurl my fist and stare at the pills. They stick together and to the palm of my hand and look so deeply, incredibly tempting.
I bite my tongue so hard, I taste blood.
Then I tip my hand over and let the pills scatter on the moss under my feet.
One step.
Just one.
I turn my back on the brightly lit city below, and all the emptiness it now holds, the parts of us it will miss, and I start back toward the cabin.
The only way through is together.
Twenty-Five
Ever
Cracks are starting to show. In the glass. In Finn. He is trembling, and it seems the only thing that keeps him standing is sheer willpower.
I hate that he doesn’t leave, that he doesn’t find his way to safety, but at the same time, I get it. I would’ve done the same for any of them. Especially for him.
Still, I can’t help but look over his shoulder, because it’s the only thing I can do. With every rustle of the wind, I expect to see something, and that only makes it harder. The terror itself might kill me.
When a shadow appears from the tree line, I yell and pound the glass.
Finn startles, and I point, though I don’t know how much he can see. “Behind you!”
He immediately spins around, his back blocking my view.
I can’t see what’s happening. There’s a rapid shift in his body language.
Shock.
Fear.
Then, relief. Maddy.
He steps away, and Maddy climbs onto the porch. She holds up her hands like she’s afraid he might charge her if she doesn’t, and briefly, I think that isn’t such a bad idea. Then she says something and gestures to the crutch, and Finn steps aside, relieved.
She picks up the crutch and with renewed force starts slamming the glass, until both she is shaking and sweating, though the summer night is cool.
The cracks dance over the window like stars.
Then, miraculously, it shatters with a deafening roar.
Without pause, I tear off pieces of my tunic and wrap them around my hands, pushing sharp shards out. I throw Finn’s second crutch out.
“Ever.” Finn reaches in, and his voice shakes as much as his hands. He doesn’t seem to mind that the glass tears at him, but instead, reaches for me and I reach for him. He helps me through the window and then somehow, someway, we’re in each other’s arms. We’re both scratched up and bleeding. And it feels so good to hold him, to breathe in the familiar scent, to feel his hair and his presence.
He holds me as though he can’t be sure I’m really here.
I could cling to Finn and
