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if he was offering to let me siphon his strength. If we could hold on a little longer this would be over.
Over.
It was a word that had fractured us before. Now, it was more threatening and severe. A finality I hadn’t been willing to face. Not when he slipped out of my life. Not when darkness consumed me. Not when I struggled to carry on. Not when everything barricaded my next step.
He squeezed again. I looked down at the way our fingers threaded through each other’s. It was as if they belonged that way, tangled and meshed. As if they fit together. As if they had never held any other hands but these.
Maybe he clasped with such a fierce grip to siphon my strength. He needed me as deeply as I always had needed him.
Was that our connection? Had it always been? Was it give and take? Need ingrained with want? Or something so consuming we drained each other?
The suitcases and crates rattled across from us. We were wedged in a corner. Our backs against the metal cavern. Our feet tucked under us in an awkward position. I was grateful I wasn’t alone, but I didn’t want it to be like this.
I lifted my eyes to AJ.
There was no explanation for why he was here now. For how we had collided in this cruel joke. It almost didn’t matter. I had gotten past the shock. Enough to realize we weren’t going to have a happy ending.
“I’m sorry, Syd.” The words sounded bitter and full of regret.
I nodded. I didn’t think I could put it into a sentence. “I know,” I whispered. “I know.”
“I should have told you sooner. I should have—”
I stopped him. “It doesn’t matter now.”
“If only I had—”
“No,” I snapped. “Just no.”
“I haven’t given up,” he replied.
“And if I have?”
The only light came from a crack under the door. Our ankles were bound with zip ties. Any movement and they pinched together, cutting into my tender skin. The blood had seeped through my jeans. A few droplets oozed into my shoe.
My head pounded. The cut over AJ’s left eye looked vicious. He needed stitches. I knew the skin over his brow was thin, and the bleeding was naturally worse in that area, but it looked like something out of slasher film. For the time being it had crusted over enough to keep the blood from running into his eye.
That was how I was measuring our wins down here. The breaths I could still take. The beats my heart could still make. The pain my body still felt.
Pain was good.
Pain meant we hadn’t died.
Yet.
24 hours earlier
My eyes opened, and for a second I forgot where I was. It was my third trip in less than two months. I stared at the ceiling. It was nondescript and bland like all the other hotels. I closed my eyes again. Dallas. I was in Dallas.
The twinge of pain at my temple reminded me of the two margaritas I’d drank last night at the hotel’s boutique bar.
The air conditioning hummed. The room was dark, but I had adjusted to the lack of light enough to identity my surroundings. Sometime during the night I had turned off the TV. I’d fallen asleep watching one of the late shows. The remote still rested on my chest.
My eyes traveled along the seams where the ceiling met the wall and floated downward. I sat upright when I saw a bulge in the drapes. A wide awkward mass that was planted inside. The remote hit the floor with a clunky thump. My hands immediately went to my throat. I tried to say something, but the words were trapped. It was like one of those sleep paralysis dreams where I couldn’t move, but this time I knew I was fully awake. My mouth was already dry.
The curtain fluttered and the fear spiked in my veins once more before I could exhale. The panic was replaced by inner embarrassment. A ripple of shame. What was wrong with me?
It was only the airflow billowing the drapes into a 3D shape. A shape that looked less like a man and more like curtains once I stopped to study it.
