Neave cries in my arms because of what she did.

“You were only protecting yourself. You didn’t know you were going to hurt them.” I tell her what I think I should, euphemism and all.

She responds with a loud sob and pulls herself closer– deeper into me. I’m sorry, I think. I don’t want to be gloomy but if it wasn’t for her, we would both be captured.

After the massacre we both ran, making sure no one saw us. We came to the only place we could really be alone and not be found. We came back to Neave’s loft. She started crying even before reaching the door and we’ve been in this position ever since. She cries and I comfort her.

I rest my hand on my hand on her back, like I’ve done several times already this past hour. “I’m sorry.” I say into her ear again, and again I say it.

“I didn’t mean to.” She utters for the first time, warbling.

“I know you didn’t.” I try to say it comfortingly, but it sounds more like a plea than empathy. In consolation, I kiss the top of her head.

The cries die down just a little and then completely stop.

“I didn’t mean to kill them” she says, soberly, trying to convince herself.

“I know you didn’t, Neave. You were just protecting yourself.”

“I wasn’t. I didn’t care. I didn’t care if I was going to die, Oliver.”

“Then why?” I ask, confused for sure.

“I–” She begins and lets a few tears slip down her face. “I did it because of him.” She finally says after a quiet while.

“Who?”

“The boy…” she says.

“Oh…” I say. “Was he related to you?”

“No.” Neave draws away from me and takes a seated position in front of me, “No. He was my boyfriend. He wouldn’t escape with me and my friends.”

Oh. So you had a boyfriend and didn’t tell me? What happened to trust in only you? “Oh. Okay…” To think of it now, it sounds a little petty.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” Neave says, as if she read my mind. I don’t say anything. Whatever.

“Neave, maybe you should freshen up. You look as if you’ve been through Hell.”

“I have been,” she says and gets up from where she sits. Her limping has subsided and she walks to the grimy bathroom. She’s gone for an hour and I’m starting to think the worst– that she’s killed herself. I get up from the floor and feel the blood flow back through my legs. Next will be pins and needles.

I knock on the door, “Neave?” I ask, but no sound comes back.

“Neave? Are you alive?” I ask. Stupid question.

I wriggle the door handle but it’s locked.

“Oh shit no.” I try to remain as calm as possible. I force open the door with all my weight which was much easier since the door wasn’t locked. Turns out it was just jammed too tightly.

The sight of her clothed, not even close to harmed, angers me so much I shake her back to life.

“What the Hell, Neave? Why didn’t you answer?” I ask, too angry to even concentrate, but her eyes are startled, and she wants to speak, but I don’t let her. “Answer me next time! You scared me to death!” I say, just as a tear slides down my face. I’m crying?

I shake her one last time so hard that that falls to the floor and I turn away from her and allow my sobs to come freely.

Neave quickly comforts me, “I’m sorry, Oli. I–” She wraps her arms around me. “I didn’t mean to scare you” she says kindly, caring.

***

Tell us: Do you know who Lily could possibly be?