Page 40 of Still Beating

He pauses his movements, turning around and glancing between me and the blood-tinged bristles. He swallows. “Sorry, I just…” Dean trails off, but he doesn’t need to finish the sentence.

We both know exactly what he’s doing.

I jump in place when police sirens sound in the distance, and I waste no time running to the back door off the kitchen.

“Cora, wait. They’ll come inside to get us,” Dean says, trying to keep me from darting out into the subzero weather in nothing but a blood-stained t-shirt.

But I can’t listen to logic or reason right now. Safety is roughly four-hundred yards away, and I’m desperate, reckless,aching, to have a taste of humanity. I can’t wait.

I’m done waiting.

The door slams against the wall as I whip it open, and the icy air blasts my face. I gasp at the intensity of it, but it doesn’t stop my feet from launching me forward, pulling me closer to freedom. There’s a dirt road behind the house, and I try not to think about the fact that if I’d gone out this door two days earlier, I probably would have made a successful escape. We’d have two extra days with our families in our warm beds, eating real food.

I could have spared Dean from a grisly crime that he will likely carry with him for the rest of his life.

But I try not to think about that. There’s no room for what ifs right now.

As I stumble forward, I clutch my throbbing ribs as they scream at me to go slow. My head is pounding, my body is crumbling, my limbs are numbing from the cold, and I realize I’ve barely made it a few feet. I see the flashing lights ahead, though, and it’s too tempting—too seductive. I need to keep moving.

I press on, holding back my cries of pain as I push forward across the crunchy leaves and frost-tipped grass. It’s then that I feel him behind me, his warmth touching me before his hands ever do.

“I’ve got you.” Dean throws a jacket over my shoulders and picks me up off the ground, one arm around my back and the other tucked under my knees. We pause for a moment, our eyes catching, and I wrap my own arms around his neck, allowing him to carry me the rest of the way.

I lay my head against his shoulder, and I swear I could fall asleep. Even though I’m half-naked with broken bones, caked in blood and dirt and semen, being trekked through an open field in the arms of my sister’s fiancé—I’m at peace. I feel safe. I’m exhausted.

My soul is exhausted.

I listen to Dean’s arduous breaths as he totes me through the property in his strong arms. I concentrate on his heartbeats, quick and steady. I can’t help but wonder what the future holds for us now. It’s impossible to go back to the way we were because we aren’t those people anymore. We’ve been through too much. We’veseentoo much.

I’ve witnessed the deepest, darkest parts of Dean. I’ve seen him cry and kill and come.

He’s been inside me.

When we finally reach the dusty, blocked-off road where police cruisers, ambulances, FBI, media, and firetrucks are all lined up, I burrow my face deeper into the crevice of Dean’s shoulder. After three weeks of surviving the bowels of Hell with this man, I realize I don’t even know how to process life beyond our nightmare.

Dean sets me down, gingerly and careful, and we stand there for a moment facing our new reality together.

A fresh start. A second chance.

Flashing lights, noise, cameras, faces attached to people who will never understand.

I inhale a splintered breath, closing my eyes, feeling overwhelmed and panicked and relieved all at once.

And then his knuckles graze against my own like a soft kiss, a knowing touch, apromise. I feel his fingers interlace with mine. We stand there, hand-in-hand, watching as EMTs and police officers move towards us like a slow-motion movie. I hold onto him. He’s still my lifeline. He’s still all I have.

We’re in this together.

Chapter Thirteen

I stare at a blackantcrawling along the toe of my shoe.

It’s weaving itself into confused circles on the dark suede, looking lost and unsure. It dances across my interwoven laces, likely searching for food and warmth. I can’t help but wonder how it’s surviving these brutal winter temperatures. It’s so small and fragile—so insignificant. It doesn’t stand a chance.

“Dean.”

Cora and I were ants. Small and fragile—lost in a cold, scary world. Set up to fail.

We had each other, though.

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