I didn't finish.
The words dissolved into the darkness, and I let them go.
Tomorrow, I would start the job.
Tomorrow, I would learn the basement.
Tomorrow, I would keep hunting.
But tonight, I would rest.
Tonight, I would let someone take care of me.
For the first time in weeks, I would try to remember how to be human.
The Lost Hours.
The name echoed in my mind, soft and warm.
The lost hours.
The hours I'd spent wandering, killing, forgetting.
The hours I'd spent trying to find my way back to a man who didn't want to be found.
Maybe this was where I was supposed to be.
Maybe this was the beginning of something new.
Or maybe it was just another cage, painted in different colors, waiting for me to realize I'd never been free.
I didn't know.
I couldn't know.
But I was tired of running.
Tired of killing.
Tired of waking up with blood on my hands and no memory of how it got there.
So I stayed.
I stayed on the couch, with the blanket around my shoulders, and I let myself rest.
And for the first time in weeks, I didn't dream about Gabriel.
I didn't dream about Rue.
I didn't dream about the girl who wasn't there.
I dreamed about nothing at all.
And nothing was the best thing I'd felt in a very long time.
10
The Pieces She Can't Hold
