“I ruined—”
“Nothing, you’ve ruined nothing.” He kisses the back of my head. “The spider’s to blame, not you, but don’t worry, he paid for it. Nasty bugger was huge. You should’ve heard the noise when I squashed—”
“Cole!”
“I know, but seriously, he was the size of my fist.”
“Stop it.”
“Okay, I’m done.” He tucks my hair behind my left ear and whispers, “Any chance you’d be able to sleep? Blacking out doesn’t exactly count.”
I turn my head to the left to glimpse him out of the corner of my eye. The flickering candle gives off just enough light for my eyes to settle on his face. My heart sinks. He’s beautiful. There’s no denying that. “Maybe, if you hold me tight. Really, really tight. I should be able to.”
He kisses my check. “Go to sleep then, I’ll be right here when you wake up.”
His words comfort my soul, so I give in to exhaustion and drift off to sleep.
The sun peeks through holes in the slats covering the windows, casting slivers of light across the bed, and I blink away the crust sealing my eyes. It’s gotta be around 7:30. The candle next to the bed has burned into a lump of white wax. A yawn escapes my lips as I arch my back and stretch. My hair falls down my back in brown, curly waves. I reach for Cole, but he’s gone. Panic bolts through me as I sit straight up, searching the room for any sign of him.
“Morning.” Cole stands in the doorway looking handsome in his boxer-briefs.
“Morning.” I smile briefly, feeling cautiously relieved. He sits next to me and hands me a bowl of something hot. It feels almost normal sitting in bed with Cole serving me breakfast. Well, more normal than hiding in abandoned buildings and scrounging for food.
“It’s not gourmet, but it’ll do.” He winks at me as I examine it with a skeptical face.
“Mmmmm. Canned chili for breakfast.” I smile and look down at the steaming bowl. My stomach growls loudly, right on cue. It has been so long since we had hot food, and I feel bad about complaining. So I close my eyes and imagine steak and eggs.
Cole dips a piece of bread into my chili and eats it. “See? It’s not so bad.” But it doesn’t go down so easily. He grabs the water on the windowsill and chokes it down.
Ever since we escaped the Hole, we’ve been optimistic and hopeful. But the longer we run, the more we get shot at and chased, the harder it is to keep that hope going. Even now, despite everything we’ve just been through, Cole tries to keep things light. But underneath his cool exterior, I know a storm is brewing inside him. Right now, he is quietly calculating how much food we have left, how many paces there are from here to the window in case we need a quick escape.
Still, here in this safe house without surveillance, we’re free to be together, and for now, that’s enough. We don’t talk about the fact that we both wake up in the middle of the night screaming and sweating from nightmares. We don’t talk about how, when, or if we will ever truly be free. We focus on the now, the moment, and these precious few glimpses of freedom we steal.
Someone once told me that hope was a luxury we couldn’t afford. That determination was a much better option and one that would likely keep me alive. But hope is my motivation, my strength. Hope that humanity has a chance to redeem itself. Hope that what’s left of this broken-down country can be saved and people will be free again, the way it was before the last war and the rise of the Commander.
“Do you think we can make a difference? I mean, we made it out. Do you think we can free others?” I slosh the chili around in the bowl and wait for Cole to respond. When he doesn’t right away, I add, “You’ve seen some of those people in the Hole. Their eyes are dead. They’ve given up. They have no fight left. I was lucky. I got out. And even though I lost Keegan, my mom, and my dad, you and Sutton are my family now. But what about those who have no one? No one and nothing to live for? Who is going to save them?”
“I gotta believe this hasn’t all been for nothing,” he says, then takes another sip of water. “I’d like to think we might have inspired some people.”
“Do you think we should go back? Help them?” My voice lowers as I lift my eyes to his. The thought of voluntarily going back to the Hole brings a sudden stinging pain to my chest. I can’t go back.
“No, I don’t. How can you even think about going back there?” Cole runs his free hand over his head as if he cannot believe the words coming out of my mouth. He rests his head against the wall and exhales. “You ever hear stories, growing up, about the world outside our country?”