Page 41 of Leave Before I Love You
I shake my head, burying my lips in her neck. “Don’t go there.”
“It’s hard not to at this point,” she argues, pulling out of my arms to face me, her expression as serious as I’ve seen it in a long time. “We’re approaching two weeks, Henry. That’s a long freaking time to be searching for someone and not find them. At some point, they’re going to give up.”
“We’re a long way off from that. Your family?” I shake my head. “They’ll look forever.”
She snorts. “And to what end? Will we be alive when they get here?”
My jaw grinds. “Yes.”
“But you don’t know that!” she explodes, the frustration of being out of control getting to her. I don’t blame her. For as good of a front as we put on, we’re both ticking time bombs of anxiety and unknowns. “You don’t know that they’ll find us, and you don’t know that we’ll live! You can’t! Just admit it.”
She smacks my chest hard, and I grab her wrist as tightly as I can without hurting her.
“Avery, stop.”
“Admit it, Henry! Fucking admit it!” she yells, pulling at my grip with noticeably weakening strength. Her muscles are eating themselves, and so are mine.
My chest explodes, the mountain of pressure I feel to make this right without an ounce of ability crushing me. “Of course! Ofcourse, I don’t fucking know! Is that what you want to hear? That I’m just as terrified as you? Because I’m fucking scared. Fucking scared I won’t be able to protect you. Scared I’ll injure myself and burden you even more than I already have. I’m fucking petrified, okay?”
Avery steps forward and puts a soft hand on my shaking arm, the jump in my heart rate sending my already strained nervous system into a spasm. “A burden?” Her voice is a whisper. “How can you say that about yourself?”
I shake my head, and my voice is undeniably hoarse. “I planned that jump. I insisted on it being part of the trip. I teased you that morning until you agreed to get on the plane, and if I hadn’t…”
“You’d be here by yourself, and I’d be terrified at home. Sick and scared and still very much out of control. I’d have to wonder where you were or if you were okay.”
“Avery…”
“There are no winners, losers, or burdens here, Henry,” she says and moves her hands to my face, locking our gazes together. “It’s just you and me, fighting for our livestogether.”
“Avery,” I say her name again, the sting of available tears piercing a pain into my dry eyes. An unspoken line of three little words sits at the tip of my tongue, one I can’t bring myself to say, no matter how much I’m feeling it.
I love you.
We’ve shared a lot of truths with each other that no one else knows. This one, though, I don’t know that I’m even ready to share with myself.
I go to sleep at night with Avery in my arms, and I wake up wanting to stay there. And every day we’re here, the feeling only gets stronger.
Avery pushes into my arms and up to her toes to seal her lips to mine, and I dig a soft hand into the back of her wild hair. We clutch each other tightly, willing ourselves to hold on to each other and hold on to hope as we wait.
Wait for a rescue we’re not sure will ever come.
January 13th
Avery
I nuzzle instinctively deeper into Henry’s chest as the approaching morning stirs me from sleep. It might not be quality sleep that we’re getting here, but it is comfortable and warm, and I know our bodies appreciate what little restoration we can give them under these circumstances.
Shifting softly, I peer up to Henry’s hairy face to see if he’s awake, but his eyes are still closed and his mouth is still lax with the relaxation only sleep can bring him.
The sun is starting to rise and our lone companions—the birds—are starting to sing, but instead of getting up, I tuck my head back into his warm chest and lie there. I listen to the steady beat of his heart and time my breathing to align with his.
Our chests rise and fall in tandem, and our heat blends together in an even exchange.
There are things I could be doing, chores we’ve established as a part of our routine now that we’re going on two weeks of being here.
It’ll be two weeks tomorrow, to be exact, and the thought is…overwhelming.
It’s a milestone I never thought we’d hit, and a turning point in the faith that we’ll ever be found alive. A few days…a week? Sure.
