by Casey Hays
I look at him, so strong and yet so vulnerable. Always, it has been so.
“I have to go,” I shrug where I sit, my hands falling helplessly into my lap. And then I add, “I—I want to.”
It’s the first time I’ve allowed myself to admit it, and I swallow a lump that settles in my throat.
John’s muscles tense, and, before I can blink, he rushes the gate. With a thunderous clank, he bangs it shut and slams the wooden lock in place. I stare at him, astonished. He points at me, points at himself, and gestures that we will stay here.
“You would rather stay?" My voice rises in agitation. I stand and face him. “I am giving you the chance to go as far away from here as you can. What is wrong with you? Don’t you want to be free?”
He squats, his hand moving furiously.
T-H-E O-U-T-S-I-D-E I-S N-O B-E-T-T-E-R
I sigh. I know nothing of this, but it can’t be worse.
S-T-A-Y, he writes again. He tugs on my hand, pulling me down and into his arms. A deep breath escapes his lungs, and rushes over me. And with me pinned against his chest, he continues.
I-F Y-O-U S-U-R-V-I-V-E T-H-E J-O-U-R-N-E-Y E-D-E-N W-I-L-L N-O-T L-E-T Y-O-U I-N
I stare at the words, slightly stunned before raising my head to look at him.
"But you were there! You told me so!”
He nods, slow and deliberate.
O-N-L-Y T-W-O M-O-N-T-H-S
He pauses for only a moment and adds:
O-N-E W-A-Y O-R T-H-E O-T-H-E-R T-H-E-Y W-I-L-L K-I-L-L Y-O-U
He drops his hands in defeat. I swallow the ever mounting lump that threatens.
“Who?” I ask, dreading his answer.
His eyes burn into me, silent beacons of warning.
T-H-E B-O-Y-S O-F E-D-E-N . . .
