We swim toward the rocky shore. He helps me out.
I’m shaking like a leaf. I curl up on the ground, pulling my knees to my chest. It’s a cool day, maybe in the fifties, hazy sun sparkling in the treetops. “We have to get warm,” I say through violently chattering teeth.
He wrings out the blanket I discarded—I can’t believe he had the presence of mind to grab our only blanket. He thinks of everything, knows everything that’s happening at any given time. He wrings the fuck out of it.
“I’ll get you warm.” He picks me up and wraps us both tightly in the damp blanket. I don’t know how he’s walking; I don’t know that I could walk on my frozen limbs. I just cling to him, arms around his neck.
He watches my eyes as he carries me, looking so fierce and strong. He’s like nobody I’ve ever known. Not even close.
“Thank you, Kiro. I’m so sorry. If you hadn’t found me…” I can’t even finish the sentence. No words can capture the horror of death by stinging wasps.
This softness moves over his features—more than softness; a kind of sweetness comes over him. “I’ll always come for you,” he says. “Always, as long as my heart beats, I’ll come for you. Protect you.”
I know right then that it’s true. I hold on to him tightly as something inside me unwinds, unclenches. It’s something so deep, so hidden, that I wasn’t even aware of it.
I’m so tired of fighting. I think I haven’t relaxed since the Fancher Institute. Or maybe before that. Kabul. The hospital collapse. When did I last relax?
I’m thinking about that kitten. I’m remembering it on the street. The need to save it. The way saving it fucked everything up. The way my world crashed down. It’s a familiar treadmill of thoughts that always ends in me condemning myself and hating myself for grabbing it and fucking everything up.
My life imploded the day I saved the kitten.
But a new thought creeps in. Not everything imploded. The kitten’s world didn’t implode. It was scared and dying. I rescued it, and I made it safe.
I hated myself for saving that kitten. Like it was the wrong thing to do. But was it so wrong? Something loosens inside me. Like maybe I forgive myself a little bit.
I catch Kiro looking down at me. “Don’t worry, Ann. I will always protect you.”
I stare up at him in a kind of shock. I’m like the kitten. Somebody out there cared enough to come for me. Not just anybody—this guy.
“Move your toes around.”
I move my toes around.
We trek forever. Every time I go still, he chastises me to move.
Before I know it, I’m on the cold, hard ground surrounded by our stuff. He gets a fire going. He’s untying my boots, big fingers moving clumsily; he’s not unaffected by the cold, either. I don’t want my clothes off, but I know he’s right. I help him, wriggling out of my coat and stripping off my layers.
“You should, too,” I say, lips still clumsy.
“I’m fine,” he growls, undoing the snap of my jeans.
“I got it.” I stand and wriggle out of them, stripping off my bra and panties. I sit near the fire, utterly naked, holding out my hands and feet, barely covering myself.
He’s fussing with the tin cooking pot over on the other side of the fire. Is he going to make something warm to drink? It seems like a low priority. He’s stirring something with a stick.
The day has become overcast, not that it matters under the thick forest canopy. “You need to get out of your clothes, too, dude.”
He grunts. Well, some things are back to normal.
After a bit, he rises and walks around to my side, holding the little tin pot. He gazes down at me. I don’t know what he’s thinking or if he’s angry or what. I suppose he should be.
“Are you getting feeling back in your toes?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m okay. What about you?”
He crouches, stirring the pot with the stick. “I’m fine.” He puts the stirring stick aside, shoves two large fingers into the tin, and dabs something cold onto the large, angry welts that cover my calf.
“Aagh!” I pull away my leg.