I accept the stinging pain as my due.
I could stop this at any time and force her to submit. Instead, I let her “empty the magazine” while I dodge bullets.
I count the seconds, the projectiles, the hoarse cries as she throws anything within reach.
She’s creative.
Remote control. Candle. A potted faux succulent gets me above the eyebrow. The warm, metallic trickle of blood is familiar and oddly grounding.
It doesn’t hurt the way seeing her in pain does.
She’s announcing her return to the world one desperate act of violence at a time.
Good. Her catatonia scared me more than any bullet or blade ever could.
I told myself this was about the mission. A necessary evil to get her functioning again, so she could help me solve the puzzle and survive.
Bullshit.
Truthfully, I missed her.
This bright, chaotic, infuriating woman who lives at maximum volume and fills the world with noise and light. Not that shell of a human my antagonizing created.
It’s the most ridiculous thing, but after only one week, I’ve fallen for this woman.
This changes everything. I just don’t know how.
That’s what terrifies me most.
Finally, she starts winding down, burning the last of her fuel. Her breath rasps, a high, hitching sound like she’s choking on memories.
Her next weapon is a pillow, the throw so weak the cushion plops straight to the floor.
For a moment, she stands, arms out, waiting for something to fill her hands.
Within reach, nothing much remains except furniture.
Other than herself.
As if overhearing my thoughts, she charges at me. Her fists beat my chest, but the power is gone. Operating on fumes, thelast act of aggression she manages is a shove that feels more like a plea than an attack.
Not once did she actually try to damage me.
Even after everything, once she released that first round of rage, she didn’t truly want to hurt me.
I grab her by the wrists and press her to the wall. Her back hits the barrier, the sound like air punching out of a paper bag.
I brace my forearm across her collarbones while my hips pin her lower half, trapping her hands between us. She’s struggling, but the fight is leaking out of her, replaced by ragged, tear-choked breaths.
“Stop throwing shit at me.”
She snaps her teeth at my arm, just barely missing the skin.
Okay,nowshe’s trying to hurt me. My lips twitch at the flame left inside her.
Her eyes blaze with hatred, but fear dwells in them too. The same fear that dwelled in that kid with the shell-shocked expression in the newspaper clipping.
I tighten my grip just enough to force her to pay attention. “Use your head. I’m not your enemy. Whoever’s out there is. I’m your only protection.”
