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Heat cramps that twist me in half, gnawing with shark teeth.
Waves of hope.
They’ll come for me.
Waves of despair.
They won’t come for me.
Waves of muscle-melting exhaustion.
They’ll be too late.
The life vest keeps my head above water, but I’m running out of grit.
As night starts to fall, my teeth start to chatter, and I have to get really fucking real about how much longer I can last.
But even when I shiver, skin freezing, it doesn’t cut the heat inside.
The desperate ache.
I cackle, then choke on a chunk of seaweed. Coughing up saltwater and saliva, I tip my head back to watch the stars.
I’ve never trusted anyone except myself.
Maybe because I’m floating to death, trusting Wyvern Pack doesn’t seem as scary.
I’d rather die believing they’re on the way. Or at least that they’ll scoop my pruny body out of the water and give me a pretty funeral with wreaths of those rainbow daisies.
I’d rather trust than spend my last moments crying.
I’d rather die with hope.
I just wish I’d told them sooner.
I never did admit we were mates.
I ran.
I hid.
I let myself be afraid.
They let me down, but then they lifted me up and showed me what we could have if we all stopped being so fucking terrified we aren’t enough.
Orion gave up his pack.
Hunter took the lead.
Finn inked my name on his skin.
JJ handed me his collar.
Atlas quit his job.
And fuck.
He was gonna make me french fries.
