Four Score

Twelve

Limbo.

A place un-christened souls inhabit. Trapped. Yearning as they roam empty corridors, always reaching for the sunlight but never quite touching it.

A quiet calm. An anxious wait. A refuge from a storm that threatens to wreak havoc and destroy everything in its wake.

Our limbo is temporary, and we indulge in it. What choice do we have? The starkness of our future lays heavy and invisible between us, like the souls of the broken children we left behind that fateful day. Our innocent selves—gone but not forgotten—still screaming for mercy in the recesses of our minds.

For the first few nights of our brief time together, we begin the night alone, but dream after dream assaults me. Reminding me of Dornan, the way he tasted as he came inside my mouth, or the droplets of blood that spread like fire as they soaked the sheets below us more than once.

It’s okay, though, because Jase is always there, and after a few nights, we decide to stop pretending and just sleep in the same bed all night.

And when we do? I don’t wake up in a pool of tears and sweat, haunted by zombified versions of the men I’ve killed and the man I’m yet to kill. I sleep soundly and wake gently, a welcome reprieve from years of horrific nights spent trying not to fall back into an endless loop of nightmares.

For a few glorious days, life is beautiful.

But that’s the thing about this life. Remember when I said, nothing good ever lasts?

Well, it’s true.

One call, eight days after the explosions, shatters our fragile peace.

Because Dornan is awake.