“Hey! What the—” She kicks.
“I’m sorry.”
“I don’t think you’re sorry at all.”
I’m sorry to be distressing her. I’m sorry she doesn’t want to go with me.
I can’t live without her. The slide of my hand over her bared throat was the most powerful thing I’ve felt in ages. Or maybe it was the feel of her writhing in the dressing room under my hands and tongue. I’ve told her my secrets. I’ve vowed to protect her. I can’t let her go.
I hoist her over my shoulder.
She squirms, and I tighten my grip. With one arm, I get the pack back on and then I get the canoe over my head, much as she attempts to prevent me. I nestle it on my shoulders and partly against her, using her to balance it. This will not be easy going.
“Ow! It’s cutting into my leg.”
“We have to make this crossing.”
She kicks. “Come on. It’s cutting off my circulation.”
“You’ll live.”
She does her best to make the walk hard. It is hard. Walking like this is the last thing I want to do. Going up hills is especially hard.
“I’ll walk on my own.”
“You’ve shown you won’t,” I say, hoping to hide how thankful I am to hear that she wants to walk. I’m not good at hiding the truth of things from her. Maybe she can tell; I don’t know.
“This hurts. It’s stupid.”
“That I’ll agree with.”
“Fuck you. Come on.”
“How can I trust you?”
“I’ve never lied. Have I? Have I ever lied?”
I grunt. It’s true, she’s never lied. She’s left things out, but she’s never lied.
“I’m telling you. I won’t run. Fornow.”
“You’ll walk with me? And you won’t jerk the rope?”
“For now.”
I put her down.
She holds out her wrists. “Untie me.”
“You’ll prove yourself first.”
“You want a relationship with me? This is not a good start.”
A relationship.
Relationships are for the shiny people on the TV at the Fancher Institute. They’re for people who went to school and have jobs and families that loved them. “What do I want with a relationship?” I growl. “Show me you can walk, or I’ll carry you again.”
I unbind her ankles, but not her wrists, and I go on, carrying the pack and the canoe. She follows.