Our relationship started out so guarded, my fear of my actions setting so many parameters and restrictions on our time that we barely discussed anything other than the basics. And as time has gone on I have carefully trained him to avoid certain subjects. My work is discussed freely. But any discussion of death is avoided. He has tried to ask about the past, about where I went that night when I borrowed his truck a couple of months ago. But I have stayed silent and he, respectful Jeremy, hasn’t pushed the issue.

A part of me thinks that I should tell him. Should give him some idea of what lies beneath my skin. He might take my fears more seriously if he knew. Might do more to ensure that I am returned to my apartment at night. Might understand why I insist we avoid steak knives, glass bottles, or anything with a point sharp enough to kill. So I consider, at weak moments, telling him things. Sharing my past—at least some of it—my moral compass wavering over exclusion points and disclosure limits. Trust, a loosening of the purse strings that contain my secrets, might be necessary for a viable relationship. And maybe, after he knows what I am capable of, he won’t run. He’ll stay.

Maybe. Or maybe, for the first time in this crazy courtship that we call a relationship, he’ll show some common sense and run the hell away.

I consider the possibilities, turn over the words I’d use to confess, but my mouth has stayed quiet. I can always tell him. But I can’t take back the truth once it is spoken. And honestly? I don’t know how my heart would react if he left.

Yes, my silence is selfish. Admitting the fact does little to convince my mouth to speak. Selfishness is the least of my problems.

CHAPTER 34

I WATCH THE clock in Jeremy’s truck hit 7:40 p.m. I am pushing it, breaking my own rules, outside later than I should be. Dr. Derek would not approve, but Dr. Derek can go screw himself. I want to do this. Try this. And if I fail, then Jeremy is here to stop me. I have no weapons on me; he’ll return me home soon, in time for lockup, so everything should be fine. I just want one night. One night of normalcy. I deserve this after behaving for so long, trying so hard. I’ve left the apartment at this time for the last two Saturdays. Bought lotto tickets and ice cream and not killed anyone. So tonight should be easy.

Now, I accelerate. We just left dinner, a barbecue restaurant where I ordered ribs and Jeremy let me pay, reluctantly accepting once I pointed out that he has fronted my dinners for months now. He still has some barbecue sauce on his mouth; I can see it out of the corner of my eye, a dried bit of yummy, begging to be licked off. He turns, catches my eye, and reaches over, loops his hand through mine. I smile, my eyes returning to the road, the rough hum of the engine reassuring me.

Jeremy wanted to drive, thinks it establishes some form of caveman masculinity, but I haven’t driven in so long and am not passing up the opportunity. To have the windows down, wind ripping through my hair, the fresh blast of air, however cold it may be, reminding me that I am alive. Alive and living. The seat is warm on my legs and back, my body glued to them, the heater placing a gentle touch on my arms and face before the night air steals it away. I take the exit that Jeremy indicates, the ramp curving steeply, my foot on the brake long enough to pause, then there is a small squeal of truck tires and we are heading up. I didn’t even know there were hills in this area, flatness seeming to be the only game in town. But here, fifteen minutes outside of town, we are curving down and then up the swells of a hill, Jeremy tapping on my arm and pointing, my foot easing off the gas, and we pull off and park.

At eight, a winter fireworks display is scheduled. I haven’t seen fireworks since my family was alive. That night five years ago, we had packed up snacks and blankets and headed into town, spread out on an open bit of park lawn and watched the sky light up above us. Trent had cried from the noise, Mom had deserted us to get the car, and Dad had pulled the twins into his lap, shooting me a reassuring smile. Trent had quieted, Dad’s arms strong around him, hands covering his little ears. And we had watched the remainder of the show, the display of colors, taking our time, waiting until the end before collecting our things and meeting Mom at the car.

7:58 p.m. I can do this. I step out of the truck, no one in sight, just him and me, alone on the side of the road, high enough that we can look down on the city. He unrolls a blanket, puts it on the hood of the truck, close to the windshield, and holds out a hand. Helps me up onto the hood, then joins me, his arm wrapping around me and pulling me back, reclining us both against the windshield, the sky above us dark.

Stars. My fascination continues, not hampered by time. Ever since I scraped off the old paint and freed my window, I have snuck an almost daily look at them, the rare nights off a continued attempt to prove to myself my level of control. Sometimes just a glance, sometimes a stare, sometimes I sit on the open sill and take my dear sweet time, watching them until my vision blurs, and I stumble over to bed. It is as if seeing them reassures me that I have a choice. I have freedom, I just choose to celebrate it inside my apartment. I interrupt my star worship and lean against Jeremy’s shoulder, loving the fit of my body under his arm, his other hand coming around to fully wrap me. I close my eyes, smiling when I feel his lips, warm on my forehead, his hand brushing back the hair to bare the skin for his kiss.