My stomach tightens again.Harrison. Everything I thought I knew of him is suddenly false. Every aspect of his personality I’ve spent years mourning is nothing but an illusion.
Herapedher.
He raped a defenseless girl, half his size. He held her down, uttered horrible things in her ear, then left her, bloodied and alone.
Magic sparks from my fingertips before I can stop it. It’s directionless and shapeless, shooting between the trees before dissolving into air. And still, my hands burn.
I want to kill him. I want to destroy him for what he did to her. And I barely remember her.
I look over her again. Her wide brown eyes are on me, her full lips parted as she stares. She looks nervous, frightened. Ready to bolt, yet still standing here with her hand on my back.
“Cora,” I say. My voice is ragged, tortured, full of blistering hatred and pathetic helplessness.
“You should sit down,” she says. Her lips keep twitching, like there’s more she wants to say. “I’ll make some tea if you’ve brought some and?—”
“Cora,” I say again. Her name cracks in my mouth.
“It’s over,” she says. She lifts her chin, clenching her teeth so hard her jaw sharpens. “He’s dead.”
She looks proud of that fact, and for the first time since I learned what happened to my best friend, I don’t pity him at all.
Please. Please. Please. Please.
That’s what she’d been thinking while he raped her. She was begging for someone to find them, to stop him. And I could feel it: she wasn’t hoping for just anyone. She was hopingIwould find them, stop him. Save her.
But I didn’t.
“I’m sorry,” I say. My eyes burn, and my mouth feels like it’s been stuffed full of cotton. “I don’t—I should have?—”
“It’s over,” she repeats. She grabs my hand, only to immediately pull away. Though her fingers are cold, I feel a loss of heat when she moves. “We need to go inside. It’s not safe out here.”
She returns to the tent, leaving me no choice but to follow behind her. She rummages through my pack, finding two bags of green tea. I stare at her, frozen, as she focuses on making our drinks. She blinks hard, but it’s not enough to keep tears from welling in her eyes.
“Cora, come here,” I say. Beg might be the better word.
She turns, that chin still fiercely lifted. Despite her watering eyes, she almost glares at me as she speaks.
“I didn’t show you that to make you pity me,” she says. “You wanted to know the truth, so there it is.”
“Cora—”
“You don’t have to feel sorry for me, and you don’t need to change your mind about me,” she says. She opens the canister of water, lip trembling. “It’s not your job to look out for me anymore.”
“Yeah, and whose decision was that?” I snap. My skin itches with magic, pent up and desperate for release. “That wasn’t my choice, Cora. Don’t punish me for it.”
“I know,” she says. Her voice cracks, and she angrily wipes at her eyes. “I know, I’m sorry, okay? I was trying to?—”
“Come here,” I interrupt. I haven’t moved from the tent’s entrance, too afraid I’ll fuck things up if I move.
“Elliot—”
“Let me hold you,” I say. A request that would have seemed ridiculous an hour ago feels essential now. “Please. I’m begging you.”
A faint blush rushes across her cheeks. She is beautiful and soft and vicious and perfect and…how dare he touch her?
She nods, the movement choppy and stiff. She moves toward me, arms tucked in front of her, and buries her head against my chest. It is the purest sensation in the world, unfazed by guilt or worry or confusion.
This is how life was meant to be. I can feel it now. She was always supposed to be here, wrapped between my arms.
