I
was.
The
chain broke and I lunged forward. The man with the scar was my world.
My only focus. I hit him like a battering ram, knocking him to his
back. My hands went around his throat and squeezed.
I
snapped out of the flashback, panting on my hands and knees, the
smooth wood floor beneath my palms instead of that bastard’s
throat.
I
turned to look at Alissa, and her eyes were wide with compassion, her
hand over her mouth, her eyes brimming with tears.
“This
is why you’re here. Why you’ve isolated yourself out here
in the wilderness. Something terrible happened to you, and you can’t
control the memories,” she said.
I
shut down. Everything she had just awakened went numb, and my heart
squeezed over the loss of that bright and beautiful everything. I
couldn’t tolerate her pity, and her compassion cut me.
I
shoved up off the floor and fled out of the living room and out the
back door, slamming it behind me. The cold bit into my overheated
skin. Skin that Alissa had just touched and made me totally
understand that I wasn’t dead. Not dead like I thought. What
did that mean? What could I do?
A
cruel wind blew and I looked for it. Drew closer to the dark abyss as
my demons laughed and danced and urged me on.
I
took a step. I was tired, exhausted, broken and bleeding out inside.
There was nothing left. Nothing. I looked at the cliff again, thought
of hurling myself off it, knew my stomach would drop in the free fall
to my real death. The snow was still coming down. I was so damned
tired.
Then
her eyes flashed in my mind, the beauty of her smile, the smell of
her, and the feel of her hands on my skin. Taking care of her and her
ankle had rekindled that need in me to help, to do the job I’d
studied so hard to master, to find myself somewhere among the
scattered pieces. But she’d been wrong. Dead wrong. I hadn’t
come to isolate myself. I hadn’t come to heal. I hadn’t
come to work things out. I’d come here to die like I should
have died on the Ivory Coast of Africa. But why hadn’t I done
it? What was holding me back? If I did it the pain and guilt would
finally, finally be gone.
Cold
air blew across my wet jeans and shame burned in me for my inability
to even hold on to my own convictions. I hadn’t come in my
jeans like that since I was a teenager. But it had been so long, and
I wanted her too much.
The
slow slide of moisture from my temple slipped down the side of my
cheek and I ignored it, and the throbbing.
I
took a step forward and I heard the door open behind me. “Dakota.”
I
didn’t turn around.
“ Dakota. ”
She
pulled me backwards, her voice like a siren, tantalizing, promising
such riches, if only I would accept, drawing me back from the edge
while my demons howled their fury.
I
turned and she offered her hand to me. It was a simple gesture. But I
felt paralyzed until I met the summer blue of her eyes. And in the
cold, damp night, with my anguish raw, her warmth infused me. But I
still couldn’t move. She kept her earnest gaze on me, her lips
parted a little, and I wanted to kiss her even now. Her breathtaking
eyes, so solemn, full of compassion. I felt a gushing rush, a surge
of protectiveness and resentment. Why didn’t she just let me
go?
She
didn’t know anything about the way I was, or the dangerous
state I was in—trapped in a maelstrom of anger and terror and
lust. But her bravery in the face of my breakdown and erratic
behavior warranted at least some kind of response. I raised my hand,
reached out, and she moved to clasp it.
She
dragged me into the house and to my room and into the bathroom. I
just stood there like an idiot. She left me, and I wanted to sink
down and disappear.
She
came back with fresh clothes, turned on the shower. With a soft sigh,
she wet a washcloth and gently wiped the blood off my face.
She
brushed her fingertips against my jaw to get my attention. “Dakota.
Take a warm shower. I brought some clean clothes. Then we’ll
have dinner.
A. P. Jensen
Sam Staggs
Alison Rattle
Sylvia Burton
Nevada Barr
Mike O'Mary
Debra Elise
Patricia Davids
Bonnie Bryant
Virginia Castleman